Chapter Nineteen
Abigail
Waking up in Will Hammond’s bed felt like waking up in the eye of a hurricane. The world outside was spiraling into chaos, but inside his arms, the air was perfectly still.
Abby blinked her eyes open, the early morning sunlight filtering through the narrow gaps in the storm shutters, casting thin, dusty stripes of gold across the heavy timber floor.
Will was already awake. He was lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand, just watching her.
His shirt was still discarded on the floor from the night before.
Without the heavy canvas jackets and tactical gear obscuring him, the sheer physical reality of the man was staggering.
His chest was broad and spectacularly sculpted, defined by the hard, deeply toned lines of his abdomen and the thick, powerful cut of his shoulders.
It was a physique carved from granite, honed by years of grueling military conditioning.
Yet, woven across that intimidating wall of solid muscle was the sprawling tapestry of faded, silvery scars, the permanent, physical receipts of the ghosts he carried.
She reached out from under the quilts, her fingertips tracing lightly over a particularly jagged scar just below his collarbone.
Will’s chest hitched, his stormy eyes darkening as he caught her hand, pressing his lips to her palm.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and gravel.
"Morning," Abby smiled, a slow, lazy stretch arching her spine. "How long have you been awake?"
"A while," Will admitted, his thumb tracing the blue veins on the inside of her wrist. "I was running perimeter checks in my head. But mostly, I was just making sure you were still here. I half-expected to wake up and find you trying to hike down the mountain again."
A deep, fierce tenderness swelled in Abby's chest, softening her smile. She shifted closer, resting her hand flat against the center of his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart.
"I told you I was done running, Will," she said softly. "I meant it. I'm staying right here."
Will let out a long breath, the last lingering knot of tension in his shoulders finally dissolving. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a slow, deeply possessive kiss that made Abby's toes curl.
Before the kiss could deepen into something that would keep them in bed all morning, the sharp, electronic chirp of the radio on Will’s nightstand shattered the quiet.
" Hammond. Comms room, now." Trent’s voice crackled through the speaker, strictly business. "Both of you. The board is lighting up."
Will sighed against her lips, resting his forehead against hers for a fleeting second before pulling away. The transition from lover back to Tier One operator was instantaneous.
"Duty calls," Will said, rolling out of bed and tossing Abby her jeans. "Let's go see what Los Angeles is trying to throw at us today."
Ten minutes later, Abby and Will walked into the comms room. The atmosphere was charged with high-stakes electric tension. Kyle and Kaiden were already there, fully geared in tactical vests, checking the actions of their rifles.
"What do we have, Leo?" Will asked, stepping up behind the workstation, resting a hand naturally on the small of Abby’s back.
Leo didn't look up from his screens. "Vanguard changed tactics. They realized they can't breach the perimeter covertly, so they're weaponizing the locals. I just intercepted a dispatch call from the county sheriff's office."
Leo tapped a key, playing a recorded audio file.
"Unit 4, this is Dispatch. Sheriff Matty, I need you to head up Route 9.
We have a welfare check filed by a firm out of California.
Subject is Abigail Grace. Fiance filed an affidavit for an involuntary psychiatric hold.
Claims she's a danger to herself and was last seen heading up the logging trail before the mudslides. "
"Copy that, Dispatch," a weary, older voice crackled back. "Route 9 is washed out to hell. I'll have to take the quad up the goat trail. Tell the LA suits not to hold their breath; if she was out there during the storm, she's likely a recovery op by now."
Abby felt the blood drain from her face.
"A psychiatric hold," Abby whispered, her hands gripping the back of Leo’s chair. "David actually got a judge to sign an involuntary hold. He’s telling the police I'm legally insane."
"It's a standard corporate extraction tactic," Leo explained grimly. "If they can convince local law enforcement that you're a danger to yourself, the cops will do the breaching for them. Vanguard gets to keep their hands clean while the sheriff drags you out in handcuffs."
"How far out is he?" Trent asked, his dark eyes locked on the map.
"He's navigating the ATV trail now," Leo said. "He’ll hit the main gate in twenty minutes."
"Kaiden, Kyle," Trent ordered, his voice a low bark. "Get to the main gate. Stay out of sight. If the sheriff tries to bypass the locks, you disable his quad, but no lethal force. He's a local cop doing his job. He doesn't know he's playing pawn for a corporate hit squad."
"Copy," Kaiden said, racking the bolt of his rifle before he and Kyle sprinted out of the room.
"What's the play, Trent?" Will asked, his jaw locked. "If we deny entry to a sheriff with a court order, we escalate to a standoff. That's exactly the headline Vanguard wants: Armed Militia Defies Police."
"We stall," Trent said, staring at the monitors. "We tell him this is private property, we haven't seen her, and demand a search warrant. By the time he hikes back down to get one, the roads will be clear enough for us to move Abby to a secondary safe house."
"No."
The single word cut through the tactical planning like a knife.
Trent and Will both turned to look at Abby. She had let go of the chair. She was standing up straight, her shoulders squared, her hazel eyes burning with a fierce, cold fire that belonged in a boardroom, not a bunker.
"If you deny him entry and claim you haven't seen me, David wins," Abby stated, her voice razor-sharp. "He gets his hostage narrative. He tells the judge I'm being held captive by extremists, which justifies a federal raid. You do not lie to the sheriff, Trent."
"Abby, if the sheriff sees you, he's legally obligated to enforce that psychiatric hold," Will warned, stepping toward her. "He will try to take you."
"Let him try," Abby said, echoing Will's own words from the night before.
She looked at Trent, projecting confidence.
"I spent ten years dismantling hostile corporate takeovers.
Vanguard is relying on the assumption that I am a broken, hysterical woman hiding in a tent. They think I won't fight back."
She stepped past Will, looking directly at the live feed of the main gate on Leo's monitor.
"Trent, I want to talk to the sheriff," Abby commanded, stripping away the title of 'civilian.’ "Open the intercom when he gets to the gate. I will show him exactly how sane I am, and I will neutralize Vanguard's legal leverage before David even steps foot in Montana."
Trent stared at her for a long, heavy moment. The commander evaluated the angles, the risks, and the sheer, unadulterated steel in the woman standing in front of him.
A slow, profoundly respectful smile touched Trent’s scarred face.
"Leo," Trent ordered softly. "Route the gate intercom to the main desk. Let the lady work."