Rhys grabs the filing cabinets, starts pulling them away from the walls. Creating barriers. Cover positions. Smart.
The first cabinet screeches across the floor as I help him drag it into position. The metal shriek sets my teeth on edge, but we need every advantage we can get.
Outside, voices carry through the thin walls—too distant for words, but the tone is clear. Coordinated. Controlled.
They're setting up.
"How many rounds?" Rhys asks.
"Sixteen. You?"
"Thirty in the rifle. Twelve in the sidearm." He positions the last cabinet. "We're outgunned."
"But not outmaneuvered."
The radio on the desk crackles. Static, then a voice—male, calm, controlled.
"Ms. Kane. Sheriff Blackwater. We know you're inside. We're not here to hurt you. We just need to have a conversation about Viktor Petrov."
Rhys shakes his head slightly. Don't respond.
The voice continues. "We understand you found him yesterday. That you've been investigating the facility. We can explain everything. Clear up any misunderstandings."
Misunderstandings. Right.
"De-escalation tactics," I say quietly. "They make it sound reasonable. Like we're the ones overreacting."
"You recognize the technique."
"I used the same words when I meant them. These people want us to drop our guard long enough to put bullets in our heads."
One of the figures moves into view through the window gap. Closer than the monitor showed. Fifty yards from the main entrance. He's holding a radio.
Rhys moves beside me, shoulder almost touching mine.
"What's the play?" he asks.
The figures spread out. Two moving toward the main entrance. One circling east. One west. Classic breach formation.
My pulse kicks up—not fear, just the body preparing. Muscles tensing. Breathing deepening. Mind going clear and sharp. The warehouse in Chicago taught me this part. When negotiations break down and bullets start flying, you either freeze or you move.
I learned to move.
"They think we'll lock ourselves in and wait for rescue," I say, gesturing to the east window. "Or come out with hands up."
"Neither sounds good."
"So we make our own opening." The space heater catches my attention. Old model, propane tank visible beneath. "This thing leaks. I've smelled it all morning."
Understanding flashes in Rhys's eyes. "You want to stage an explosion."
"I want to give them something else to focus on besides us." The west figure is thirty yards from the building now. "We disconnect the heater. Open the propane valve fully. Give it sixty seconds to fill the room. Then we go out the back window and you shoot the tank through the window."
"That'll bring the whole building down."
"Exactly. They'll think we're inside. Or at least they'll have to check. It buys us time to reach your vehicle and get clear."
He studies me, weighing risk versus reward. "You've done this before."
