But better than the odds Emma had when they forced her off that road.
"Can you identify the men?" I ask. "If we bring photos?"
"Yes. I remember all their faces." Irina's voice hardens. "I want them to pay. For what they do to me. To the other women. To your wife."
"They will. I promise you that."
Doc Sage steps in. "She needs rest. And medical treatment beyond what I can provide here. She should go to a hospital."
"Not yet," Irina says. "If I go to hospital, police ask questions. Make reports. The traffickers, they have people everywhere. They find out I talk. They come for me."
The network has reach. Inside contacts. If we move her to an official facility, word will get back to them.
"She stays here," I say to Doc. "Under protection. We'll have Zeke coordinate security when he gets back."
Doc nods. "I'll set her up in the recovery room. She'll be safe."
I turn to Harlow. "We need to hit that camp. Tonight. Before they realize Irina escaped and relocate."
"Agreed. But we need backup. Tactical support. This isn't something we can do alone."
Getting that support takes time. Coordination. Official channels that might give them warning.
Or we move fast. Hit hard. Use the element of surprise.
"Call Zeke," I say to Harlow. "Former SEAL. If anyone can help us put together a team fast, it's him. Doc will have his number."
I step outside while she makes the call. Need air. Need space to process what Irina just told me.
Emma was murdered. Killed because she saw too much. Because she was brave enough to ask questions about things that didn't make sense.
And I failed to protect her. Failed to see the danger. Failed to stop it before they killed her.
My hands clench. The burn in my chest isn't grief anymore. It's rage—focused, purposeful, aimed at the man who took her from me.
Sergei. The man who killed my wife. He's five miles from here in an abandoned logging camp. Holding women captive. Running the same operation that took Emma from me.
The door opens. Harlow steps out. "Zeke's on his way. He's bringing Nate Barrett and Caleb Knox. Three former SEALs. They can help us plan the assault."
"How long?"
"Thirty minutes."
I look at Harlow. She stands beside me in the snow. Steady. Ready. Someone who just proved she'll fight beside me when things get dangerous.
"You don't have to do this," I say. "This isn't your fight. You came to Alaska for a job as a security guard for a mining site. Not to assault a camp in the middle of nowhere."
She looks at me. Really looks at me. And what I see in her eyes isn't hesitation or fear. It's determination.
"I told you I was one of the FBI's crisis negotiators. The best of the best, they said." Her voice goes flat. "Then I found out even the best of the best can get people killed. My partner caught a ricochet in the throat when an armed suspect panicked. Baker died in my arms telling me it wasn't my fault."
"Harlow—"
"I came to Alaska to hide. To take a job where I'd never be responsible for anyone's life again. Where I could patrol empty buildings and never have to make a call that might get someone killed." Her jaw tightens. "But I'm done hiding. Done letting fear keep me from doing what I'm trained to do. Those women in that camp deserve someone who'll fight for them. And you deserve justice for your wife."
"This is personal for you."
"Everything's personal when the last call you made cost someone their life." Her voice catches. "I couldn't save Baker. But I can save those women in that camp. And I can help you get the man who killed your wife."
