"Sergei Volkov," Chris says. "Russian national. Former military. He's the one running the camp we're hitting tonight. And according to testimony from one of the captured guardsat the secondary site, he's the one who personally ordered your wife forced off the road three years ago."
The words hit like bullets. Irina had given us the name, but now I have a face. Validation and rage flooding through me in waves. For three years I knew it wasn't an accident. But having proof, seeing the face of the man who murdered Emma, having testimony that puts him at the scene, it's overwhelming.
My vision narrows. The room goes silent around me. Every muscle in my body coils tight, ready to explode into violence.
"Rhys." Harlow's voice cuts through the roar in my ears. Her hand on my arm. Gentle but firm. "Breathe."
I force air into my lungs. Once. Twice. The rage doesn't disappear but it becomes manageable. Focused.
"Emma found out what they were doing," I say. My voice sounds distant. Controlled. "She photographed the evidence. And they killed her for it."
"Yes," Chris says simply. "Sergei received orders from network leadership. They couldn't risk exposure. So they eliminated the threat."
"Do we know who gave the order?"
"Not yet. But if we take Sergei alive tonight, he'll talk. Men like him always do when they're facing life in federal prison."
I look at the photo of the man who murdered my wife. Memorize every detail. The scar. The cold eyes. The way he stands like violence is his native language.
"He's mine," I say.
"No." Zeke's voice is hard. "You're part of the team, but you don't get to go rogue on this. We take him alive if possible. We do this by the book."
"The book hasn't worked for three years."
"Because you were alone." Harlow steps in front of me, forcing me to look at her instead of Sergei's photo. "You're notalone anymore. We do this right. Justice, not revenge. Emma deserves that."
She's right. I hate that she's right. But the woman looking at me with fierce determination and understanding in her eyes knows exactly what I'm feeling. She's been where I am. Standing at the edge of letting rage consume everything good that's left.
"Okay," I say finally. "We do it right."
"Good." Zeke returns to the tactical maps. "Then let's plan this assault. We have seven hours until go time."
Tactical planning consumes the next few hours. Zeke lays out the approach. Two teams. His team—Nate, Caleb, and two state police tactical officers named Irving and Morris—will assault from the north with Morris taking an overwatch position. Standard breach and clear. Fast and overwhelming.
Harlow and I will infiltrate from the south. Quieter. More surgical. Her crisis negotiation background makes her essential for dealing with the captives once we secure them. They'll be terrified, potentially violent from trauma. She can talk them down in ways none of us can.
"You'll need to reach the main holding building first," Zeke says, tracing the route on the map. "That's where the women are kept. Once you have them secure, signal us. We'll hit the guard quarters hard and fast. Suppress any resistance. Secure Sergei."
"What about exits?" Harlow asks. She's leaning over the map, studying it with professional focus. "If they rabbit, where do they go?"
"Single access road here." Nate taps the map. "We'll have it blocked. Morris will be stationed with a rifle covering the road. Nothing moves without us knowing."
"Communications?"
"Encrypted tactical radios. Same frequency we use for wildlife operations." Nate hands us each a radio unit. "Test them before we move out."
Harlow takes hers, examines it, nods. "Good equipment. Military grade."
"You've used these before," Caleb observes from the window.
"FBI Hostage Rescue Team training. Before I moved to crisis negotiation." She meets his eyes. "I've done this kind of operation more times than I can count."
The room's energy shifts. The men looking at her differently. Seeing her not as someone who needs protection but as an operator. Someone who's been in the fire and knows how to move through it.
I've known she was capable from the moment we met. But watching her here, in her element, discussing tactical approaches and communication protocols like she wrote the manual, the full picture clicks into place. She's not just smart or brave. She's deadly competent.
And absolutely beautiful.
