"You're worth all the resources." He strokes through my hair. "And Lebedev won't see it coming. He's used to targets who don't know he's hunting them. You know. We know. That changes everything."
"When do you think he'll move?"
"Soon. He's been in Anchorage for three days. He'll want to finish the job and disappear before winter closes the roads."
I shift to look at him. "Are you ready for this?"
"No. But I'll do it anyway." He cups my face. "I can't lose you, Harlow. But I won't cage you either. So we do this your way. We work as partners."
The next morning, Zeke, Nate, and Caleb arrive at the task force office. We go over the plan. Communication protocols, positioning, sight lines. The same kind of tactical coordination that worked during the camp assault.
"We'll stay off comms unless absolutely necessary," Nate says. "Lebedev might have a scanner. When he makes his move, Rhys will coordinate."
Caleb hands me an earpiece. "Same setup as before. If things go sideways, you'll hear us."
Three days pass. I maintain my routine. Office in the morning. Lunch at the diner. Afternoon case work. Evening at the cabin with Rhys. Each day the same. Predictable. Tempting.
I never see Zeke, Nate, or Caleb. But I know they're there. Watching. Waiting.
On the fourth day, Rhys's voice comes through the earpiece. "Harlow. Male matching Lebedev's description just entered the hardware store. He's asking about you."
My pulse hammers. Every sense sharpens. But I keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Crossing Main Street toward the diner like I do every day at noon.
"He's following," Rhys says. "Stay on route. When you reach the diner, go straight through to the back exit. Zeke will be there."
"Copy." I push through the diner door. Smile at the waitress. Walk past the lunch counter toward the restrooms. The back exit is hidden behind the kitchen. I slip through. Cold air hits my face.
Zeke waits in the alley, pressed against the brick wall. His breath fogs in the freezing air. Further down, I can see shadows where Nate and Caleb have positioned themselves.
"Thirty seconds," Rhys says through the earpiece.
Rhys appears from the opposite end of the alley. He moves fast and quiet. Weapon drawn but held low.
The back door opens. Yuri Lebedev steps into the alley.
He's smaller than I expected. Wiry. Nondescript. Exactly the kind of man who blends into crowds. His hand moves toward his jacket.
"Sheriff's department," Rhys calls. "Hands where I can see them."
Lebedev's hand freezes. Then he bolts.
Not toward us. Backward, through the door he just exited.
"Goddamn it," Rhys snarls into the radio. "Zeke, north exit. Nate, Caleb, cut him off at Main Street."
We pour through the diner. Customers scatter. Chairs scrape. The waitress screams. Lebedev is already out the front door, sprinting toward a dark sedan parked two blocks down.
I clear the door in time to see him yank it open. See him reach inside.
Not for keys.
For a rifle.
"Gun!" I shout.
The rifle clears the vehicle. Lebedev swings it toward the diner. Toward me.
I dive behind a parked truck. The rifle cracks. Sound explodes through the quiet street. The truck's windshield disintegrates. Glass rains down. Cuts my cheek. I roll, come up with my weapon drawn. Fire twice. Both shots hit the sedan's engine block. The metallic ping echoes.
