The men moved with practiced efficiency, every gesture communicating that this wasn’t their first encounter with danger. Amy watched as Blaze checked the windows.
“What happened?” Nash demanded, scanning for immediate threats.
“Someone tried to break in,” Brooks replied, his voice tight. His FBI stance hadn’t wavered. “Security system triggered just in time. They fled toward the trees.”
“Did you see who it was?” Amy asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat.
Brooks shook his head, his eyes never stopping their scan of the darkness beyond the broken glass. “Too dark. But they knew what they were doing—disabled the exterior cameras before approaching.”
“Professionals,” Marshall said grimly.
The word hung in the air, heavy with implication. This wasn’t a random break-in. They’d been found.
“How?” Amy whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “How did they find us so quickly?”
Nash’s hand found hers again, squeezing gently. “It doesn’t matter. We’re safe, and we’re together.”
The next few hours passed in a blur of activity. Local police arrived, statements were taken, and children were comforted and eventually settled back to sleep in the secure interior rooms. The adults gathered in the kitchen, coffee brewing as they discussed security arrangements and next steps.
Colt paced the kitchen like a caged mountain lion, frustration evident in every line of his body. “They knew exactly where to find us,” he growled, running a hand through his hair. “This wasn’t random.”
Sierra moved to his side, placing a calming hand on his arm. “We’ve been through worse,” she reminded him softly, and Amy saw Colt’s tension ease fractionally at his wife’s touch.
“We need to assume they know everything we know,” Trey said, pushing a hand through his hair in frustration. “Our location, our plans, our leads.”
“Not everything,” Amy countered, her mind racing back to the research she’d been reviewing before Nash knocked on her door. The pages had been sprawled across the bedspread, connections forming in her mind even as they’d kissed. “There’s something in Bill’s notes—something I’m not sure even the Ferrantes know about.”
All eyes turned to her expectantly. The sensation was overwhelming—having so many formidable people focus their complete attention on her words. These were people who had faced down threats, uncovered treasures, protected each other through impossible odds. And now they were listening to her as if she belonged among them.
“I was looking over Bill’s notes and he was investigating tunnels beneath the Bingham Creek Mine,” she explained, gathering her courage. “Tunnels that don’t appear on any official maps or mining surveys.”
“And you think there’s gold in these tunnels?” Porter asked, skepticism evident in his voice. He stood with one arm still protectively around Sadie.
Amy shook her head. “I don’t know. But Bill was convinced there was something valuable there—valuable enough that his notes say he planned to explore them the week he was killed.”
A charged silence fell over the kitchen as everyone processed this information. Amy could almost see the gears turning in their minds—calculations, strategies, risk assessments.
Brooks leaned against the counter, his expression thoughtful. “If these tunnels were significant enough for someone to kill over, they’re worth investigating.”
“I agree,” Nash said, his voice steady with certainty. He stood beside Amy, not hovering protectively but offering silent supportthrough his presence. “Tomorrow evening. We’ll go with the cover of night.”
Trey nodded. “Fine. That gives us time to prep.”
Plans were made quickly after that—equipment lists compiled, roles assigned, contingencies discussed.
Amy watched with growing amazement as both families mobilized around the discovery, each person automatically taking on tasks and responsibilities without being asked.
Colt and Marshall discussed vehicles and approach routes. Sierra assembled a medical kit with practiced efficiency. Hunter and Cheryse volunteered to stay with the children, while Trent and Liberty began inventorying climbing gear. Even Chance got on the phone with his contact at the Utah State Police, discreetly inquiring about property records for the mine without raising suspicion.
It was nearly two a.m. when they finally dispersed to snatch a few hours of sleep before morning. Nash walked Amy back to her room, both of them exhausted but wired from the night’s events.
“You should try to sleep,” he told her, pausing outside her door. His eyes were tired but alert, shoulders still tense with lingering vigilance.
“I know,” Amy agreed, though her mind was still racing with connections and possibilities. “I just need to review a few more things in Bill’s notes first.”
Nash studied her face, concern evident in his eyes. “Promise me you’ll at least try to rest? I don’t want you exploring mining tunnels on zero sleep.”
The genuine worry in his voice warmed something in Amy’s chest. How long had it been since anyone had concerned themselves with whether she got enough sleep?
