"Cara?" His voice pulls me back. "You okay?"
"No. But I will be." I set down the photograph, face him fully. "We need to talk strategy. With my alias credit cards flagged, with Jake's warnings about the feds narrowing down my location, we're on a timeline."
"Agreed. Question is how we use that timeline."
I pace the length of the room, working through scenarios the way I was trained. "The feds know I'm in Alaska, but they don't have my exact location yet. That gives us maybe days to prepare. We need this cabin fortified, perimeter security established, communication protocols with Zeke and the task force locked down."
"Defense and coordination," Finn says. "What about offense?"
I stop pacing, meet his eyes. "Offense means using the evidence I've gathered to force the Marshal's hand. Make him react instead of letting him dictate the timeline. But that's risky. Could accelerate the threat instead of mitigating it."
"If the Marshal knows you're here, knows you're coordinating with law enforcement, he has to choose. Either cut his losses and run or come for you directly."
"And if he comes directly, people get hurt."
"People are already getting hurt. Tom. The three agents in Stormwatch. People in the area." His voice is steady, certain. "You staying means we control the ground, the timing, the resources. Make this cabin a fortress and dare him to try."
Finn studies me for a long moment. "You know they'll come for you. The Marshal's people, corrupt officials who want you silenced, maybe even legitimate feds who think they're doing their job by bringing in a fugitive."
"I know."
"You know I'll stand with you. That Zeke and the community will help protect you. But this isn't a fight you can win by yourself, Cara. Even with support, the odds aren't great."
"Better odds than I've had since Stormwatch." I cross to him, need him to understand. "Every day spent running has been about survival. About staying one step ahead, about not dying. But survival isn't enough anymore. I need to live. Actually live. And I can't do that while the people who destroyed my career are still operating."
He reaches out, cups my face with both hands. The tremor in his hand is barely noticeable, but I feel it. Physical evidence of his own losses, his own battles. "Then we stay. We fight. And we make damn sure that when the feds arrive, they find someone ready to expose every corrupt bastard who helped frame you."
The certainty in his voice steadies me. Every decision since the frame-up has been mine alone to make and mine alone toface the consequences of. Having someone willing to stand with me, to share the risk and the burden, feels both terrifying and necessary.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. This gets ugly before it gets better."
"I know." I lean into his touch, let myself have this moment of comfort before the storm hits. "But at least I'm not facing it alone anymore."
"Tomorrow’s going to start early," he says quietly. "We’ve got a lot to do to get ready."
We spend the day turning the cabin into a defensible position. Finn checks sight lines from every window, identifies weak points in the perimeter, maps escape routes through the forest. I set up communication equipment, establish encrypted channels with Zeke, organize the evidence so it can be transmitted quickly if we need to evacuate.
By late afternoon, we've done everything we can with the resources available. Motion sensors positioned at key approaches. Supply caches hidden at strategic locations. The satellite phone charged and ready.
Finn makes dinner while I review the evidence one more time, looking for gaps in what I've compiled. The financial records are solid. The witness statements corroborate each other. Tom's coded notes point toward corruption at the highest levels. But the final piece, the one that names the Marshal definitively, is still missing.
"Food's ready," Finn calls from the kitchen.
We eat at the small table, talking through contingency plans and worst-case scenarios. The conversation is tactical, practical, focused on survival rather than the uncertainty of what comes next.
Darkness falls early this time of year. By the time we've cleaned up and secured the cabin for the night, exhaustion hassettled into my bones. The adrenaline that's kept me going for weeks is finally fading.
He kisses me then, slow and deep, and I taste determination mixed with desire. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with want.
But neither of us moves. The awareness between us crackles like electricity. After a moment, he takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom. I get a better look at it this time. The space is simple like the rest of the cabin. A queen bed with a quilt similar to the one in the living room. A dresser with a few framed photographs. A window overlooking the forest, currently dark with night.
When Finn turns back to me, there's heat in his expression but also tenderness. This isn't the desperate urgency of the shelter during the storm. This is deliberate. Intentional. A choice we're both making with clear heads and open eyes.
"I want you," he says simply. "Been wanting you since you climbed into my truck asking for backcountry access. But this time I want to do it right. Take my time. Make you feel what you deserve to feel."
My pulse kicks up. "And what do I deserve to feel?"
