"You didn't report it."
"To who? Federal agencies that might be involved?" I navigate around a frost heave that would destroy suspension on a lighter vehicle. "Local law can handle local problems, but if this runs deeper, if there's federal protection involved, I need to know what we're dealing with before I make noise. So I started paying attention instead. Documenting patterns. Waiting to see how deep it goes."
Cara studies me with intensity that probably terrified suspects during interrogations. "You believe me. About being framed."
"I believe you didn't betray your team for money." I keep my tone flat, factual. "Whether you're here for justice or revenge is still an open question."
"Does it matter?"
"Might." I slow for another curve, feel the truck hug the road exactly how it should. "Justice follows rules. Revenge tends to get messy."
"And which would you choose?"
I don’t tell her about the night my bird went down outside Kandahar. A flash of memory surfaces without permission. Rotors screaming, alarms blaring, ground rushing up to meet us. My crew chief's voice shouting coordinates while I fought controls that no longer responded. The impact that shattered my wrist and sent nerve damage crawling up my arm. Watching my flight surgeon shake his head three months later when tests showed the damage was permanent. Losing the only thing I'd ever been truly good at because some Taliban fighter got lucky with an RPG.
"Depends on the day," I admit.
We drive without speaking for another stretch of road, but the tension has changed. Less hostile, more cautious. Two people who've been burned by systems they trusted, trying to figure out if the person sitting three feet away is another threat or someone who might understand.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder. I glance at the screen: Sadie checking if we made it out of town without incident. I'll reply when we reach the homestead.
"Sadie vouched for me," Cara says. "Gave me your contact information. That's not something she'd do for just anyone."
"No, it's not." I spare her a glance. "Sadie's good at reading people. If she thinks you're genuine about your research, that carries weight in Glacier Hollow."
"I lied to her."
"You told her you're researching supply chains in remote communities, which apparently is true." I gesture at the endless forest flanking the road. "Just not for the reasons she thinks."
"That's still deception."
"Welcome to operating in the gray areas." Bitterness seeps into my words before I can stop it. "You'll find a lot of us started living there when the black and white options stopped making sense."
Cara absorbs that, and I let the topic drop. Mountains rise around us, snow-capped peaks cutting into a sky that threatens more weather. Clouds gather on the northern horizon, dark and heavy with precipitation. We might catch the edge of that system on the way back.
I clear the subject from my head and focus on the road. "The homestead we're visiting belongs to Raymond and Judith Kowalski. Been up here forty years. Raymond's got arthritis that makes travel difficult, and Judith has early-stage dementia. Their daughter lives in Anchorage but can't get up here often."
"So you bring them supplies."
"Once a month, sometimes more if they need medication or if bad weather's coming. Groceries, prescriptions, mail, propane tanks, whatever keeps them comfortable."
"That's not standard delivery service."
"No," I agree. "But they're good people who need help. That's reason enough."
Something crosses Cara's face. Surprise, maybe, or recognition of something she didn't expect to find.
"Does that happen often?" she asks. "Making extra runs for people who need help?"
"Often enough." I slow for a section where the road narrows, rock face on one side and drop-off on the other. "There are maybe two hundred people scattered through this region. Everybody needs something eventually. The community survives because we take care of each other."
"Even fugitive FBI agents?"
"Jury's still out on that one." I deliver the line deadpan, then let my mouth quirk slightly.
The words land, and I can feel her reassessing me. Recalculating what kind of threat I represent and whether honesty serves her better than deception at this point.
"The operation that went wrong," she says eventually. "Stormwatch. We had solid intelligence. I verified every piece of it personally. Triple-checked sources, confirmed dates, coordinated with assets across three agencies."
