"Lieutenant Commander. We've got a situation." He gestures toward Fallon's vehicle parked in the driveway. "Routine security check found tampering. Brake lines cut clean through."
Cold dread floods my system. Tactical calm takes over, shutting down the fury and fear that wants to spiral. "When?"
"Discovered at oh-six-hundred during perimeter check. Probably happened overnight, sometime between twenty-two-hundred and oh-four-hundred based on the fluid pooling pattern." The officer's jaw tightens. "Clean cuts, positioned to fail under pressure. If Dr. McKay had driven this morning?—"
She'd be dead. No hospital, no recovery. Just a tragic accident on base roads that would've been written off as equipment failure until the investigation revealed sabotage.
"Who has access?" I ask in a voice that is cold and controlled. The register I use when emotion becomes a liability.
"That's the problem, sir. Base housing has controlled entry but residents park in driveways. Anyone with base access could've walked this street after dark." He pulls up a tablet, showing security footage timestamps. "We've got cameras at entry points but not covering individual houses. Budget constraints."
Of course. Because protecting high-value targets requires funding someone decided wasn't necessary.
"Where's Dr. McKay?"
"Inside. Still asleep as far as we know. We haven't approached the house yet, wanted to secure the scene first."
Good. She doesn't know yet. Doesn't know how close someone came to killing her while I was running on the beach working through my feelings like a selfish bastard.
"Get forensics on this. I want prints, tool marks, anything that can identify who did this." I pull out my phone, already dialing Commander Hartwell. "And pull all security footage from twenty-two-hundred to oh-four-hundred. Every camera on base. Someone walked this street and I want to know who."
Hartwell answers on the second ring. "Lange. What's the situation?"
I brief her quickly, efficiently, keeping emotion out of my voice through sheer will. She listens without interrupting, then starts issuing orders I can hear her typing in the background.
"I'm pulling footage now. Coordinating with base security on expanded surveillance." Her voice is crisp, focused. "How's Dr. McKay?"
"Still asleep. Doesn't know yet."
"Keep it that way until we have more information. Last thing we need is panic before we know what we're dealing with." A pause. "Holden? This changes the threat assessment. Someone with skills, access, and knowledge of her routine got close enough to sabotage her vehicle on a secure base. That's not just Bruce Tanner stalking from a distance. That's someone with operational capability and base familiarity."
Someone trained. Skilled. Operating with the kind of precision that comes from military background and tactical experience.
"You think it's connected to Rexford?"
"I think we have at least one person on base who wants Dr. McKay's research badly enough to kill for it. Whether that's Rexford, someone working with Tanner, or a third party, I don'tknow yet." Papers rustle. "But I want her in a safe house until we identify the threat."
"She'll refuse."
"Then make her understand she doesn't have a choice." Hartwell's voice hardens. "This is a direct threat to her life, Holden. We're past the point of asking permission."
The call disconnects. I stand in the driveway staring at Fallon's vehicle, at the dark puddle of brake fluid spreading underneath, at the evidence someone wants her dead and nearly succeeded.
Make her understand she doesn't have a choice.
Except Fallon's spent years having decisions stolen from her. Bruce controlled her movements, her relationships, her sense of safety until she fled across the country to escape him. And now I'm supposed to walk in there and tell her we're locking her down for her own good?
The front door opens. Fallon appears on the porch in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, hair loose around her shoulders, coffee mug in hand. She looks soft and warm and alive, and the relief that rushes through me is visceral.
Then she sees the forensics team approaching her car. Me standing in the driveway in running gear covered in sweat and sand.
"What happened?" Her voice carries across the yard, sharp with alarm.
I cross to her, intercepting before she can get closer to the scene. "Your brake lines were cut overnight. Skilled work. You weren't going anywhere in that vehicle."
She goes pale, mug trembling in her hands. "Someone was here. In the driveway. While we were sleeping."
"Yes." No point softening it. She deserves the truth. “Officers discovered it during routine security check. We're pulling footage now, but whoever did this knew what they were doing."
