“I have backup. Bear, Derek, Theo.”
“So why are you here?”
The question hung between them. Lincoln could dance around it, but Callum would see through that in about three seconds.
“I need your help. Your tactical expertise. And probably your contacts in federal law enforcement once all this is done.” Lincoln made himself hold Callum’s gaze. “And I couldn’t ask for that without telling you the truth first. You gave me a chance before, and I didn’t take it. That was wrong.”
“No, you didn’t take it.” Callum’s tone was mild. “You also looked me dead in the eye and did a terrible job of it. Worst poker face I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t play poker.”
“Which is probably why you still have your life savings.” The coffeemaker beeped. Callum poured two cups and handed one to Lincoln. “Like I said at your house, you’ve helped me more than once. That woman and baby in the other room are here because of you.”
“The situation with Sloane was different.”
“Was it?” Callum took a sip of his coffee. “Lincoln, I’ve known you since you were a weird kid following the adultsaround Linear Tactical, asking questions about security protocols that no twelve-year-old should’ve known to ask. You’ve always been…” He waved a hand vaguely. “You. But you’ve never lied to me before.”
“I know.”
“Which means whatever’s going on with this woman is different.”
Lincoln stared at his coffee. The words he needed weren’t organizing themselves the way data did. “She’s… I’ve never…” He stopped. Tried again. “My brain goes quiet when I’m with her. That’s never happened before. With anyone.”
Callum was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, as if that explained more than Lincoln had intended to say.
“All right.” He set down his cup. “So. Denver. What’s the plan?”
Lincoln felt something loosen in his chest. He’d prepared for arguments, justifications, having to defend his choices. He hadn’t prepared for Callum to simply move forward.
“I’ll brief everyone at the compound. Two hours.”
“I’ll be there.” Callum walked him toward the door, then paused. “Lincoln. This woman—Morgan. She matters to you.”
It wasn’t a question. Lincoln didn’t treat it like one.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Callum clapped him on the shoulder—brief, solid. “Then let’s make sure we don’t screw this up.”
Two hours later, Lincoln stood at the head of his command center, surrounded by the people he trusted most.
Bear and Derek occupied the chairs closest to the main display. Theo had claimed the spot near the door, arms crossed. Callum stood slightly apart from the others, hands in his pockets, taking in the setup with the quiet assessment of someone who’d run his share of operations.
And Morgan. She sat at her usual workstation, the box of letters from Montana resting beside her keyboard. The bruises around her nose had faded completely, and the cuts on her arms had healed to thin lines that would eventually become scars. She looked stronger than she had two weeks ago.
She also hadn’t taken her eyes off the Denver coordinates since Lincoln had pulled them up.
“Meet Calvin Driscoll, operating under the alias Jason Randall for the past ten years.” Lincoln displayed the photograph—corporate headshot, expensive suit, the kind of polish that came from money. “Former private military contractor.”
He pulled up the network diagram. Shell companies, property records, financial flows.
“Officially retired five years ago. Unofficially, he pivoted to something more profitable. Twenty-three shell corporations across twelve states. Most listed as document storage facilities. Boring on paper.” Lincoln highlighted several nodes. “Less boring when you overlay his companies’ locations with federal cases that collapsed due toevidence problems.”
“How many cases?” Bear asked.
“Seventeen confirmed. Probably more.”
“He’s fixed evidence at least seventeen different times?” Derek whistled low. “That’s a hell of a business model.”
