DECK
She's late.
I check my watch for the third time. Six-fourteen. Fourteen minutes past when I told her to be ready. Fourteen minutes I've spent on the porch in the predawn cold, watching my breath frost and reminding myself that strangling the woman I'm supposed to protect would be counterproductive.
The cabin door opens, and Vivian stumbles out looking like she lost a fight with her suitcase.
She's wearing what I assume she thinks is appropriate outdoor attire. Yoga pants that cling to curves I'm trying very hard not to notice, a fitted thermal top that does nothing to hide her figure, and sneakers that would fall apart after a quarter mile on this terrain. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, wild black waves catching the first light of dawn, and she's squinting against the cold like it personally offended her.
"You're late."
"Your coffee maker is from the seventies." She wraps her arms around herself, shivering. "It took me fifteen minutes to figure out how to use it."
"I don't have a coffee maker."
"Exactly my point. That thing is a percolator. I had to figure it out through trial and error. Mostly error."
She holds up a travel mug like it's a trophy, and despite my irritation, the corner of my mouth twitches. I suppress it.
"Lesson one. On this mountain, you adapt or you fail. The terrain doesn't care about your comfort level or your caffeine addiction. Neither do the people trying to kill you."
"Cheerful. Do you practice these speeches, or do they come naturally?"
"They come from experience." I step off the porch and head toward the tree line. "We're starting with a perimeter walk. Two miles. Try to keep up."
"In these shoes?"
"In whatever you've got. Next time, pack better."
I hear her mutter something distinctly profane, but she follows. I set a pace that's challenging but not impossible, testing her fitness level. She's in better shape than I expected. Her breathing stays controlled for the first half mile, and she doesn't complain even when the trail gets rough.
The forest is beautiful at this hour, all silver light and long shadows. I know every tree, every rock, every game trail and water source. This is my territory, and showing it to her feels strangely intimate.
"This is the eastern perimeter." I stop at a spot where I've mounted a motion sensor on a tree trunk. "Anything larger than a deer trips the alarm. I get a notification on my tablet and the cameras activate."
She examines the sensor with more interest than I expected. "How many of these do you have?"
"Enough. The property is roughly a square mile, with the cabin at the center. I've layered defenses in concentric rings.Outer perimeter gives me early warning. Inner perimeter gives me response time."
"And if someone comes from above? Helicopter?"
Smart question. "No-fly zone over this area. Federal designation, thanks to some favors Marshal Taylor called in. Any aircraft that enters the zone triggers an automatic alert to the FAA and local law enforcement."
"So the Castellanos would really need to come on foot."
"Through terrain that takes hours to navigate even if you know what you're doing. Like I said, city killers don't know what they're doing."
She's quiet for a moment, studying the forest around us. The fear that's been a constant presence in her eyes since she arrived has faded slightly, replaced by calculation.
"You've thought of everything."
"I've thought of everything I can anticipate. The problem with threats is they don't always follow the playbook."
We continue the walk, and I point out landmarks, camera positions, escape routes. She asks questions that reveal a sharp tactical mind, drawing connections I wouldn't expect from someone with no military training. By the time we complete the circuit and return to the cabin, she's sweating despite the cold, but she hasn't complained once.
"Not bad." It's the closest thing to a compliment I can manage. "You have decent endurance. We'll work on your speed."
"Gee, thanks." She bends over, hands on knees, catching her breath. "What's next on the torture agenda?"
