She stood and padded to her bedroom, where her Bible lay on the nightstand next to a tower of financial crimes textbooks. The leather cover was soft beneath her fingers, worn from years of daily reading.Your word is a lamp unto my feet,she recited silently,and a light unto my path.
"Even if that path leads to Montana, apparently." She managed a weak smile. "You know me and nature don't exactly get along. Remember church camp? I got poison ivy just looking at the woods."
But there was no denying the gentle tug in her spirit. The same quiet insistence that had guided her through every major decision in her life. If God wanted her communing with pine trees and whatever else lurked in the Montana wilderness, there had to be a reason.
Her laptop chimed. The email from her supervisor contained a packing list that made her stomach drop. Hiking boots. Weather-appropriate outerwear.Bear spray.
"Bears?" Sarah sank onto her bed. "There are actual bears?"
She opened a new browser tab and typed:What to pack for Montana wilderness survival.
The search results did nothing to calm her nerves. Apparently, Montana in late March could mean anything from spring flowers to surprise blizzards. The wildlife included mountain lions, wolves, and something called a wolverine that looked like it had anger management issues.
Another chime. This time, a flight confirmation. Joint Base Andrews, 0800 departure. Military transport.
Sarah frowned. Why not a commercial flight? The unease that had been simmering in her chest bubbled higher. Everything about this felt wrong. The timing, just when she was close to a breakthrough. The location, completely isolated. The transportation, unnecessarily complex.
She glanced back at her laptop, where the Panama-Cyprus transaction still blinked. Stillwater Defense Solutions. The name had appeared three times in the past week, always connected to accounts that shouldn't exist, moving money that couldn't be traced.
Unless you knew where to look. Unless you understood the patterns.
Five days. She could survive a hundred and twenty hours of whatever field training horror awaited her. Then she'd come back and finish what she'd started. The biological passport scheme that everyone wanted to stay buried would finally see daylight.
She grimaced and shut down her laptop before trudging across the room to pull her ancient suitcase out from under the bed. Three laptops went in first, carefully wrapped in extra sweaters. Phone chargers, portable batteries, and her backup hard drive followed.
She held up the cute scarlet jacket she’d bought for theDC winter and laughed despite herself. "Yes, perfect for wilderness training."
By the time she'd finished, it was past midnight. The single pair of boots she owned—fashionable ankle boots from Nordstrom Rack—sat on top like an afterthought.
But what about bear spray? Even if it wasn’t midnight on a Sunday, did anybody in the DC area even sell such a thing? No problem. She’d stop at a store once they touched down. They probably sold it at every corner minimart. She could do this.
She knelt beside her bed, hands clasped. "Lord, I don't know what You're doing here. Please watch over me. Give me wisdom and discernment. And maybe lodging that involves indoor plumbing and reliable internet."
She paused, then added, "And if there's danger waiting for me—real danger, please send help. Send someone who knows what they're doing. Because we both know that's not me."
The prayer settled her nerves enough to attempt sleep. But as she lay in the darkness, listening to the familiar sounds of DC traffic, she couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow would change everything.
Her phone screen lit up one last time. A news alert about military funding, Senator Blackwood's name in the headline. The same senator whose campaign had received donations from three different Stillwater shell companies. A fact she’d only uncovered two days ago.
As sleep finally claimed her, one thought echoed through her mind:What if someone knows what I found?
2
Griff had learnedto trust his gut the hard way.
Three tours in the sandbox had taught him the difference between normal quiet and the kind that meant an IED waited around the corner. That little voice that whisperedsomething's wronghad saved his life more times than he could count. Which is why he stood in the predawn darkness outside Sarah Winters' apartment building at 0530, nursing lukewarm coffee and questioning his sanity.
A week of surveillance had established her routine down to the minute. Coffee at 0615. Shower at 0630. Out the door at 0715 to catch the Metro. She was a creature of habit. As predictable as sunrise. There was absolutely no reason for him to be here this early, watching her kitchen window for signs of movement.
But something had been niggling at him all night. That same instinct that had warned him about ambushes and hidden threats screamed at him until he’d given up and fired up his motorcycle.
A light flickered on in her second-floor apartment. 0530. Way early.
He set his coffee on the curb, instantly alert. Through the lit window, he could see her moving around, already dressed. Not in her usual Bureau-appropriate blazer and slacks, but in jeans and a sweater. On a Monday.
Not good.
A black SUV turned onto her quiet street, headlights cutting through the morning mist. Government plates. It pulled up directly in front of her building and idled, exhaust visible in the cold March air.
