She looked up sharply. “What kind of call?”
“Delta Five,” I said. “The President brought them in. They’ve been tracking money and comms traffic for a while now. Copper Ridge Mine lit up their board.”
Her fingers tightened around the file she was holding. “So it’s bigger than we thought.”
“It always is,” I said. “They traced encrypted calls that bounced through a government server and ended up in Colombia. The path passes through this town. This Sheriff’s department.”
“And you’re just now telling me this?”
“I got the call an hour ago,” I said. “You called me before I could come find you. Besides, I wanted something concrete before I—”
She exhaled, some of the anger bleeding out. “Sorry. It’s just… every time I think I see the edges of this thing, it gets bigger.”
“Welcome to the party,” I said.
She gave a humorless huff of a laugh. “So what now?”
“Now,” I said, “you go home, lock your doors, and get some sleep. Delta Five lands in a few hours. When they do, this whole investigation changes.”
She hesitated. “I can’t just go home. I have paperwork—”
“Julia,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re dead on your feet. You’re more useful alive.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Yeah? Tell that to the guy who tried to shoot you on a dirt road outside the mine.”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue. That alone told me how tired she was.
“I’ll follow you home,” I said. “Make sure you get there in one piece.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I do.”
For a second, something unguarded flickered across her face. Then she swallowed it down and nodded.
“Fine,” she said. “But once I’m inside, you’re going back to the cabin.”
“Sure,” I lied.
Julia’s placesat on the far side of the lake, a small cottage with peeling paint and a wraparound porch. I remember my mom wanted me to buy this home, so I lived near them. She’d liked Julia, even back then. Always said we’d end up together if I didn’t screw it up. Instead, I moved away.
I parked on the side of the road, lights off, watching as Julia’s truck pulled into the gravel drive. The rain had eased up to a stubborn drizzle, mist hanging over the water like smoke.
She got out slowly, moving like she weighed twice as much as she did. Her porch light flicked on, a yellow cone in the fog.
I scanned the tree line. Quiet. Too quiet.
My gut tightened.
She reached the steps, hand fishing in her pocket for her keys. The moment her foot hit the first riser, the night exploded.
The flash came first—white and sharp from the trees. Then the crack of a rifle.
“Julia!” I shouted.
The bullet hit the porch post inches from her shoulder, splintering wood. She dropped instinctively, rolling to the side as another shot hit the railing.
