Finn gets out of his truck. Marc kills the engine but doesn't move.
"Wait here," he says. "Let me clear it first."
"Clear it?"
"Make sure nobody's waiting for us." He opens his door. "Lock it behind me. Don't open it unless I tell you to."
Then he's gone, moving toward the cabin with Finn. Both of them have weapons drawn now. They split up, Finn going right, Marc going left, approaching the cabin from different angles.
I lock the door and watch them move through the darkness with practiced efficiency. They don't hesitate. They've done this before, worked together before, know each other's patterns.
The cabin door is locked. Marc tests it, then nods to Finn. Finn produces a key from his pocket. They go in together.
Minutes crawl by. I count my breaths. One. Two. Three. I try to keep my heart rate steady.
The cabin's dark. I can't see anything happening inside.
Then a light comes on, faint and probably battery-powered. Marc appears in the doorway and gives me a signal.
I unlock the truck door and step out into cold air that bites through the borrowed fleece jacket. It's below freezing, probably. My breath makes clouds in the darkness.
I tuck the Glock into my jacket pocket, feeling its weight against my side.
The clearing is silent except for wind in the trees. There are no animal sounds, no distant traffic, just wind and darkness and cold.
Finn walks over as I approach the cabin. "It's clear," he says. "Nobody's been here in months. Solar panels are working, water tank is full. You've got supplies for weeks if you need them."
"I appreciate this," I tell him.
"Emma deserved better." His expression is hard to read in the dim light. "Anyone who's trying to finish what got her killed needs to be stopped. You staying alive helps stop them."
He's practical with no heroics.
Marc appears on the porch. "We're secure. I'll do a perimeter check before Finn heads out."
Finn nods and heads back to his truck. He pulls out a duffel bag and brings it to the porch. "Extra supplies. Food, batteries, first aid kit. Radio's charged. Frequency is already set to the sheriff's station."
"Thanks," Marc says.
Finn looks at me. "Cell signal up here isn’t too great but the clearest spot is on the northwest ridge, a couple hundred yards up from here. You get up there, you can always get a cell signal. Line of sight to a tower on the next mountain. but keep it brief. Someone could triangulate if you're on too long."
I nod. It's an emergency exit if things go wrong.
Marc disappears into the darkness beyond the clearing, flashlight beam cutting through the trees.
"Come on," Finn says. "No point standing out here freezing while he works."
We step inside the cabin. It's warmer than outside but not by much. The space heater hums quietly in the corner.
Finn leans against the doorframe, watching through the window. "Marc comes off a bit like Dudley Do-Right, doesn't he? All protocol and by-the-book."
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask.
"Nah. Just don't let it fool you." Finn's expression is thoughtful. "Guy's got more edge than he shows. Army CID doesn't train boy scouts. They train investigators who can handle themselves in bad situations." He pauses. "Rhys trusts him. That tells you everything you need to know."
I process that. Marc Wells, the quiet deputy who pulled me out of a parking garage firefight without hesitation. Who's now checking the perimeter in the dark to make sure I'm safe.
Maybe Finn's right. Maybe there's more beneath that controlled surface than he's let me see.
