I wish I felt half that confident about what I've volunteered to do.
When Calder steps outside to finalize coordinates with DOJ, Marc joins me at the tactical map.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do."
"No." He's close enough I feel his warmth, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "You could walk away. Disappear into witness protection, let DOJ build their case without you."
"And let Haywood keep killing?" I shake my head. "That's not who I am."
"I know." His hand comes up, cups my face with surprising gentleness. "That's what scares me."
Neither of us moves. The air feels charged with everything this case has pushed aside but hasn't erased. My heart kicks against my ribs, not from fear this time.
"If something goes wrong—" he starts.
"It won't." I cover his hand with mine. "You'll be there."
"If I'm not fast enough?—"
"You will be." I hold his gaze, want him to believe it as much as I'm trying to. "You've kept me alive so far. I trust you."
His thumb traces my cheekbone, and for one suspended breath he might kiss me. Instead, he drops his hand, steps back.
"We run this operation my way. You follow every instruction exactly. No improvising, no heroics."
"Agreed."
But I catch the fear underneath his control. Not for himself, but for me.
We leave for Anchorage before dawn. Separate vehicles, staggered timing. Calder rides with me, running through protocols and contingencies while Cara monitors frequencies from the back seat.
"Contractors make contact, you stay calm," Calder says. "Let them approach, let them talk. We need them to articulate intent clearly enough for the recording."
"What if they just grab me?"
"Then we intervene immediately." She adjusts the body camera hidden in my coat. "But if Haywood's smart—and he is—he'll have them try persuasion first. Offer you protection, money, whatever story gets you to come quietly."
"And if I refuse?"
"They'll escalate. That's when we get the best evidence—clear coercion, clear criminal intent."
My stomach tightens. Easy to talk tactics in a cabin surrounded by armed personnel. Harder to maintain that calm when I'm alone with contractors who've already killed.
Cara's laptop chimes. "Finn's in position. Marc's moving to secondary overwatch."
Marc's out there somewhere in the Anchorage morning, rifle ready, watching approaches I can't see. The thought steadies me more than it probably should.
Anchorage materializes through the windshield—gray buildings, wet streets, normal people living normal lives. They have no idea what's about to happen in their coffee shop.
Calder parks a few blocks away. "You're on comms as soon as you enter the shop. We'll be listening to everything. Any sign of immediate danger, say the word 'hospital' and we extract you."
"Understood."
She hands me a purse I've never seen before. "Phone's inside, already transmitting. Keep it on the table where cameras can see it."
I take it, feel the unfamiliar weight. Leather's soft under my fingers, expensive, not mine. Nothing about this morning is mine anymore.
