I turn back. "Her file says she once confronted a group of corporate spies she discovered in her building. Alone. With a fire extinguisher."
Mace lets out a low whistle. "And you think you can keep this woman contained for two weeks?"
"I don't have to keep her contained." I pick up the tactical plan I drafted at 0200. Contingencies A through M, covering everything from perimeter breaches to client extraction to the remote possibility that she might actually follow instructions. "I have to keep her alive. That’s all."
"Is it though?" Mace stands, clapping me on the shoulder. "With someone like this, I'm not sure there is."
He leaves me alone in the command center with my plans and my growing certainty that Mara Plummer is going to test every single one of them.
Good.
I've never failed a protection detail in eighteen years of service. I'm not about to start now, no matter how brilliant or stubborn or chaos inducing the client might be.
I return to the satellite imagery, marking the eastern ridge blind spot for camera installation. Colt can have the equipment fabricated by tomorrow. We'll run a full team drill tonight, covering all possible approach vectors. I'll brief the client on protocols immediately upon arrival, establish clear boundaries, make certain she understands that her safety depends on following my instructions.
My phone buzzes. Deck.
"Yeah."
"Change of plans." Deck's voice carries the tension I've come to recognize over the past two and a half years. "Her advance team just called. She left San Francisco three hours early."
I check my watch. "That puts her arrival at?—"
"Forty minutes. Maybe less, depending on how fast she's driving."
"She's driving herself?"
"Apparently she dismissed her security detail at the airport. Said she needed to 'clear her head' before the retreat."
I close my eyes. Breathe. When I open them, I'm already moving toward the door.
"Dismissed her security detail." I keep my voice level, but only just. "While under active threat. To drive alone through isolated mountain terrain."
"Boone—"
"I'll intercept her at the main road junction. Send her vehicle details."
"Already done. Black Tesla Model S, plates?—"
"I have them." My tablet is already pulling up the route options from the airport. Three possible roads, but only one that makes sense if she's using GPS. "I'll make contact in twenty."
I'm out the door before Deck can respond, grabbing my jacket and keys from the hook. The February air bites at my skin as I cross the compound toward my truck, but the cold barely registers. All I can think about is a black Tesla somewhere on these mountain roads, driven by a woman who apparently has the self preservation instincts of a lemming.
The engine turns over with a growl. I pull out of the compound, gravel spraying, and push toward the main junction at a speed that would make Ryder nervous.
She's already breaking protocols and she hasn't even arrived yet.
The mountain road winds through thick pine forest, patches of snow still clinging to the shadows. I've driven this route hundreds of times, know every curve and blind corner. My truck handles the terrain like it was built for it, which it was, because I modified the suspension myself last spring.
Planning. Preparation. Control.
That's how you keep people alive.
I reach the junction seven minutes before her estimated arrival, position my truck across the access road, and wait.
The plan is simple. Intercept, verify identity, escort her directly to the compound. No stops, no detours, no opportunities for her to decide she needs to investigate some interesting rock formation or follow a deer trail because it looked pretty.
I check my weapon, confirm comms are active, and settle in.
