They stood in the shadows at the forest's edge, emergency lights painting the trees in rotating colors. Red. Blue. White. The fire department had arrived with sirens that cut through the night like knives.
Deb Harding watched the chaos in the parking lot with visible anxiety, her body angled like she was ready to bolt deeper into the woods at any second.
"I need your contact information," Gabe said, pulling out his phone. "In case?—"
"No." The word came out flat. Final. "I can't. Levinger—the owner—he's a mean one. Connected. If he finds out I talked to you..." She shook her head. "I've already risked too much."
Gabe wanted to push. The FBI could protect her.
But the fear in her eyes was real.
"If I see him again," Deb said, meeting Gabe's eyes with the kind of earnestness that couldn't be faked. "If yourbrother comes back for food, I'll find a way to contact you. I promise."
Cara stepped forward, her voice gentle. "We understand. You've done so much already. Thank you for taking care of him."
Something in the older woman’s expression softened. A moment of connection between two women who understood what it meant to help someone while being scared.
"He's a good man," Deb said. "Your brother. Polite. Grateful for every scrap I left him. I hope you find him."
"Me too," Gabe said, his throat tight. He pulled out his wallet and handed her a card.
Deb melted into the shadows without another word. One moment she was there, the next she'd vanished into darkness.
Gabe stood there processing everything she'd told them. The timeline made terrible sense now. Between the warehouse and the woods here in Granger Point, David had successfully hidden for weeks.
Until two days ago when he'd gone back to the warehouse and walked straight into whatever trap had been waiting.
"Gabe." Cara's hand touched his arm. "We need to move."
Right. Focus on the situation. Process emotions later.
They moved carefully along the tree line, using the chaos in the parking lot as cover. Firefighters worked the burning truck. Patrons from the tavern stood in clusters watching the spectacle. Levinger and his two muscle-bound goons stood as close as the firefighters would allow, gesturing wildly.
Then Wade appeared from the shadows beside them.
Gabe's hand had moved toward his weapon before recognition kicked in.
"Easy there, cowboy," Wade said, his voice barely audible under the sirens and shouting. "We need to extract before someone decides to ask questions."
Gabe gestured toward the burning vehicle. “Nice work.”
"I thought so." Wade's expression gave nothing away. "Got luck with my choice of targets."
The three of them watched Levinger striding back and forth, phone to ear.
They moved as a unit toward the vehicles, using the crowd and emergency response as concealment. Gabe's rental SUV sat where he'd left it, blessedly untouched. The church van Cara had somehow acquired sat nearby in the shadows.
Wade's eyes locked on the van, then shifted to Cara with an expression that would have melted steel. "Speaking of lucky." His voice carried the particular edge of someone holding back significant anger. "A church van? Really?"
Cara had the grace to look sheepish. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"We'll talk about this later." Wade's tone suggested that conversation would not be pleasant. "Right now we move."
"Wade, I'm sorry—" Cara started.
"Later." He cut her off with the finality of someone who'd given an order and expected it followed.
The tension between them was thick enough to cut. Gabe filed it away with everything else he'd learned tonight about the people who'd somehow become his allies.
