We worked for Citadel Solutions. We’d learned how to be ready for anything.
Chapter 5
Ben
Sure enough, two days later, we were staged across an access road behind a trailhead parking area that the county had gated for the winter. Two tactical vehicles, a van, and my K9 truck, tucked back where the tree line swallowed what little moonlight made it through the cloud cover. I’d left the engine running with the climate control holding steady in the bed—Jolly would stay comfortable in his crate until I came back for him.
The house we were about to infiltrate sat higher up, near the base of the north-facing slopes—a log cabin rental set back from a gravel access road, surrounded by dense pine forest on three sides and a steep ravine on the fourth. The kind of property that looked like a dozen other vacation rentals on the mountainside.
A network of dirt trails and fire roads connected most of the cabins along the slope, branching and intersecting through the trees like capillaries. Any vehicle coming orgoing could be a tourist hauling outdoor gear, a property manager checking on a rental, or someone moving drugs.
But there was no way to tell the difference without eyes on every trail, and there weren’t enough officers in Summit Falls to cover half of them.
From what I understood, this bust was based on the main road camera having caught enough action at this cabin to justify tonight. Fourteen vehicle visits in six days. Three registered to individuals with prior drug charges. As of four hours ago, a dark SUV was still parked in front of the cabin.
Vance ran the briefing from the back of the tactical van, his voice low and steady. Ten officers in full kit listened, faces half lit by the glow of a tablet propped against the wall. Vests going on. Weapons checked. Comms tested with low clicks and murmured confirmations. Nobody cracking jokes about who was going to die this time.
Donovan stood beside me near the rear doors, one arm up and leaning against the frame, his eyes moving methodically over each officer, checking how they wore their gear. You could tell a lot about someone’s experience by how they kitted up—loose straps meant sloppy habits, and sloppy habits got people hurt in tight spaces.
Jolly was already different. The harness had done it—the moment I’d pulled it from the back of the truck and clipped it on, the dozing dog had vanished. But this wasn’t the training building. No paint rounds. No bite suits. Tonight, anything that happened to him would be real.
“Intel says this is a distribution point,” Vance said. “Product comes in, gets broken down, moves out to street-level dealers.”
He tapped the screen, and a rough floor plan appeared. “House is log construction, single-story, three bedrooms. Main entrance faces the access road. Rear exit off thekitchen leads to a deck and then the tree line. Cellar access through a hatch in the main living area.”
Vance let that settle, then moved on. “Once Charlie team secures the outer perimeter, Alpha and Bravo will take their positions, and then Alpha breaches. Bravo will be on standby to push more bodies into the house, should the need arise. You know your assignments.”
He checked his watch. “Time to target is twelve minutes out from objective.”
The van went quiet. Officers checked gear, tightened straps, ran through their own private rituals. Martinez pulled on his gloves with the worried expression of a man who was suddenly remembering all the times he’d been shot during training while carrying the shield.
This wasn’t training. Someone could get killed.
Reeves was across the van, double-checking his magazines, his movements a little twitchy. Youngest guy on the team by at least five years. He caught me watching and gave a tight nod.
I glanced over at Donovan and tilted my head toward Reeves. Donovan gave an almost imperceptible nod. He’d look out for the kid.
I ran my hand down Jolly’s back. His muscles were bunched tight, vibrating with that barely contained energy I knew as well as my own heartbeat. Seven years of this, and the anticipation never dimmed for him. Every operation was the first operation. Every doorway held the promise of the work, the search, the find.
“Easy, boy.” I kept my voice low, my hand steady. “Not yet.”
His tail thumped once. He pressed his head into my thigh and waited.
Twelve minutes later, we were stacked outside the cabin’s front entrance, pressed against the log wall in the dark,breath visible in the cold mountain air. Charlie had the perimeter locked down. Bravo was in position at the rear. Vance’s voice came through the earpiece, barely above a whisper. “Alpha, you are green.”
Martinez hit the front door. The ram punched through the dead bolt on the first strike, and he was through the frame before the door finished swinging, shield up, voice booming. “Police! Search warrant! Get on the ground!”
I was third in the stack, Jolly heeling tight to my left side as we flowed through the entry.
The cabin’s main room opened up in front of us. Exposed log walls. Stone fireplace against the far side. A kitchen separated by a counter that ran half the length of the space.
A single lamp had been left on near the front window. A television mounted above the fireplace was still playing, volume muted, the screen casting blue light across fast-food wrappers and energy drink cans on the counter. One of the cans was still sweating.
Martinez swept left, shield angled toward the kitchen. Two officers peeled right, weapons up, flashlights cutting across the darkened hallway beyond.
I held Jolly at the threshold, keeping him behind the clearing team. Every muscle in his body vibrated against my leg.
“Kitchen, clear!”
