I followed him back to the main room, where someone had already pulled up the hatch in the floor near the fireplace. Rough-cut wooden stairs dropped into darkness. Jolly went down ahead of me, his nails clicking on each tread, his nose already working before we reached the bottom.
Concrete floor, poured over the original dirt—recent work, the surface still smooth in places. The space ran most of the length of the cabin, with a ceiling low enough that Donovan and I both had to duck under the floor joists.
Industrial steel shelving lined both walls. Empty now, but the dust patterns told a different story—clean rectangles on each shelf where something had sat recently. The shapes were still visible in the thin layer of grime that coated everything else. A roll of packing tape and a box of gallon ziplock bags sat on the floor near the stairs, left behind or forgotten in the rush.
Donovan swept his light across the shelving. “Look at the dust patterns. Whatever was on these shelves was here a long time.”
I pointed to the clean patches. No dust at all. “And it was moved tonight.”
Jolly alerted four times in the cellar. Four separate locations where the drug-residue concentration was strong enough to trigger his trained response. Each time, he sat withclean precision, just like he was trained to—no wavering, no uncertainty.
I pulled his ball from my pocket and rewarded him after each alert. He caught it, crunched it between his jaws, and went right back to work the moment I gave the command.
Near the back wall, a utility sink sat on a metal stand, its basin stained and dry. A floor drain below it was recessed into the concrete. Jolly alerted twice more near the drain, sitting with absolute certainty on concrete that looked no different from the rest. Someone had rinsed containers over that drain.
“Nine alerts total,” Donovan said. “Three upstairs, six down here.”
Whatever had been in this cabin, it had been stored, broken down, packaged, and distributed. And then cleared out fast. They’d grabbed the product and nothing else.
“They knew,” I said. “Somebody tipped them off.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. We’d talk about it later.
Outside, the mountain air hit me hard after the stale closeness of the cabin. Officers gathered in the gravel clearing out front, and the adrenaline that had nowhere to go was turning sour. I could see it in the way they moved—too fast, too loose, gear getting shucked off with more force than necessary. Helmets tossed onto hoods. Vests ripped open.
The kind of restless energy that came from gearing up for a fight that never happened.
Vance stood near the tactical van, phone pressed to his ear, already coordinating evidence techs and follow-up. His jaw was tight.
“That energy drink on the counter was still cold,” Reeves said. “They didn’t leave hours ago.”
I nodded. It was a good observation by the rookie. The other officers looked at one another, and I watched the mathhit them one by one. The cabin had been occupied tonight. The product had been here tonight. And someone had warned them in time to grab everything that mattered and disappear into the backcountry before a dozen cops rolled up the access road.
“Somebody tipped them off recently.” Briggson pulled off his helmet and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Who knew about this op?”
Nobody answered. Nobody wanted to be the one to say out loud that it could’ve been someone in their midst who’d notified the bad guys.
Martinez leaned against the van’s bumper, away from the group, his phone out. His thumbs moved across the screen, his attention somewhere other than the conversation happening ten feet away. Could have been texting his wife. Could have been something else. I watched him for three seconds, then looked away before he noticed.
It wasn’t suspicious exactly. But at best, it was annoying as fuck.
“So, since the drug runners are gone, are we done here?” Briggson asked. “I’d like to get home before sunrise if we’re just sitting around with our thumbs up our asses.”
Also annoying as fuck.
Vance walked over from the van. “Martinez, start the evidence log. Reeves, coordinate with the perimeter team for a sweep of the surrounding trails. The rest of you, stand by for reassignment.”
Officers moved. I watched Vance return to the van, already dialing someone new, his face focused, frustrated. Then I turned and watched Reeves head for the tree line with his flashlight and his shoulders set.
Everybody was pissed. Rightfully so.
Vance caught my eye and jerked his chin toward the access road. “Garrison, we’re good here. Get the dog home.”
I nodded and started toward the trail that led back to the staging area. Donovan fell into step beside me.
We walked in silence for a minute before he spoke. “Tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Debrief.” See if either of us had spotted anything useful.
