The SUV can't follow. Traffic blocks their lane change, and we're already on the ramp, heading south toward the coastal highway route back to Anchor Bay.
Cole maintains aggressive speed, putting distance between us and the last confirmed position of pursuit. We merge onto I-5 proper, settling into the flow of evening traffic heading out of Portland.
"They lost visual," he says after checking mirrors constantly. "Doesn't mean they stopped looking, but we've got enough lead to reach Anchor Bay before they can coordinate another intercept."
"How did you get here so fast?"
"Broke a lot of speed limits." He glances at me, and ice flashes in his eyes. "You disobeyed a direct order."
The warmth drains from the truck's interior. What replaces it isn't anger, but something colder, more deliberate.
"Staying trapped seemed unsound," I say carefully.
"I didn't ask for your assessment. I gave you an order designed to keep you alive until I could extract you." His tonegoes flat, emotionless. The VP mask completely gone, replaced by the Delta Force operative who expects compliance. "You made a unilateral decision that could have gotten you killed."
"But it didn't."
"Irrelevant." He takes the next exit with precise control. "You got lucky. The operatives were tracking to grab, not kill. If their orders had been different, your mobility would have made you an easier target, not a harder one."
The words land like ice water. He's right, and we both know it.
"Next time you ignore my assessment, we're going to have a problem." Not a threat. A statement of fact, delivered in a tone that makes clear exactly how serious that problem would be. "Clear?"
"Clear."
Silence fills the truck for several miles. Portland falls away behind us as the highway stretches toward the coast. My adrenaline is fading, replaced by exhaustion and the awareness of how close I came to being grabbed.
"They were ready to grab me in public," I say into the quiet. "In front of witnesses, with cameras around. That's not careful criminal behavior."
"It's desperation." His voice stays flat, clinical. "Kline's running out of time. The frame didn't work. Threatening Gemma just made us operational. Now he's escalating to direct action because you're the primary threat to whatever he's planning."
"What is he planning?"
"Don't know yet." He checks the mirrors again, automatic assessment. "But Church meets tomorrow morning. Will calls it, I present threat assessment and the financial evidence you've compiled." His knuckles go white against the steering wheel. "Brothers vote on response. And they'll vote to hunt."
"You can't know that."
"I know my Brothers. Kline threatened Gemma. Sent operatives after a woman under my personal protection. They'll vote for war." He doesn't say it with pride or satisfaction. Just certainty.
"Federal investigation?—"
"Takes time we don't have. ATF builds cases through warrants and evidence chains and proper channels." He cuts me off, voice dropping into something frigid. "I eliminate threats. That's what Delta Force taught me. That's what I'm good at. Kline made this personal when he threatened Gemma. Made it operational when he sent operatives after you. Now he's a problem that needs solving, and I don't solve problems by waiting for the system to work."
Not hypothetical. Not bluster. Statement of intent from someone who's killed before and will kill again when necessary.
"You're talking about assassination," I say quietly.
"I'm talking about neutralizing a hostile combatant who's demonstrated intent and capability to harm my people." He doesn't flinch from the terminology. "Legal or not, Kline dies before he gets another chance to hurt what's mine."
What's mine. The words are possessive, absolute, leaving no room for negotiation.
I should object. Remind him about law and jurisdiction and federal authority. Tell him that extrajudicial killing makes him a criminal regardless of justification.
Instead I ask, "What do you need from me?"
His eyes cut to me briefly, reading my acceptance. "Brief me on everything you have. The financial evidence, Kline's background, his connections, his resources. I present it to Church tomorrow, Brothers vote on response."
"I can't present it myself?"
