River Channing.
Gage Sparrow.
Tag Harris.
Oliver Steel.
Lyon Spenser.
Every one of them is tied to the Golden Team.
Every one of them listed in a volunteer recruitment database in a small Montana church.
That’s not a coincidence.
That’s surveillance.
“Wren,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
“You’re absolutely sure about these names?”
She nods.
“I ran them through three different databases.”
“And?”
“They all connect to the same thing.”
“Golden Team.”
“Exactly.”
I lean back in the chair, rubbing a hand across my jaw.
That explains the feeling I had in the church.
The sense that we’d walked into something much bigger than a small-town volunteer network.
The door behind us opens.
Boots hit the floor.
Adam Stoker walks into the kitchen, followed by Russ Duncan.
Both of them look half-awake but alert.
Years of operating together does that to people.
You learn to wake up the moment something feels wrong.
Adam glances between us.
“What’s going on?”
Wren turns the laptop toward him.
