“So I smell. Thanks.” I poured a mug and leaned back against the counter. I drank my coffee and looked at him in my t-shirt in the gray morning light. “What are you thinking about?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess. How I ended up here. What it means for my future. But mostly what I’m going to do today so I don’t get bored cooped up here in this apartment.”
I understood that. There was a reason I preferred the camp over headquarters. I needed room to move around.
Which gave me an idea.
I had a new group coming in next week—a sheriff’s department from East Texas—and I hadn’t been out there since I left to go to the cabin. Since Bobby had been staying at the camp to keep an eye on things while I was on vacation, he’d said he would get everything set up and ready. He was capable, and I trusted him, but I liked to walk the property myself before a new group arrived. Since I was back early, there was no reason I couldn’t check things over.
“I need to go out to the camp today,” I said.
He looked at me.
“I want to check in with Bobby. Make sure we’re set up for the group coming in next week.” I paused. “You could come. If you wanted.”
I’d suggested it to give him something to do, but I realized I actually wanted him there. Wanted to show him where I spent most of my time. What I’d built out there.
He looked interested, but something held him back. “Is it safe? To go so far away from headquarters?”
“We’ll take one of the armored vehicles. The camp is on private land, gated, and the whole perimeter is monitored. It’s more secure than most places you could be.” I held his gaze. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.”
The interest won, and he smiled. “Yeah. I want to see where you live.”
The camp sat on the outside of town, but Vesper wasn’t huge, so it didn’t take us too long to get there. I’d called and let Bobby know we were coming, and he had the gate open by the time we pulled up the long gravel drive. He stood beside it with his hands in his jacket pockets and an expression like he hadn’t been watching for us.
He was twenty-one, straight out of a community college criminal justice program, with more raw potential than he knew what to do with yet. I liked the kid and was glad he ended up out here at the camp as often as he did.
We stepped out of the SUV, and he moved toward us.
“Everything’s ready. You want to check it out?”
“In a bit. Give me a few minutes first.”
“Sure thing. Just holler.”
I took Noah up the path toward the farmhouse. He was taking in everything—the spread of the property, the outbuildings, the wooded perimeter, and the cabins set back from the main drive.
“This suits you,” he said. “How much land is it?”
“Forty-three acres. Most of it wooded.”
“And those are the trainee cabins?”
“Yeah. They sleep six each. We have four of them.” I glanced over. “You can look inside one if you want.”
“Maybe before we leave.”
We reached the farmhouse, and I pushed open the front door.
The ground floor opened into the communal kitchen and dining area with a long wooden table that had seen enough elbows and coffee mugs to earn the marks on its surface, an industrial coffee maker that ran most of the day, and a whiteboard where I tracked schedules and gear assignments. Enamel mugs hung under one cabinet, and a cast-iron skillet rested on the stove because, whether I was here or in the cabin, I didn’t like to cook in anything else.
It wasn’t fancy. But it worked.
“This is where everyone eats,” I said. “And where we hold classes or meetings.”
Noah ran his hand along the edge of the table, fingertips brushing the worn wood. “It’s a good space.” He tilted his head back, studying the exposed beams and the light pouring through the east-facing windows. “The house is old.”
“1940s. The family that owned the land before us built it. We redid the wiring, insulation, and HVAC. It was a collection of smaller rooms when we started, but we also opened up the downstairs so it could handle a group without feeling cramped. My quarters are upstairs. Want to take a look?”
