"I have a call with my sisters," she said finally. "I'll tell them the delay is temporary."
"Right. Temporary."
We ended the call without a goodbye.
In the distance, a dust cloud lifted behind Daniel’s vehicle as he drove hard toward the ridge. Juliette was out there with canvas for walls, a phone in her hand, and Daniel still three minutes away.
She was right. The delay was temporary. She had a life waiting for her in Florida. I had a cut fence and men in the scrub.
I turned back toward the gatehouse to coordinate the sweep. The road out was closed. That should have made things simpler.
It didn't.
Chapter 22
Mercer Said No
JULIETTE
Danieldidn’tletmefinish packing.
He said it twice in the exact tone of a man under strict orders not to negotiate. The suitcase had been open since dawn, half-packed before Nick’s last order kept me away from the panels, the deck, and anything that looked like unnecessary movement.
The cruiser was already running when I stepped onto the deck, my boots barely laced, my suitcase still open on the luggage rack inside.
"Ma'am, we need to move."
"My bag—"
"Will be collected. Please."
The please had edges. I got in.
The cruiser swung hard onto the western track, tires spitting red grit into the air behind us. My hair was still loose, one hand pinning it off my face while the other braced against the grab handle. The canvas panels of my suite disappeared in the side mirror, swallowed by dust and morning light.
Excellent. Evacuated before coffee in yesterday’s linen shirt over a sleep tank, boots barely laced, hair still pretending gravity was optional. No espresso. No luggage. The revolution had officially begun.
Daniel’s radio crackled with short codes—enough to raise my pulse, not enough to give answers. His responses were clipped, efficient, and offered me nothing.
From what little I could piece together, I was not the first person they’d moved. The lodge guests were already being held at the main building. Anyone still out in the ridge suites was being collected by whichever ranger could reach them fastest.
Twice, I tried to pry loose a detail. Twice, he gave me the verbal equivalent of a locked door.
"How many men?"
"Not confirmed."
"That means at least two."
His eyes flicked to the mirror.
Interesting. Not a denial.
"Are they still inside the fence?"
"We're treating it that way."
"That means yes."
