But as Izzy looked past the peonies toward the dark, open terrace, she knew the “easy” atmosphere was a thin veneer. The mountain was out there, watching, and the lanterns only reached so far.
41
The North Line
The woods around the landing strip were a graveyard of silence.
Scout Wilson moved like a shadow through the hemlocks, his breathing synchronized with the wind. He’d rappelled down the shale face of the ridge an hour ago, his movements mechanical and silent. He knew the camera loops—Grant had mapped them, and Scout had memorized them.
He waited until the last security guard, a man lighting a cigarette and looking bored, climbed into a golf cart and headed back toward the main house. The hum of the electric motor faded, leaving only the distant, ghostly vibration of the jazz band from the gala.
Scout reached the building, corrugated steel cold to the touch. The main loading doors were deadbolted, but the high ventilation louvers near the back weren’t designed to keep out a man with Scout’s reach. He used a collapsible shim to bypass the latch on the side personnel door—a trick he’d picked up in a different life—and slipped inside.
The air in the warehouse was dead. It smelled of ozone, industrial plastic, and something chemically sweet.
He clicked on a low-lumen red penlight. The beam swept across the floor, landing on the rows of plastic-wrapped pallets. He found them in the third row.
V. VARGA / VANGUARD.
Scout pulled a serrated blade from his belt and made a clean, four-inch slit in the shrink wrap. He peeled back the plastic. Inside weren’t paintings or antiques. They were reinforced crates, and inside those were vacuum-sealed bags of a fine, crystalline powder.
He didn’t need a lab to know what it was. This was the “expensive mistake” Wade had talked about.
Scout pulled a small glass tube from his tactical vest. With gloved hands, he took a sample, capped it, and slid it into a padded pocket.
Suddenly, the heavy roll-up door at the far end of the building groaned.
A truck engine rumbled outside, its headlights cutting through the gaps in the door like white blades. Scout’s heart kicked into a high, steady rhythm. He didn’t panic. He moved. He stayed low, sliding behind a stack of crates labeled Furniture Refinishing and pressed his back into the shadows just as the side door he’d come through flew open.
Two men walked in, their voices loud and jagged compared to the jazz at the lodge.
“Move the Varga pallets to the front,” one of them growled. “The plane returns at 0400, and if the count is off again, it’s our heads.”
Scout stayed motionless, his hand hovering near his sidearm. He was a shadow among shadows. He waited until they moved toward the forklift at the opposite end of the floor, the engine’s roar drowning out the sound of his retreat. He slipped out theside door, merged into the treeline, and didn’t stop until the warehouse was a dark memory behind him.
He pulled his phone, shielded the screen with his jacket, and sent a two-word text:
SAMPLED. CLEAR.
* * *
The Hollis Estate
Inside the Great Room, Burke felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. He didn’t pull it out immediately. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes tracking Wade Hollis across the room, but the tension that had been holding his shoulders like a vise finally broke.
He looked over at Caitlin. She was standing near a vase of cream peonies, looking like a dream in that hunter green silk. The jazz band had shifted into a slow, classic standard.
The mask was still on, but the mission was half-won.
Burke walked toward her, the silver star on his shirt catching the light. He offered her a hand, his voice low and for once, devoid of the Sheriff’s weight.
“They say the first dance is for the guests,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers. “And I’m tired of standing by the wall, Caitlin.”
Caitlin smiled, her hand sliding into his. “I thought you’d never ask, Sheriff.”
As he led her onto the floor, Burke caught Grant’s eye near the terrace. Grant gave a microscopic nod. He knew. The sample was moving.
For the first time all night, the air in the place felt like it might actually be worth breathing.
