"Don't you start about the music," I whispered, humor threading through my voice.
"Too late," he breathed back.
The song reached its climax—those impossible wordless runs that nobody should attempt in a moving vehicle—and Dorian went for it. Voice cracking on the high notes, he grinned at his own audacity, completely unselfconscious for maybe the first time since I'd known him.
A theatrical cough erupted from the cargo area—James providing wordless commentary. Michael maintained his silence. Marcus caught my eye in the rearview mirror and delivered the slightest nod before returning his attention to the winding mountain road. No judgment or discomfort—acknowledgment that love had its own schedule, regardless of tactical considerations.
I realized: this was the moment I'd remember. Not the compound or the operation or whatever came next. This. Dorian was singing himself back to life in the mountains while we drove toward the man who had tried to kill him.
Some moments you can't plan. Some moments justare.
This was ours.
Beyoncé faded into advertisements for lumber sales and political candidates. Marcus silenced the radio, leaving us with the roaring effort of the SUV's motor and the whisper of tires against mountain asphalt.
The SUV climbed through a final switchback, and the compound revealed itself like a wound carved into living tissue. Marcus killed the headlights, coasting to a stop behind a cluster of granite boulders that offered concealment from the roadbelow. Below, artificial lights pierced the forest canopy as dusk began to fall.
Hoyle's installation dominated the valley floor like a mechanical parasite feeding on wild natural beauty. Guard towers and vehicle checkpoints signaled the compound had nothing to do with corporate retreats or wilderness conferences.
"Christ," James breathed. "It's a full military installation."
He was correct. It wasn't some rustic hideaway. Hoyle had constructed a complex designed to withstand prolonged assault, complete with overlapping fields of fire and what appeared to be multiple fallback positions carved into the surrounding hillsides.
Marcus engaged the parking brake. "Everyone out. Time to establish observation points."
Mountain air sliced through my jacket as I emerged from the vehicle's confined space. As I moved toward the ridge's edge, my boots crunched on loose granite. Following my training years ago, I headed for elevated ground with maximum visibility and multiple escape routes.
Dorian followed at my side. We positioned ourselves eight feet apart, each scanning different sectors of the valley floor.
Michael approached our improvised observation point carrying night vision equipment and encrypted radio gear. James followed with his tablet displaying real-time satellite feeds synchronized to federal command frequencies that crackled with operational chatter.
"Ho's teams report slotting into their final positions," Michael announced quietly. "Breach initiation in thirty-seven minutes."
The countdown was almost surreal. Somewhere within those floodlit buildings, people who'd devoted their careers to institutional brutality were preparing for their last stand, probably unaware that federal forces had already surrounded their buildings.
Alex's voice through Michael's phone gave us more details. "Thermal imaging confirms twenty-six heat signatures within the primary structure. Additional personnel dispersed among secondary buildings and perimeter positions."
Michael gave us orders. "We maintain this position regardless of developments below. Document everything. Provide medical assistance when needed. Under no circumstances do we initiate independent action without direct authorization."
"Understood?" Michael looked at each of us.
Nods all around, though I detected tension radiating from Dorian's frame that matched my frustration at being left out of the direct assault. He craved it as intensely as I did.
When I turned to look at him, I saw concentrated determination. It was the same expression I'd seen when he'd appeared bleeding on my doorstep, trusting me to keep him alive when every survival instinct screamed that attachment meant vulnerability.
One more night,I thought, watching him scan the compound's defenses.Just let us make it through one more night.
The mountains held their breath, and so did we.
Chapter twenty-two
Dorian
Through the night vision headset, the compound below looked alien—green-tinged figures moving with purpose under harsh artificial floodlights. Their shadows stretched and contracted like something out of a fever dream.
Twenty-six minutes.
I adjusted the focus, watching a guard pause to light a cigarette near the main entrance. The ember flared white-hot in my enhanced vision.
