I hesitate. "We work well together."
He notes my careful wording but doesn't press.Smart man.
"And friends?"
"In my position? Hard to know who's a friend and who's just there for what I can give them."
"Sounds lonely."
The simple observation hits harder than it should. "Fame usually is."
He doesn't offer empty platitudes or pretend to understand. He just nods, accepting my truth without judgment.
"We're about twenty minutes out," Joe calls from the front seat. "Want me to stop in town for supplies?"
"No," Finn answers immediately. "I've got everything we need at the cabin. We'll do a supply run later this week if necessary."
Joe nods, and we turn off the main road onto a narrower one that seems to climb straight up the mountainside. The trees thicken around us, creating a natural barrier between the road and the outside world.
"This your property?" I ask.
"Not yet. About five more miles."
The road gets rougher, and I find myself gripping the door handle as we bounce over what feels like every rock in Montana.
"Sorry about the road," Finn says, noticing my white knuckles. "I keep it this way on purpose to discourage casual visitors."
"Effective strategy," I mutter as we hit another bone-jarring rut.
He almost smiles.Almost.
Finally, we reach a gate. Heavy metal, clearly electrified, with security cameras positioned strategically around it. Finn pulls out a phone I haven't seen before and presses his thumb to the screen.
The gate swings open silently.
"Welcome to the middle of nowhere," Joe says cheerfully as we drive through.
The road improves immediately once we're past the gate, smoothing out into a well-maintained gravel drive that winds through dense forest. After about half a mile, the trees open up to reveal a large clearing with a cabin sitting in its center..
But "cabin" doesn't do it justice. This is a fortress disguised as a rustic mountain home. Two stories of massive logs and stone, with windows that I'm certain are bulletproof. Awraparound porch with strategic overhangs for cover. A metal roof that would shed snow easily in winter.
It's beautiful. Imposing. Secure.
It's exactly what I would expect from Finn McKenna.
"Home sweet home," Finn says, and I hear something in his voice I haven't heard before. Pride. Contentment. Belonging.
This is more than a safehouse to him. This is his sanctuary. And he's bringing me into it.
The SUV comes to a stop, and Finn is out and around to my door before I can reach for the handle. He opens it for me, offering his hand to help me down.
The moment my feet touch the ground, I feel it. The absolute silence of true wilderness. No traffic. No planes overhead. No distant voices or music or the constant hum of civilization.
Just mountain air, pine scent, and a silence so profound it makes my ears ring.
"It's so quiet," I whisper, afraid to break the spell.
"It is," Finn agrees. "You'll get used to it."
