“I spent the last three years of my life planning my escape. That meant learning everything I could about my enemy.”
“PSR means Precision Sniper Rifle. Military issue, not something civilians can easily acquire.” Mason strides to the window. “Your husband has serious connections.”
“His reach goes beyond the legal system. He’s tied to arms dealers, politicians…”
Mason scans the tree line through a reinforced window. “Then you already know this isn’t just a cleanup crew. They’re here to bury every trace of you.”
“I don’tthinkthey know about the backup drive. If I don’t make it…”
“You will. They don’t know I’m part of the equation now.” Mason’s jaw tightens. “That gives us an edge. Don’t worry, Willow. Youwill bewalking away from this.”
“You’re not scared?” I wish I were as certain as him. I reach into my pocket reflexively, feeling the small, hard shape through the fabric.
I stare at him, heart pounding.
“No. Assume they know everything. It makes any surprises hurt less.” He turns, his expression raw and wounded, before the soldier mask slips back into place.
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. Iwillprotect you.” His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip in a gesture already familiar and necessary. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” he says softly. “And I’ve served with men who ran into gunfire to save their brothers.”
Heat floods my cheeks at the praise, and I lean instinctively into his touch. His thumb presses more firmly against my lip, a gentle reminder that grounds me even as fear threatens to overwhelm me.
“I need you to do exactly as I say, when I say it.” His voice takes on that dominant edge that makes my knees weak. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, Sir.” The words come without thought, natural as breathing.
“Good girl.” His approval means the world to me. “First things first. I need you to know what we’re working with.”
He leads me to a sturdy table where he spreads out what looks like architectural blueprints of the cabin and the surrounding area.
“The cabin sits in a natural depression,” he explains, one finger tracing the topographical lines. “Anyone approaching has to come downhill through these trees, which gives us lines of sight and natural choke points.” He points to several X marks on the map. “Motion sensors here, here, and here. They triggered one of the outer alarms.”
He points to a section further out on the map. “They’re definitely professionals, because they didn’t breach the secondary detection layer. Right now, they’re probing my setup to see what they’re up against.”
“Sounds bad.”
“It’s good.”
“Good? How?”
“It gives us time.” Mason pulls at his chin. “I’m guessing they’ll come at night. They don’t know my outer sensors detected them.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because they pushed through but stopped at thesecondary layer. That means they’re thinking things through. Easier to attack at night, and it gives them all day to search.”
I blow out a breath, my cheeks puffing out as I do.
“That gives us a few hours to prepare. The storm worked in our favor. The snow is thick, and that will slow them. They’ll wait for the snowpack to harden and visibility to improve.”
His competence should be reassuring, but fear still claws at my throat. “Mason, these men… They’re killers. Professional. Well-equipped.”
“So am I.” A smile touches his lips, and there’s nothing warm about it. It’s the smile of a predator anticipating the hunt.
He moves to a locked cabinet, entering a code I can’t see. Inside sits a satellite phone and what looks like specialized communications equipment. He punches in a number and speaks in clipped tones. Military jargon I can’t follow flows with practiced ease. He ends with, “Confirmed. Ghost protocol. Six-hour window.”
When he turns back, determination has hardened his features to granite.
