He was ready.
13
Zoe
Mirror Lake was too quiet. Not peaceful, quiet—waitingquiet. The kind that makes the hairs on your neck stand up and whispersyou’re in someone else’s story now.
Forest and I reached the east shore, boots crunching on frost. The lake was smooth as glass, reflecting pine and sky like it thought it was perfect. The only imperfection was us—two shadows in gear, moving slow, careful.
My radio crackled. “Zoe?”
Lane’s voice. My little sister, Sheriff of Fraiser Mountain, the one person who still thought she could save me from everything.
“I’m here,” I whispered back, crouching behind a fallen log. “You in position?”
“West ridge. Jason’s with me. We’ve got eyes.” Lane’s voice was tight, calm, all cop. Former FBI. “Don’t make me explain to Mom why you got yourself killed.”
“Mom already thinks I’m reckless,” I muttered.
“I saiddon’t prove her right.”
Forest leaned close, lips brushing my earpiece. “Sheriff sounds like she likes me better than you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I hissed. “She doesn’t likeanyone except Jason, and Thor.I’m kidding, we all know how much my sister loves me.”
“True,” Lane cut in, so don’t die. “Jason says if you two screw this up, he’s not helping with bail.”
Jason’s voice joined, smooth, that spy-movie calm that made my teeth itch. “Try not to blow up my wife’s county, Brewer.”
“Tell your wife to mind her own county,” I shot back, because sibling dynamics never die—even under sniper overwatch.
“Focus,” Forest murmured, amused as hell, but eyes never leaving the treeline.
I adjusted my grip on the Glock, adrenaline buzzing. “Copy.”
Movement.
Three figures stepped out onto the opposite shore, dressed in black jackets and masks, one of them carrying a bright-blue cooler, as if this were a picnic. The cooler made my stomach drop. Nothing good came in coolers at midnight.
Then a fourth figure appeared. Not masked. Tall, lean, silver hair slicked back, suit like he thought the mountain was a boardroom. He carried himself like gravity bent around him.
Mr. North.
“Detective Brewer,” his voice rolled across the water, amplified by some trick of the air. “And Mr. Reed. How scenic.”
Forest’s jaw flexed beside me. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe heavy. He just watched.
“You left me gifts,” I called, stepping out from cover before Forest could stop me. “Phones, maps, party favors. Very thoughtful.”
North’s mouth curved. “And yet you didn’t follow instructions. I asked foralone.Instead, you bring… family.” His eyes flicked up toward Lane’s ridge, like he knew exactly where she was. My stomach clenched.
“Guess the invite got lost in the mail,” I said.
North lifted a hand. The cooler man popped the lid. Inside, I caught the glint of steel. Not drugs. Not cash. Weapons—compact, modified, neatly packed.
“Distribution,” Lane’s voice crackled in my ear, clipped. “They’re using the mountain to arm someone.”
North’s gaze found mine across the water. Calm. Cold. “You have a choice, Detective. Walk away now. Leave this mountain to me. Or…” He gestured at the cooler. “…become part of my supply chain.”
