“Focus,” Forest growled, but his hand brushed Zoe’s arm under the table—a quiet anchor only I felt.
Fraiser studied the map, then gave a sharp nod. “All right. We lock it down. Max, Nate—you take rooftops. Axel, Lane—you’re on the roadblock. Jason, Brewer, Forest—you’re mobile. Eyes, ears, and muscles. If North blinks, I want to know before he finishes the thought.”
The weight of command settled in the room, heavy and final.
I looked at Zoe. Her jaw was set, her eyes fierce.
We weren’t just chasing North anymore.
We were about to box him in.
31
North
The SUV rolled to a quiet stop on the ridge above town. I stepped out, boots crunching gravel, and inhaled the acrid air of smoke and fear.
The square below no longer looked fragile. It looked… fortified.
Checkpoints at both roads. Deputies were posted at the church steps. Civilians were herded into the school gym like livestock. And on the rooftops? Movement. Predators.
My lips curled. SEALs.
They were spreading like wolves, securing every shadow, stitching a net around the town. Forest, Zoe, their merry band of do-gooders—they thought they were closing the trap.
The man in the suit shifted beside me, his expression sour. “They’ve locked it down.”
I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Good.”
He frowned. “Good?”
I gestured toward the square, where the SEALs rallied with deputies, radios crackling, rifles bristling. “Containment works both ways. They’ve walled themselves in. Which means now… they can’t get out.”
The man considered me, cold eyes narrowing. “Do you have a plan?”
I lit a cigarette, the flame sharp against the wind, and exhaled smoke into the morning air. “Always.”
My gaze slid over the school gym, the packed civilians, the fear settling like ash. A thousand variables, a thousand ways to break their illusion of control.
“They wanted to make this their stronghold,” I said, smiling wider. “So let’s make it their coffin.”
The man’s silence was answer enough.
I turned back to the town, the corners of my lips curling.
The real show was about to begin.
32
Zoe
The town had never been so quiet. No traffic. No chatter from the café. Even the church bells seemed muted. Just boots on pavement, radios crackling, and the tense hum of too many rifles in too small a space.
I walked the square beside Forest, my Glock steady at my side. Civilians peeked from windows, faces pale and worried. Kids pressed their noses to the glass of the school gym doors, wide-eyed.
“We’re scaring them,” I muttered.
Forest’s eyes swept the rooftops where Nate and Max took their posts. “Better scared than dead.”
