Page 327 of Rangers Mountain Rescue

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Vehicles roll down hill the last stretch.

Silent.

Controlled.

Predators closing in.

I step out first.

Night air hits hard.

Cold.

Sharp.

Alive.

“Split into two teams,” I say. “Flank left and right.”

Briggs nods.

“Got it.”

The CIA agent steps up beside me.

“We take center,” he says.

I glance at him.

Then toward the site.

Then back.

“No,” I say.

His jaw tightens.

“We need direct line of sight—”

“You’ll get it,” I cut in. “When I say.”

Tension spikes.

Again.

Always again.

But this time?

He doesn’t push.

Good.

Because I’m not in the mood.

We move.

Low.

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