Page 60 of Claimed on the Ridge

Bryan sets the pistol down. "How far out?"

"Ray saw them yesterday morning heading north from the junction. Linda had them in town by afternoon. If they kept moving, they could've been the vehicle on the road today. If they stopped for the night, they're close."

Cameron unfolds the map. The topographical survey of the ridge and surrounding valley, marked with access points I've been monitoring since the storm broke. He spreads it flat and weighs a corner down with his thermos.

"The road's the only vehicle access," Cameron says. "South switchbacks are the narrowest section. If they're coming by vehicle, they come through there."

"The old logging road on the east side washed out last spring," Dash adds. "But a motivated person on foot could make it through the culvert section. Steep but passable."

Bryan leans forward. "How many men does Simmons have access to?"

I'd given them his name after I found it. Bryan filed it the way he files everything: silently, completely, ready to use.

"The background check pulled up his business. Corporate security consulting, based out of Anchorage." I'd had the information since before Kendall told me her name. "The firm employs ex-law enforcement and private contractors. He has resources."

"Two men is reconnaissance." Kendall's voice is level, and every head at the table turns toward her. "I heard him on the phone enough times to know how he works. Gary doesn't send two to retrieve. He sends two to find, then sends more once they've confirmed. If they're still asking questions, they haven't pinned me down yet." She pauses. "The photo is new. When I left, he didn't have a recent one. I made sure of that. If he's circulating a photo, he had one made. Enhanced from something older, maybe security footage."

The table is quiet. Bryan's eyes move from Kendall to me. The look says one thing: she knows more about this man than we do.

"What else does he do?" I ask her.

"He monitors credit card activity, which is why I use cash. He runs searches on my real name, which is why I use a different one. He'll have contacted hospitals and urgent care facilities, any place that files insurance or reports to a database." She drinks the coffee. Her hands are steady. "Gary is patient. He doesn't rush. He prefers to locate, confirm, then apply pressure slowly. He'll want to isolate me before he makes contact. Separate me from anyone who might interfere."

'Anyone who might interfere.'

"He won't isolate you," I say.

"I know."

The silence around the table has weight. Cameron studies the map, his fingers tracing the contour lines of the access road. Bryan's hands are flat on the table. Dash hasn't moved from the doorway.

We've done this before. For others, before Kendall. Hunters who wandered too close to someone's claim. A woman a while back whose ex followed her to a cabin rental on the south ridge. A pair of repo men who came looking for a truck that belonged to a friend of my father's and left without it.

The coordination between us runs deeper than this situation, and the fact that it activates without discussion tells me my brothers have already decided the same thing I have. Kendall stays. Whatever comes up that road leaves.

"Cameron, I want you on the road. Morning and evening aren't enough anymore. If you see that SUV, plate numbers, occupant count, direction of travel. Don't engage. Don't let them see you looking."

Cameron nods.

"Bryan, south overlook. Best sight line on the switchbacks. Take the long rifle and a radio."

"Already on it." Bryan's voice is flat, economical. This is the version of my brother that other people never see.

"Dash, east side. The logging road and the tree line past the equipment shed. If anyone comes through on foot, I want to know before they reach the clearing."

Dash straightens in the doorway. The grin is gone. The face underneath it is harder than he'd like and sharper than most people expect.

"What about Amberly?" Dash asks.

"I'll call her. She stays in town. If they come back to the store or the clinic, she calls me directly. Not Cameron. Me."

Cameron folds the map. Bryan picks up the pistol and slides it into the holster he's been wearing under his coat, which meanshe's been carrying since before I called the meeting. Dash pushes off the doorway and heads for the mudroom.

They disperse without ceremony. The coordination runs on instinct drilled into us by my father, who managed this ridge with the expectation that his sons would adapt and execute without being told twice. The operational competence he beat into us is the same competence that's going to keep Kendall alive.

Cameron's truck starts outside. Bryan's boots cross the back porch, heading for the south trail. Dash pulls on his coat in the mudroom.

The kitchen is empty except for us. Kendall sits at the table with her notepad and her coffee. She's looking at me the way she's been looking at me since the briefing started. Patient. Sharp. Waiting for the part I left out.