Page 25 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets

Dog took a slow breath. His expression was steady but softer now. His gaze lingered on her with quiet concern. “No, not running. We’re heading to Warden’s cabin. It’s off the grid, remote, a place where we can stay hidden until the team back at the farm finishes gathering all the evidence we need to take Charles down for good.”

Margaret’s brow furrowed. “And once you have the proof?”

“We turn it over to the FBI, Homeland Security. We let the authorities do their job. Charles goes to prison. That is the goal. No more running. No more hiding.”

She hesitated, then asked softly, “How long do you think we’ll have to stay off the grid?”

Dog reached out slowly and brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The simple touch was tender and steadying. “Probably a couple of weeks, maybe more. It will take time to get everything lined up right. Until then, we stay hidden, stay safe, and watch each other’s backs.”

Margaret’s eyes softened at the gesture. For a moment the chaos outside this car felt miles away.

A silence settled between them until Margaret’s voice broke through, faint but anxious. “What about the kids? Emily and Charles. I left them with their father. What happens to them?”

A memory, stark and visceral, flashed in her mind. It was Noor, her face etched with a pain Margaret now recognized as her own, whispering to her the other day in the bunker. “My Samir was seven, habibti. Seven years old, when I made the choice. Faisal, that monster, he would have taken him, locked him away, or worse, sold him like property. Basra was not safe. So I sent my boy into the streets. Alone. A seven-year-old, I put him in danger, put him out there to be stolen, to be lost, because it was the only way I knew to keep him from a far worse fate. The hardest choice, Margaret, is the one that tears your soul, but saves your child.” Margaret had swallowed hard then, just as she did now, the weight of that truth a heavy burden. This time, though, the tears came. Hot, silent streams tracing paths down her cheeks, a quiet sob catching in her throat.

Dog’s face grew serious again, but the warmth in his eyes never faded. He shifted closer, pulling her gently against him, wrapping his strong arms around her. She leaned into the embrace, a deep, shuddering breath escaping her. His hand came up to rest on the back of her head, cradling her as he spoke, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “They are our biggest concern. That is why this has to end cleanly and quickly. We will make sure the kids are protected, no matter what. No one is going to hurt them.”

Margaret gripped his shirt, her voice thick with emotion, muffled against his chest. “I just hope they will understand someday why I had to leave.”

Dog’s gentle smile returned, though unseen. He tightened his hold, a silent promise. “They will. And we will make sure they are safe until then. You are not alone in this.”

Margaret glanced at him, feeling the steady strength of his embrace and his words, and something else, something quietly hopeful blossoming between them amidst the storm.

17 - DOG

The SUV rumbled along the narrow dirt trail, tires crunching pine needles and gravel beneath them. The dense forest closed in on both sides, towering evergreens blotting out the fading light. For the first time in days, the noise of the outside world faded. The distant hum of engines, the crackle of radios, and the ever-present threat of eyes watching from the shadows disappeared. Here, there was only the steady rhythm of the SUV and the crisp scent of cold Maine pine.

Jake kept his focus on the winding trail ahead while Margaret sat quietly in the backseat, her fingers tightly clenched in her lap. Dog eased beside her, letting the silence stretch between them. Sometimes no words were needed.

Dog wasn’t sure when this primal need to shield her had taken root, but it was there, a deep, insistent thrum beneath his tactical training and years of solitude. It was more than just a mission; it was personal. He’d spent so long building walls, trusting only a select few. Yet, with Margaret, those walls felt porous. Her vulnerability, her fierce will to survive, the surprising flashes of wit amidst her terror, they were chipping away at his defenses. He found himself wanting to see her smile without reservation, to hear her laugh without the echo of fear. The thought was dangerous, distracting, but he couldn’t push it away entirely.

An hour stretched into two, the only sounds the steady drone of the engine and the occasional rustle of unseen wildlife in the woods. Jake kept his focus on the winding trail ahead, his silence a familiar, comfortable presence. Dog’s thoughts drifted, touching on the men back at the farm, the ticking clock to get Charles’s operation dismantled, and then inevitably, back to Margaret.

He wondered what she was thinking now. Was she replaying every painful memory, every calculated betrayal? Or was she, perhaps, just finding a brief, desperate peace in the rhythmic motion of the vehicle, in the simple act of not being hunted for a moment? He hoped it was the latter.

He looked out into the deepening gloom of the forest, the shadows long and unyielding. This remote cabin was meant to be a sanctuary, a temporary pause. But he knew, with chilling certainty, that the real fight was only just beginning. And he would fight it, for Margaret, for her children, for the fragile hope he felt blooming in the quiet space beside him. He shifted his grip slightly, making sure she was comfortable. He would watch over her, no matter what came next. The silence of the forest was a heavy cloak, but in it, a new kind of connection was slowly, tentatively, forming.

The narrow road eventually opened into a small clearing. Nestled against a sheer seventy-foot granite cliff was the cabin. Its heavy timber frame served as much as a barrier as a home, blending into the wilderness like a fortress. There were no neighbors nearby. No grid. No distractions. Just a place built to be defended.

Warden was already waiting, leaning against the cabin’s weathered siding with his arms folded. His eyes scanned the treeline with unshakable vigilance. As their former SEAL team leader, he bore the burden of every mission, every loss, most recently the night the helicopter was shot down in Syria when Tank had died. After the funeral, Warden had told Dog he was going off-grid to get his head on straight. His team’s desperate need was the only reason he’d resurfaced now, offering up his grandfather’s stronghold.

He nodded curtly as they pulled up. “Good to see you made it,” he said, his voice gruff but steady.

This was Warden. Dog hadn’t seen him in a couple months, but time away hadn’t softened the lean, watchful intensity in his eyes. He was a man carved from granite and silence, perfectly suited to this hidden sanctuary.

“Dog,” Warden’s voice was a low rumble. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

“Warden,” Dog replied, his own voice hoarse from the long silence. He gestured to Jake. “This is Jake, he drove us. And this is Margaret.”

Warden’s gaze, sharp and assessing, flickered to Margaret, then back to Dog. “Inside,” he said, pushing open the heavy, reinforced front door of the cabin. There was no warmth in his tone, only raw practicality.

The cabin’s interior was austere but welcoming in its ruggedness: the comforting smell of pine and woodsmoke, the soft glow from a roaring fire in a cast-iron stove. A root cellar door, secured with heavy bolts, was visible in the corner. Solar panels on the roof, Dog knew, fed the basics, while reinforced walls and a single access trail made it highly defensible.

“This place was designed for a long stay,” Warden said, his eyes now on Jake. “You’re safe here. No grid, no neighbors.” Dog eyed the sheer rock face behind the cabin, the natural wall that shielded them from attack from the rear. The only way in was a funneled path through dense forest. It was a perfect trap, or a perfect sanctuary.

Margaret trailed behind Dog, her shoulders hunched. She stopped by the stove, rubbing her hands over the radiating heat. Dog could practically see the bone-deep weariness pulling at her.

Margaret offered a tired but deeply grateful smile, turning her gaze to Warden. “I think I need to wash the last three days off me. Is there hot water?” Her voice was soft, fragile.