Page 54 of Colton’s Secret Identity

No matter how invested she was in their mission, or how much she’d convinced herself she’d given up on Dylan long ago, it didn’t prevent the sour ball in her belly from growing heavier than it already had been since the task force meeting.

Buck up, buttercup. She’d go on, her life would carry on, after Dylan left North Dakota. But on her honor as a cop, she’d be damned if he didn’t leave completely whole. Uninjured by any member of this trafficking ring. Alive.

“It’s starting to really come down. Why don’t you eat the dinner we brought and then we’ll head out, before this affects visibility.” Dylan referred to the snow as he spoke quietly through the open driver’s-side door. She sat in the passenger seat, the car having become chilly since they’d turned the engine off. They’d driven the last half mile to this point without headlights and using the vehicle’s battery—the safety feature of an audible warning signal while in battery mode disabled for this op—to maintain the lowest profile possible. Dylan had been quiet since the near miss with the mule deer, their conversation minimal. They’d kept their words to the case. Veronica understood his introspective mood as she, too, was in her head, mentally preparing for the takedown in front of them.

They were less than a five-minute hike to Rex’s cabin, but because of the wooded terrain, the cabin was out of sight, as was their SUV to Rex and Bulldog. Several task force LEOs surrounded the area farther out, waiting to come in and provide backup. But everything had to remain quiet, lest Rex catch a whiff of the op and alert Slim.

“I’m done eating.” She’d downed the canned stew—cold—and small carton of milk while studying the maps Callum had provided. “Give me five to get my gear on.”

Dylan nodded, and closed the driver’s door without fully shutting it. The sound of snow hitting the ground, the tree trunks, was all they wanted Rex to hear. The rear driver’s door opened and he got into the back seat. “I’ll gear up, too.”

Grateful that she’d had time to gather her clothing from her loft apartment—and have dinner with her mother last night—she quickly put on her down jacket that was guaranteed for negative forty degrees Fahrenheit. She left her practical snow boots in the SUV, though. They didn’t have a lot of time and she didn’t want to waste it switching shoes. The dressier boots were warm, at least.

“I hope we’ve come up with a solid enough plan. They could always fire before opening the door.” It was her worst fear that they’d shoot without giving Dylan, aka Hawk, a chance to explain why Rex should continue to work with him and commit to forcing Slim to give them a fair share of the business.

“We’re past that. Let’s just get it done. Rex and Bulldog and then Slim, in cuffs, alive, is our only objective.” She heard the rustling of clothing as he dressed. They both wore body armor, which wouldn’t tip Rex or Bulldog off to their LEO identities. Drug traffickers wore Kevlar as much as cops.

“Preach.” She checked to make sure she had warmer mitts in her jacket, but donned her leather gloves so that she’d have maximum control over her weapon. She’d prefer bare hands when using the rifle the task force had provided, but in this cold she couldn’t risk frostbite, or worse, numb fingers that wouldn’t pull a trigger in time.

“We need to make our move now. I want to be sure we have enough time for Rex to lead us to Slim while there’s still daylight. As soon as night falls it’s going to be zero visibility.” Dylan’s comment made her look outside the car again, at her phone. They had two hours until sunset.

Veronica rechecked her phone, confirmed that nothing had changed since Cal sent the “go” directive. “Everyone’s in place, so no time like the present.”

She didn’t wait for him but let herself out of the car, surveyed the woods that surrounded them. They’d driven the final several hundred yards on the rough road in reverse, so that they could escape more quickly if needed. She sent up a silent prayer that they’d be leaving with Rex and Bulldog, though, heading for Slim’s place. For the final shakedown.

She breathed in the cold air. Fat flakes hit her cheeks, indicating more humidity in the storm. As the temperature dropped the flakes could become icy shards with the typical brutal winter winds North Dakota and Saskatchewan endured. Unholstering her handgun while she waited for Dylan to join her, she double-checked it, made certain the magazine was loaded.

A loud snap to her left had her raising her handgun, wishing she’d already taken the rifle from the back. She froze, still hyperalert after the mountain lion confrontation. The twitch of large ears caught her gaze, and she let out a laugh. A full-antlered mule deer stood at the edge of the clearing, watching her. Was it the same interloper who’d almost ended their mission before it began?

“Hey, bud.” She holstered the pistol and enjoyed a moment of serenity before the hell threatened to break loose. She’d never had this kind of trepidation before a takedown of any kind. Sure, she hated domestic confrontations as much as any other cop, and it was never fun talking a potential shooter down from harming innocents. But she’d never had such a blanket of dread over her attitude before.

Stop. It’s emotional, about Dylan. She’d deal with her personal baggage later. They’d prepared well for this last task, and the next few hours would go like clockwork, she was certain. She’d shake off the emotional hangover from dealing with Dylan after he left town again.

The buck’s large ears flicked as if he heard her thoughts, but the action was from Dylan exiting the SUV. The animal didn’t move, his gaze still steady on her.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend.” Dylan handed her the rifle she’d use to cover him when he went to the cabin door.

She didn’t reply as they began their trek through the woods.

Dylan and Veronica lay on their bellies as they took in the approximately one-acre parcel where the cabin sat, smoke curling from the pipe chimney, the two front windows lit from within.

“This isn’t a rustic hunting cabin,” she whispered.

“No, it looks like a place the ring’s set up,” he agreed. “They have the resources to place a fully equipped landing pad for their honchos wherever, whenever.”

“There’s no way our team could have known this, but we need to change our plan, Dylan.”

Their gazes met. He shook his head, no doubt already guessing her new tactic. “No, Veronica. Absolutely not.”

“I have to be the one to go to the door first and you know it. If you’re really Hawk, you’d sacrifice me before you show yourself. It’s the only way through this.” Before Dylan could refuse, she got to all fours, ready to move.

His hand on her shoulder stopped her. Their eyes met in a clash this time. Controlled fury arced from his but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let his anger stymie what she knew to be right.

“The task force expects me to go in first. If you go, they’re going to mistake me for a cartel guard, and shoot first.”

She fell flat on her belly again. “Nice try, but no.”

“How about the fact that this place is no doubt loaded with surveillance equipment?”