Security hides in the bones of the place. Reinforced doors disguised as custom woodwork. Cameras embedded into the beams. The driveway curves just enough that anyone coming up it will be visible for a long time before they reach the house.
You have to want to find this place. You have to know where to look.
It will do.
What stays with me is how natural it looks with Brooke in it.
I watch her move through the house like she belongs there. Luna in her arms. Krueger pacing at her side. She checks the back door. Tests the window latches. Moves down the hall and clears each room without being told.
She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look over her shoulder waiting to be hurt. She looks like someone who has decided she won’t be caught off guard again.
I am proud of her for that. I just don’t want it to be all she ever has.
I know how to live in blood. I know how to plan violence and carry it out. I know how to end someone and make sure there is nothing left that can be traced back.
What I don’t know is how to give someone a quiet life without contaminating it with what I am.
And I want to.
Brooke Sinclair deserves a life that is not paid for in blood.
She deserves mornings that don’t start with surveillance reports. Nights that don’t end with body counts.
I don’t know how to build peace.
I only know how to defend it.
So I stand there and watch her set Luna down on the couch, watch Krueger settle near her feet, and decide that whatever it takes, I'm going to make sure she doesn’t have to keep doing this forever.
We move toward the dining room in silence.
Beau stretches out on the couch, boots crossed at the ankles. Krueger sprawls across the floor beside him. Travis paces near the window, phone in hand, thumb moving fast.
Then he stops.
His posture shifts.
“She’s coming to Washington.”
That is all he has to say.
The next name on our list is handed to us without effort.
Kristie Talbert.
Travis turns the phone toward us.
Kristie smiles back from the screen, standing beside a red and blue campaign bus. The slogan beneath her name makes my jaw tighten.
The National Coalition for Safer Communities.
“She’s stopping in Spokane,” Travis says. “Press event. Touring sites affected by vigilante violence. She’s using it for votes.”
“She’s campaigning to be the governor of California,” Brooke raises a brow. “Why Washington?”
“Image rehab,” Travis answers. “Multi-state healing initiative. She’s softening the ground before someone starts digging into her finances.”
“Then we end the campaign.” Brooke doesn’t blink. “We’ll just make her disappear.”
