Chapter 27 - The Safehouse Run
Twenty minutes later, Damon’s old Ford F-250 was rumbling down the back country roads, headlights off, running solely on amber parking lights to avoid detection from any stray surveillance vehicles. Evan was asleep in the passenger seat, completely exhausted by the adrenaline crash, his head resting against the passenger window. Buster lay curled on the rear bench, his muzzle tucked beneath his tail.
Damon’s hands rested lightly on the steering wheel at nine and three. On the console beside him lay an encrypted satellite phone he hadn't powered on in four years.
He pressed the power button. The small monochrome screen flickered to life, searching for a military constellation link before establishing a secure handshake with an offshore relay.
He dialed an eight-digit numeric code from memory.
The line rang once. A gruff, gravelly voice answered without a greeting: *"Speak."*
"Miller," Damon said quietly. "It's Red One."
A heavy pause hung over the line, followed by the sound of a chair scraping against concrete on the other end. *"Damon? Christ alive, brother. You haven't used this frequency since we pulled out of Jalalabad. What's burning?"*
"Local trouble," Damon said. "A corrupt local booster took a run at my house tonight. Four contractors. They breached the perimeter."
Miller’s voice hardened into absolute flint. *"Evan?"*
"Unscratched. We’re twenty miles out from your cabin right now. I need you to take him for twenty-four hours. Keep him in the subterranean room. Nobody in, nobody out."
*"Consider it done,"* Miller replied without hesitation. *"I've got three hundred rounds of match-grade .308 and two boys from the old unit visiting for hunting season. If an ant crosses my property line without an invite, it gets vaporized. What about you?"*
"I have some business to settle in town," Damon said, his tone flat. "The man who paid for the hit is sitting in his mansion on Blackwood Ridge. He thinks he’s a king."
*"Damon..."* Miller cautioned, his voice dropping an octave. *"Don't leave a trail that brings the Bureau into this. You've got the kid to think about."*
"There won't be a trail," Damon said. "I'm not going to shoot him, Miller. That’s too easy. I’m going to take everything he has, expose every corrupt deal he’s ever made, and leave him with nothing but a pair of handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit."
*"Good hunting, Red One,"* Miller said softly. *"See you at the gate in twenty."*
Damon clicked the call off and slid the phone back into his pocket.
He glanced over at Evan. The boy's face was relaxed in sleep, free of the fear that had gripped him an hour before. Damon reached out, gently smoothing down the collar of his son's jacket.
May you like
Everything Damon had done in his previous life—the midnight parachute drops, the blood, the terror, the long months away from home—had been done in the name of duty. But this was different. This was for his flesh and blood. And against a father defending his only child, Marcus Vance was about to learn that all the money in the world could not buy protection against an apex predator.
***
