Chapter 10 - THE RECKONING AT DAWN
Z
Arthur Vance was staring directly at me through the reinforced glass window of the transport van. He wasn't looking defeated. He wasn't looking afraid.
He was smiling.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his gloved hand to his throat and made a sharp, horizontal cutting motion across his neck before the van doors slammed shut, obscuring him from view.
My hand tightened instinctively on Rachel's shoulder.
"Ethan?" she asked, noticing the sudden rigidity in my body. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, smoothing my expression before she could turn to look. "Just thinking about the work we have to do back at the house."
"The house is going to need a lot of cleaning," she sighed, closing her eyes against the warmth of the morning sun. "And we need to buy a new front door."
"I'll fix it," I promised. "I'll fix everything."
We stayed on the tailgate of that truck until the last of the military helicopters cleared the airspace, watching the valley return to its deceptive, beautiful stillness.
Two days later, the house was restored to order. The broken glass was replaced, the woodshed was re-stacked, and the quiet rhythm of our life returned on the surface. Rachel went back to her work at the library, though the town was still reeling from the news of Sheriff Cole's sudden death.
I stood in my workshop, the scent of motor oil and iron filling the air as I worked on the engine block of a customer's tractor. The sun was setting, casting long, orange shadows across the concrete floor.
The landline phone on the wall rang.
I wiped my hands on a grease rag, walked over, and lifted the receiver. "Vance Auto Repair."
Silence answered me. Just the faint, rhythmic ticking of a secure long-distance line.
"Ethan," a woman's voice spoke—cold, precise, and entirely unfamiliar. It wasn't Ward. It wasn't anyone from JAG.
"Who is this?" I asked, my grip tightening on the receiver.
"Arthur Vance was merely a regional manager, Commander," the woman said, her voice dripping with calm authority. "You cut off one head of the snake in Montana. Did you really think the body died with it?"
"If you come anywhere near this valley," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, lethal register, "I won't call JAG this time. I'll hunt down every board member you have left."
The woman let out a soft, chilling laugh. "We're already in your valley, Ethan. Check your mailbox."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
I dropped the phone, my heart pounding in my chest, and stepped out into the cool evening air. I walked down the long gravel driveway to the wooden mailbox at the road's edge.
I opened the door.
Inside lay a single, crisp white envelope. No postage. No stamp.
Printed neatly in the center was my full military rank and name: COMMANDER ETHAN VANCE.
And inside the envelope was a single photograph, taken earlier that afternoon.
It was a picture of Rachel, sitting at her desk inside the town library, smiling at a patron, completely unaware of the red laser sight resting directly over her heart.
May you like
I folded the photograph, my knuckles turning white, my breathing slowing into a dead, lethal calm as I looked out toward the dark mountain peaks towering over the town.
The war wasn't over. It was just beginning.
