Page 67 of Faultline

Rhys nods. Marc writes.

The rest of the briefing covers rental registrations, corporate accounts Rhys traced through the state troopers, and the pattern of coordinated movement that matches what Liam found on his service road. She's methodical and unsentimental, delivering the threat assessment the way I imagine she delivered them at the Bureau: clearly, without editorializing, with the expectation that everyone in the room is competent enough to draw their own conclusions.

When it's over, Rhys and Marc leave first. Liam waits until they're on the stairs before he moves toward the door.

"Tosh." Harlow catches me at the threshold. Her voice is quieter now, stripped of the briefing register. "The GPS data shows repeat stops near your Aurora Covenant office. More than once."

The information lands like cold water down my spine. My office sits across from the Ridgeline on Main Street, ground floor, glass door with the logo printed on it.

"They've been watching your office," Harlow says. "If they've done any homework at all, they know what you've been building against them. The case you're assembling is the one thing their lawyers can't outmaneuver, and repeat stops outside your door suggest they've figured that out."

"I'm aware."

"Are you?" Her eyes hold mine. The former agent assessing the civilian. "Being aware and being prepared aren't synonymous. Do you have a plan for what happens if they decide the case is the bigger threat than Liam's property?"

"My plan is standing at the bottom of your stairs."

Harlow almost smiles. "Good plan. Terrible contingency." She pauses. "I'll have Rhys increase patrols on Main Street. But you might consider working from the cabin until this settles."

Liam is on the sidewalk when I come down. His truck is parked at the curb outside Hank's, and two men I don't recognize are leaning against the tailgate.

Older. Work-worn. The kind of men who measure their days in board feet and diesel receipts. One of them wears a jacket with a faded patch on the shoulder that reads MATANUSKA TIMBER COOPERATIVE.

Liam sees me and does something he's never done in public. He extends his hand.

Not toward the men. Toward me.

The gesture is small. An open palm, angled slightly, waiting. He isn't performing for Main Street. He's reaching for me because I'm here and his hand wants to know where I am.

I take it. His fingers close around mine, warm and rough, and he draws me to his side.

"Tosh, this is Arne Halverson and Jim Teague. They run the cooperative that manages the timber contracts north of the junction." He turns to them. "Tosh is with me. She's been coordinating with Harlow and the sheriff's department on the Cascade investigation."

With me.

Not "my friend." Not "the advocate from Aurora Covenant." Not any of the professional labels he could have used and that I would have understood.

With me.

Arne shakes my hand. His grip is calloused to the point of geological formation. "Heard about the town meeting," he says. "Heard about the fire, too. The cooperative's been watching Cascade since they started filing mineral claims on land we've got harvest contracts on."

"We're pulling Liam's timber allocation forward," Jim adds. "Getting his sellable stock to the mill in Palmer before the situation gets any worse. Cooperative voted on it yesterday. Figured he shouldn't have to worry about losing the harvest on top of everything else."

Liam's hand tightens around mine. The grip is possessive and something rawer underneath, the reflexive clench of a man whose community just closed ranks around him while he was too busy fortifying to ask.

"We'll need access through the main road gate," Jim says. "Your new gate's something else, Liam. Took Arne a while to figure out it opened."

"It's not designed to be convenient."

"No kidding."

"We'll get you a key," Liam says. "And the radio frequency. We're running a backup communication system in case the cell tower goes. Tosh has the coordination details."

We.

There it is again. Tosh has the details. We'll get you a key. He's stopped thinking of his operation as a one-man show. Not because collaboration comes naturally to him. Because I've woven myself into every part of his defense, and he's finally decided to stop pretending otherwise.

I give Arne and Jim my number and the radio channel Carl set up.