Page 1 of Winter Reckoning
1
“Almost there.”
The locker room smelled of industrial cleaner and old coffee. It was better than the smell of Cody’s body spray. No matter how many times we kicked him out the door buck naked, he’d do it again after the next mission. I wouldn’t miss that.
I twisted the name patch free from my jacket and held it for a second longer than I needed. Frost. Twenty years of putting my life on the line, reduced to a strip of fabric and thread. I dropped it in the trash without ceremony.
The duffel sat open on the bench. I packed methodically. Suit. A bottle of scotch the guys got me as a retirement gift. Spare gloves. No weapons. No gear. The department could keep it all. I zipped the bag and slung it over my shoulder.
I eyed the calendar hanging on the door of my locker. Christmas had been circled in red sharpie. Bah, humbug. It just so happened that my last day on the job happened on a holiday. I huffed at the thought. It was probably the best present I could ask for. In a brightly colored box with a tidy red bow, my ability to fade into the nothingness.
The commendation board hung near the exit. Photos of retired officers, plaques for years of service, a few condolence cards tucked into the corners for the ones who didn't make it out. I recognized most of the faces. Only a few had come and gone before I joined the Task Force. My photo would eventually join them. Maybe they'd spell my name right.
How many of those faces had said, “If they’d let me, I’d come back in a heartbeat”? Once upon a time, I felt the same. I’d have reenlisted just for the prestige of being on the Powered Task Force. Now? I had become the best, but I was willing to put it behind me and lead a quiet life.
Only three shifts remained. Three days until I disappeared and put law enforcement behind me. The plan was simple: a cabin upstate, no neighbors, no noise. Maybe I'd learn to golf? No, I’d take up woodworking. I couldn’t wait to sit in the silence and wrap it about me like a warm blanket. The slow-paced life sounded perfect.
The hallway outside the locker room stretched long and empty while the overhead fluorescent lights flickered. My boots echoed against the tile. Early morning meant a skeleton crew. I preferred it that way. I had begged to work the least desirable shift. No handshakes. No speeches about dedication or sacrifice.
I passed a window where Judy continued filling out paperwork. We had stopped a woman determined to get revenge on her husband. Not our usual case, except she could hurl fireballs and he could lift a car. Both had been put behind bars at Cold Iron. Let the investigators figure out what came next. In my opinion, he deserved every scorch mark.
I made it halfway to the exit before Captain Alvarez stepped into my path.
"Frost."
I stopped. Didn't drop the duffel. "Captain."
The captain had my respect. As a Latina in law enforcement, the cards had been stacked against her. More than that, in a department filled with powers, she held her own. Nobody ever suggested the captain might be powerless. She might not have telepathy, but Alvarez led the department like a true leader.
I’d miss her no-fluff personality.
She held a sealed file against her chest. Red stripe across the top. Redline classification? I'd seen maybe a dozen of those in twenty years, and every single one had been a nightmare dressed up as paperwork. Her expression suggested she was about to ruin my night.
“Cap, I’ve got three shifts left,” I said. “Whatever trouble you’re holding, I don’t need it.”
“If I had any other choice…” She held the file out. “This requires my best man.”
I didn't take it. “Percy can take it.”
“No. He can’t.” Her tone shifted. It went from being a suggestion to an order. Alvarez made it clear there were no alternatives. Nothing I said would change her mind.
She pushed the file toward me until I had no choice but to grab it or let it fall. The paper felt heavier than it should have. No photo. No power registry number. No threat assessment. Just the name and location coordinates stamped in the corner.
“What the hell? You’re sending me in blind.”
Alvarez crossed her arms. Her face gave away nothing. She'd perfected that look years before I joined the force. While I wanted to fade into oblivion, Maria Alvarez would die in the captain’s chair. The Powered Task Force was what drove her. At one point, I could say the same. Thankfully, I outgrew that.
“Who is it?”
“Someone who still matters.”
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
I flipped the file open. A single page inside. Minimal intel. Off-grid location. Whitetail Ridge? I had lived in Vanguard my whole life and never met somebody from there. It was nothing more than an honorary title for a stretch of road leading to Sin City.
I kept reading.
