THE ROADS HEADING WEST WERE FREAKISHLY EMPTY, NEARLY DEVOID of traffic all the way to the West Virginia line and beyond. After nearly four hours of driving, everything stopped. Victoria leaned toward the center of the Suburban to peer out through the windshield and was greeted with a surreal image of an endless snake of black SUVs idling, nose to tail, a meandering sea of white and red lights heading up the hill to the Hilltop Manor Resort.

“Is this the place?” she asked.

“This is it,” McCrea said. “It seems that we are not the first to arrive.” He was approaching the end of his mission for tonight. Once the Emerson family was dropped off—no, once Victoria Emerson was dropped off (the kids were not his problem)—he and his driver, First Sergeant Paul Copley, were on their own.

“What happens from here?” one of the boys asked.

McCrea thought both kids had been asleep. “We’re sort of in uncharted waters here, Luke,” he said.

“I’m Caleb.”

“My bad,” McCrea said. “The answer remains unchanged.”

“What does that mean? And I’m Luke.”

“It means that I’m really not sure what’s about to happen. We’ll find out together, I suppose.”

“Nothing’s moving,” Victoria said. “What’s going on up there?”

“I believe everyone is learning as they go,” McCrea said. “Lots of confusion.”

“Come on, boys,” Victoria said. She pushed the passenger door open. “We’re walking from here.”

“The hell you are,” McCrea barked. He threw his door open as well and stepped out of the Suburban to intervene.

Caleb looked startled in the wash of the dome light, as if unaware what he should do. Luke, on the other hand, was already moving. He slung himself over the back of the bench seat, bending himself in half to grab their go bags. He hefted one after the other out of the cargo bay and onto the seat.

“Stop that!” McCrea commanded, but no one listened. “Mrs. Emerson, I cannot let you do this,” McCrea said. He placed his right hand on the edge of her door, while pressing his left against the window behind it, effectively blocking her path.

“Get out of my way, Major,” she said.

“I can’t do that.”

She smiled. “Don’t make me hurt you, Major McCrea. I don’t know what you’ve read about me, but I’ve been a martial artist since I was a teenager. Two black belts. I work out every day, and spar twice a week. Do you really want to decide this in the gravel?”

McCrea fought the urge to call her bluff. Problem was, fighting with a protectee was exactly the opposite of his mission to protect her.

“The go bags are ready,” Caleb announced. He’d made his decision to follow, apparently, and part of it was to steal his little brother’s thunder.