Chapter 9: The Shadow at the Gate
The security monitor on Katherine’s desk beeped softly late that evening, flashing a silent visual feed from the front gate at the end of the long, winding driveway. Katherine paused her review of the federal fugitive updates sent over by Detective Miller. On the small black-and-white screen, the headlights of an unmarked sedan cut through the heavy mist, idling just outside the automated iron security gates.
She stood up quietly, making sure not to disturb Toby, who had fallen asleep curled up on the sofa with his head resting on a velvet pillow, still clutching his sketchbook. She walked over to the secure intercom console built into the wall of the study and pressed the activation switch.
"Identify yourself," Katherine’s voice rang out through the speaker, calm, authoritative, and stripped of all warmth.
"Judge Vance?" a familiar voice crackled through the static. "Special Agent Henderson, FBI Seattle Field Office. Apologies for the late hour, but we intercepted a ping on a burner phone associated with Ray Higgins about twenty minutes ago. He’s operating a stolen Ford pickup, heading north on Highway 9 towards your county."
Katherine’s eyes narrowed, her judicial composure snapping into high alert. "Is he heading toward this property?"
"We believe so," Agent Henderson replied firmly. "His cell tower coordinates indicate he’s tracking the public registry data associated with your vehicle registration and home address. We have two units moving in to intercept him before he reaches your perimeter, but we wanted to brief you directly in case he attempts an approach through the wooded ravine behind your property."
"My perimeter is secure, Agent, but I have an eight-year-old child sleeping in my living room," Katherine said, her tone dropping into a dangerous register. "I want a perimeter established along the lower ridge immediately. If that man sets foot on my property, I want him detained before he comes within five hundred yards of this house."
"Understood, Judge. SWAT is five minutes out. Stay inside, keep all doors locked, and maintain secure communications."
The intercom clicked off. Katherine turned away from the panel and walked to the heavy oak cabinet in the corner of her study. She unlocked it with a small brass key hidden behind a stack of legal journals and reached inside. Her fingers brushed against the cold steel of a vintage Smith & Wesson .38 revolver—a weapon her late father, a rural sheriff in eastern Oregon, had insisted she keep when she first moved to the city as a young law student. She had never fired it in anger, never needed it during her decades on the bench, but as she checked the cylinder and felt the reassuring weight of the loaded chambers, she knew that protecting her bloodline required more than gavels and injunctions.
She walked back out to the living room, standing quietly beside the sofa. Toby stirred slightly in his sleep, his hand twitching as if brushing away a bad dream. Katherine gently brushed a lock of messy light brown hair from his forehead.
May you like
"Sleep, Toby," she whispered softly into the quiet room. "Your grandmother is awake now."
***
