“What?”
“The General siphoned off supplies and resources for Poe all along. He gave him access to National Guard armories, caches to raid, the whole thing. That’s how Poe got so powerful so fast.”
A cold, crystalized anger shot through him. He clenched his fist and resisted the urge to punch the woodpile until his knuckles bloodied.
“General Sinclair has gone rogue. His orders aren’t coming from the governor. At least not the ones pertaining to Fall Creek.”
Liam’s mind whirred, cycling through the ramifications, how he could use it to save his town.
Would the National Guard still attack if the General was no longer at the helm?
Was Liam willing to bet everything on the answer?
Luther said, “All I know is, the orders are coming from him, not from Lansing.”
Liam was tempted to ask if Luther could get close enough to the General to assassinate him, but he checked himself. Such questions conveyed intent and strategy, which he shouldn’t reveal to an informant.
Luther was still an X factor. A wild card. Too unreliable to trust. And yet, much as Liam loathed it, some level of trust was required.
Besides, Luther would never get close to the General, not with two dozen ex-military contractors surrounding him. He wasn’t a soldier. He didn’t have the skill set to assassinate a target.
“There’s no way to defeat the General, Liam. It’s not possible.”
“There’s one way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stay within range,” Liam said. “I need to think. Over and out.”
Liam retrieved his jacket and his carbine, returned to Hannah’s house, and slipped in the back door. Ghost greeted him with a muzzle press to his palm and a chuff from deep in his barrel chest.
The dog trotted after Liam as he checked the windows and doors. He peered into the front yard, examining the empty street, the quiet houses.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Static buzzed inside his skull. Despondent, he sank into the sofa cushions, head in his hands.
Liam was one man. He couldn’t repel an army. Not on multiple fronts with multiple targets.
Before he’d even started, he’d failed.
And yet.
Without the General’s vendetta, the National Guard had little reason to attack Fall Creek. Maybe they would’ve wanted Winter Haven—but without the community’s solar power, it held little value.
Get rid of the General, and Lansing would send someone else, someone who didn’t give a damn about this town, or Charlotte.
This started and ended with General Sinclair.
Take him out and Fall Creek would have a chance. Hannah would have a chance.
But how? With more time, Liam could devise an ambush to lure the General into a trap. Or set up a sniper hide and take him out via a long-distance bullet to the brain.
But from Luther’s intel, he knew the General was careful. He had taken the penthouse suite; the only wall of windows faced Lake Michigan. No tall buildings nearby with rooftops or windows for sniping.
Liam was out of time. Out of options.
There was only one way out.
Something snagged his gaze. The crooked green and gray hat peeked between the sofa cushions.
Liam pulled it out and held it in his hands, turning it over and over, running his calloused fingers over the lumpy knitting.
He had made it for L.J. He’d worn it once within hours of his birth. Liam had kept it to remind him of Jessa and Lincoln, of his dead family and the baby he’d left behind in Chicago.
What had once symbolized his failure had transformed into a gift, a symbol of hope. When Hannah entered his life. When Charlotte came red-faced and bawling into the world.
His thoughts crystalized. What he must do. And how.
The path forward had never been clearer.
The General wanted Liam. He wanted to kill Liam himself, with his own hands. Which meant he would need to get close. Face-to-face close.
Perhaps, close enough to kill.
Doubt and uncertainty needled him. It was a significant risk. The chances of success were slim. The odds of survival non-existent.
Even if Liam could get his hands on the General, he couldn’t fight off the mercenaries who’d unleash hell in revenge.
He didn’t have to.
Getting out wasn’t the important part. Only getting in.
For a second, he considered calling Bishop, organizing an assault team. He dismissed the thought. They needed every fighter to defend Fall Creek. Besides, he couldn’t bear the idea of sending his friends into a kill zone with little hope of survival.
Ironically, he had never valued his life as much as he did now. He wanted this life, flawed but beautiful. He wanted to carve out a place in this world with Hannah at the beating center of it.