I parked behind Kane’s rusted pickup truck, under the shelter of a tin-roofed carport.

The front door of the cabin opened before I could turn off the ignition.

Kane stood in the doorway, wearing a flannel shirt and holding a short-barreled shotgun at his side.

He recognized my car and lowered the weapon, stepping aside to let us in.

“Colonel,” Kane said, his voice like gravel.

“Marcus,” I said. “This is my daughter, Emily. She needs a bed for twelve hours.”

Kane looked at Emily’s bruised face, then looked at me.

“The back room is ready,” he said. “The fridge is stocked.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I helped Emily inside.

The cabin smelled of woodsmoke and black coffee.

I sat Emily down on the small cot in the guest room and wrapped a thick wool blanket around her shoulders.

“I have to go back into the city,” I said.

“No,” Emily said, grabbing my sleeve with a weak grip. “Don’t leave me.”

“I have to find leverage, Emily,” I said, looking into her eyes. “If I don’t find something to stop Margaret, she will lock you in a cell by tomorrow afternoon.”