I watched as the headlights died, leaving only the amber running lights of two heavy-duty, unmarked government SUVs.

The doors of the vehicles opened and closed in rapid succession.

Four figures in dark, tactical coats moved with quiet efficiency toward our front porch.

They walked with the distinct, measured stride of trained security personnel.

Daniel’s confidence seemed to waver for

a fraction of a second.

He stepped back from the door as the heavy brass knocker rattled against the wood.

The sound was sharp and commanding, echoing through our narrow hallway.

I walked past Daniel, my boots clicking against the hardwood floor.

He reached out to grab my arm, but stopped himself when he saw the silhouette through the glass.

I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Cold Colorado air swept into the foyer, carrying the smell of pine and damp asphalt.

Standing on the porch was Chief Warrant Officer Harris, flanked by three armed security investigators in civilian tactical gear.

Harris did not look at the home decorations or the family photos on the wall.

He looked directly at me and stood at attention.