He’d been running for at least ten minutes when, somewhere in the distance to his left, he heard the sound of a large vehicle with a diesel engine racing in the direction of the barn. Since it was the only vehicle he’d heard, and considering its direction, he assumed it was related to his captors. Likely the truck that had delivered his human shield with the food.
He pushed himself harder, digging deep and pouring on more speed and heading toward thicker cover, avoiding open farmland. The moon had already set, but based on what he could see of the stars through patchy cloud cover, he thought he might be heading west or southwest. The thickest parts of the landscape seemed to slope downhill, so he opted to take the path of least resistance and densest cover.
This land didn’t smell like the forest he’d entered in Norway. Likely, he’d been transported many miles from where they abducted him.
Maybe even to another country.
He didn’t have time to ponder that because somewhere behind him he faintly heard another vehicle racing along a road, soon followed by the sound of a helicopter.
Fuck.
He wasn’t sure what the hell he’d do next, but putting as many miles as possible between him and that barn before sunrise sat at the top of his list. Maybe he’d find somewhere sheltered to hide in case they had FLIR on that chopper or came after him with tracking dogs.
Once he could take a moment to breathe and think, then he could figure out where the fuck he was and come up with a plan to get home.
He hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trent
When Trent left Badger’s cabin, he knew that, despite the early hour, further sleep would be impossible.
He damned sure didn’t want to tempt the Goddess by rhetorically asking what the hell else could happen.
Returning home might mean waking Asia, and he didn’t want to face her with this yet.
He didn’t want to face anyone with it yet.
That would make it…real.
Please get your ass home safely and soon, bro.
He folded the paper, stuck it in his pocket, and headed down one of the trails behind their houses. A trail he knew like the back of his paw and had spent his entire life running.
However, right now he didn’t run, but walked. Too many thoughts currently spun through his head to be able to shift and run. All that would do was wear him out, and he suspected there would be at least several tense days and nights ahead of them.
If they were lucky there would only be several tense days and nights before they located Peyton.
He didn’t want to contemplate any scenario other than Peyton returning.
What the fuck am I supposed to tell Gillian if she asks if I’ve heard from him?
While he didn’t want to acknowledge the ominous “what-ifs” trying to lodge themselves in his brain, he’d be irresponsible if he didn’t start pulling together all the knowledge Peyton had passed to him regarding unexpected transitions of leadership.
The “just in case” conversations they’d danced around in recent years.
Conversations Trent had wanted to stick his fingers in his ears and ignore, but knew he couldn’t.
If Trent died or was somehow disabled, he knew Gillian could easily have someone competent doing most of his own job within a month, because he was mostly an office guy. Other than the infrequent times he had to deal with something personally for Peyton or Dewi, usually a Pack Enforcer matter that needed a weighty presence rather than a terse phone call.
In other words, Gillian could easily bring Ken up to speed on most of Trent’s job—other than the Enforcer stuff—in short order.
Peyton, however, wasn’t expendable.
Goddammit, bro, you’d better make it home safe or I’m going to kill you.
Gillian
