The man chugged out a laugh. “Wow, guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
She didn’t want them to think about gunning down any of her people. “Nope. Let’s go find it.”
The men were tying up the boat when she remembered her idea. “Oh man, I forgot something. I’ll be right back.” She rushed back and said, “I dropped an earring.”
“What?” the bearded man asked.
She ran to the radio, crouched, and sent the SOS. Hopefully she didn’t look too obvious.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” She straightened up, pretending to be holding something, and fiddled with her ear. “I got it. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 22
Nash stood on the deck of the Stone family inn, his heart pounding. The search for Amy had consumed his every thought.
Brooks suddenly held everyone’s attention, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression a mix of focus and hope. He ended the call, looking up. “That was the Coast Guard,” he announced, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves. “They received an SOS signal from a boat about ten miles up the coast.”
Nash’s heart leapt at the news. “They did,” he gulped back emotion.
Warm chills filled him; God had inspired him to make sure she knew how to do an SOS.
This was Amy’s lifeline, her way of reaching out to them.
Brooks nodded. “They’ve given us the coordinates. We need to move, and fast. Let’s go.”
They all rushed out to the Liberty.
Brooks nodded. “I’ll drive,” he said, already moving with purpose to get the boat underway.
The boat roared to life, cutting through the waves with determined speed.
Nash’s mind was a whirlwind of possibilities and fears, but he focused on the hope that Amy’s signal had given them. She was out there, and they wouldn’t rest until she was safe.
Arriving at the location, they found the boat empty, eerily silent. They began a meticulous search, checking every inch of the vessel with the precision of a well-coordinated team.
It was Nash who found it—a small piece of paper wedged in a seat cushion. He carefully unfolded it, revealing a fragment of a map. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized it, an unmistakable sign from Amy. “Holy cow,” he breathed, realization dawning on him. “This is what she left.”
“What does it say?” Porter asked.
“It says, we’re going to Cross Creek.”
CHAPTER 23
The small plane banked left, and Amy’s stomach lurched as they descended toward what looked like nothing more than a dirt strip carved into farmland. No terminal, no tower—just endless fields stretching toward the horizon. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the wheels touched down with a bone-jarring thud.
This is it. This is really happening.
The two men flanking her hadn’t said much during the flight, but their silence was more terrifying than any threat. The one with the scar running down his cheek—the one who’d grabbed her—kept checking his phone. The other, a man with a thick beard, drummed his fingers against his knee like he was playing an invisible piano.
As they climbed out of the plane, hot air hit Amy’s face like a slap. Somewhere in the distance, she could make out the hazy outline of mountains. They were still in Montana, but this felt like the middle of nowhere.
“Move,” Scar-face grunted, his hand finding the small of her back.
A black SUV waited at the edge of the airstrip, engine running. Amy’s legs felt like jelly as they pushed her toward it,but she forced herself to memorize everything—the license plate, the make of the car, the direction they were headed. Nash would find her. He had to.
Windsong Reservation.The name kept circling in her head like a vulture. She’d heard Nash mention it before, but only in passing. Something about old disputes, bad blood. Her chest tightened.
