Picking up my phone, I call my dad and explain what we found.
While we wait for the Feds, Lucky pushes the whimpering Simon down a long hall. “Man up, mate. And for fuck’s sake, change your pants. You smell like piss.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Suds
Lucky, still our designated driver, glances at the map app as we bump along a dirt road in the backwoods of Pennsylvania. “Almost there. Hear anything from Andy?”
“Only how he’s in court, trying to prove Sienna didn’t skip bail. He can’t get anyone to testify. The Navy’s hush-hush and the kidnapper in custody lawyered up. Even the Feds won’t help. They say they can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. We need more evidence.”
“I hear ya mate. No worries. We got this.” My friend’s eyes dart to the rearview mirror where Sam snores, chest rising and falling.
“I would’ve left her at home but she insisted on pulling the equal partners card.” It’s an argument I can’t win. Curled up like a kitten, she seems too young and innocent to be chasing a killer. She ought to be teaching Sunday school.
“In five hundred feet, turn right.” The Google lady speaks, Sam stirs, and blinks into the dark.
“Hey.”
“We’re here, sugar.” I wait for her to stretch, then pass a comm unit and night vision goggles over the seat.
“What did Slate learn from the drone?” Sitting forward, she twists the earpiece in deep.
I tap my mic down and speak low, testing her gear. “Infrared images show three people in the cabin.”
“Huh. I thought it’d be just her.”
“She must’ve called in reinforcements.” Turning to the front, I point so Lucky doesn’t miss the turn.
“Shouldn’t we wait for backup?” Sam’s inner-Feddie makes an appearance but while she was asleep my friend and I nixed the idea.
My partner needs the latest intel. “Slate pulled a few strings and sent a drone ahead of us. A few minutes ago Stevenson loaded a suitcase into the back of a vehicle. She’s got tickets to Dubai.”
Her jaw ticks. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. She is not getting away with this.”
“You got that right, luv.” My pal parks the car, then points up a steep incline where a deer trail winds through the trees. “The cabin is about a quarter of a mile in that direction.”
Guns out, we use the drone’s GPS coordinates to climb the hill. Lucky takes the lead, Sam’s in the middle, and I follow behind. In the dead silence, we sound more like a herd of elephants so when wood cracks, I jump on my girl and the big guy crouches low.
Breathing hard, we wait, but no one comes. A gas generator whirrs, a bird chirps, and a blue light flickers nearby. With any luck, they’re watching Netflix.
We move as one until Lucky stops with a finger to his lips and points at a thin length of wire by his feet. More cautious now, we step over and inch forward.
A small mammal stirs, tiny yellow eyes blink, and disappear when a twig breaks. Lucky pauses again and we move like pond water until we reach the steps of a rough cabin.
“Arrived on site. How many tangos?”
Slate’s calm voice comes from my earpiece. “Three in the living room. The rest of the house clear.”
“Copy that.” I adjust my comm unit, then turn to Sam. “Don’t move until we give the word. Copy?”
She nods, eyes wide. “Good copy.”
My pal sneaks to the back of the house and seconds later, the generator stops. The blue light, where the curtains don’t quite meet, disappears, too.
An angry male voice explodes inside. “Fuck. I thought you said you filled it with gas?”
“I did.” A second, higher-pitched man responds.
