“West of the city.” Ozzie pulled up a wide-angle view of the site where the van was parked beneath the tarp. “It’s that old bottling plant we pinpointed as a possible location. It’s been abandoned since the seventies. Nothing much left of the place but busted brick, broken concrete, and a few outbuildings.”
The eagle-eye view showed the bottling plant was a ghost of a building. Isolated. Forgotten. A perfect place to hide a hostage.
“Can we get infrared on the site?” Hew asked, feeling his nerve endings itch. It was like his skin struggled to contain the adrenaline ballooning inside him. “See if she’s bein’ held in the main building or one of the smaller ones? See how many unfriendlies we’re dealin’ with?”
“Not using this satellite.” Ozzie shook his head. “We need to wait for a military eye-in-the-sky to swing back around.” He checked his watch. “Another forty minutes, give or take.”
Forty minutes.
It might as well have been forty hours the way time was creeping.
“Forty minutes it is,” Graham chimed in. “In the meantime, we learn everything we can about that site. Entrances. Exits. We need blueprints, if they exist.”
“I’ll make the call for the bird.” Hew was already turning, already moving. Finally, finally they had actionable intel, and he could stop twiddling his dick. “If we fly in fast, we can hit ’em before they know what’s comin’.”
He bolted up the stairs two at a time, his phone already in hand. The instant he hit the third floor, his thumb flew over the screen until he found the contact information for the private airport where the Black Knights housed their Black Hawk.
He was about to press the call button when his boots turned into cement galoshes outside Sabrina’s open bedroom door. The small lamp atop her dresser glowed a soft yellow. But the quiet inside the room thundered louder than any battle zone he’d ever flown over.
A bright rug covered the floor, woven in a dizzying pattern of coral, teal, and sunflower yellow. Novels lined the shelves of the two low-slung bookcases she’d pushed under the windows. And the phone stand and ring light she used to film her social media posts sat beside the little armchair angled into the corner.
It was so her.
So vibrant. So thoughtful. So…warm.
Every square inch of the space carried her fingerprint, carried her fruity/floral smell. And the sudden, choking thought that she might never step foot inside?—
That’s not goin’ to happen! he silently swore.
Motion flickered in his periphery. He turned his head sharply, his heart leaping?—
But it wasn’t Sabrina emerging from the mound of pillows atop her bed. Of course it wasn’t. It was Peanut.
The cat’s gray fur was rumpled. His big yellow eyes blinked up at Hew with feline reproach, seeming to say, How could you let this happen? How could you let them take her?
Hew’s throat tightened around a knot.
“I know, buddy.” He moved to crouch beside the bed. “But I’m goin’ to bring her back. Just ya wait and see.”
Peanut stepped toward the edge of the mattress, pressing his whiskered cheeks against Hew’s knuckles. Hew buried his calloused fingertips in the soft fur, drawing comfort from the only thing in the room that still carried a hint of Sabrina’s gentle warmth.
Then, he stood abruptly. Hit call. And listened as it rang and rang.
The airport's ground crew rarely worked in the office. They preferred spending their time in the hangars or in lawn chairs by the fueling truck. Eventually, however, a deep, familiar voice barked, “Lake Michigan Aviation.”
“Larry,” Hew said without preamble. “We need the chopper fueled and ready to fire up in forty minutes.”
Larry Eastman didn’t miss a beat. “I can have her good to go in thirty.”
“Even better.”
Hew moved with purpose then, trotting into his own room.
It didn’t smell nearly as nice as Sabrina’s.
Unless you think gun oil, leather, and Downy dryer sheets make a good combo.
Crossing to his dresser, he snatched up the ridiculous lobster plushie beside his dopp kit. It was red, soft, and stuffed with buttery-smelling cotton.
