“Wallace,” Brenna said again. “Listen to me. We’re coming, but we need to know where you are. Can you look around? Can you tell me what you see?”
There was a soft choking noise on the line. Then, in a voice choked with fear, Wallace whispered, “Help me. She’s murdering me.”
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Chapter Five
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Colt’s gut twisted the second he heard the words.She’s murdering me.It wasn’t just fear in Wallace’s voice. It was final. A last gasp of terror and pain that Colt had heard too many times in too many war zones. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay focused as he worked the trace.
Beside him, Brenna was still on the line. “Wallace, can you hear me? Tell me where you are. Wallace?”
Silence.
Colt’s screen pinged, and a location popped up. He didn’t wait. “Got it. Thirty miles out. Southeast. Near Spring Hollow.”
“We’re going,” Harlan said, already moving.
“I’ll text Noah,” Brenna said, pulling out her phone.
They didn’t waste another second. Colt led the way, pushing through the Crossfire Ops headquarters and out the front doors. The October sun was rising fast, lighting up the lot where the team’s SUVs were parked.
Brenna’s boots hit the pavement behind him. Harlan’s did too.
Colt unlocked the black Crossfire Ops SUV with a sharp beep, climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and loaded Wallace’s location into the GPS. Harlan took the back seat. Brenna, shotgun.
The moment they were in place, Colt took off. Fast. Because every second counted. Or rather he hoped it did. He damn sure didn’t want to be too late to try to save Wallace.
Colt kept one hand on the wheel and the other ready to shift, his eyes locked on the road stretching out ahead. The SUV ate up the miles quickly, tires humming against the pavement as they left Crossfire Creek behind.
Beside him, Brenna had her phone out, fingers moving fast. “I’ve got the location pulled up,” she said. “It’s a heavily wooded area. No nearby houses. Closest structure looks to be a storage shed or maybe an old hunting blind.”
Colt glanced down at her screen when she angled it toward him. The satellite view was dense with trees, the kind of cover that could hide just about anything. And anyone.
In the backseat, Harlan was already on the phone with Noah. “We’re en route now. Location looks isolated. We’ll check in when we’re close.”
Colt’s jaw tightened. His instincts were screaming that this was all wrong. Or maybe it was exactly right for someone who wanted to draw them in.
“This could be a trap,” he muttered.
Brenna looked over at him, her expression unreadable. “We have to check it out.”
“Yes,” Colt said, eyes flicking back to the road. “We do.”
The risk was high. But leaving Wallace out there, if he was still alive, was not an option.
They were going in.
The SUV curved along a winding two-lane road, weaving through the rugged beauty of the Texas Hill Country. Mesquite and cedar trees lined the edges, their branches brushing against old barbed-wire fences that sectioned off wide fields and the occasional cattle ranch. The land rolled and dipped in quiet waves, dotted with limestone outcroppings and wild brush. Itwas peaceful, the kind of landscape that had a way of getting into a man’s bones.
Colt’s grip stayed tight on the wheel. The scenery might look quiet, but he knew better. It only took one shadow in the wrong place to turn this serenity into a war zone.
They were about fifteen minutes out when Brenna’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen, sighed, and then glanced at Colt and Harlan.
“It’s Naomi Darnell, an investigative reporter who did some stories on Timberline,” she said. “She calls me at least once a month. Just checking in, asking the same questions. She never has anything useful.”
Colt shot her a quick look. “And why is she still digging into Timberline after three years?”
