“Maybe,” the sheriff said. “Naomi says she left him there around seven last night. That’s the last time she saw him.”
Naomi, still pale and visibly shaking, pulled out her phone and held it toward them. “Then I got this.”
The message was short. Cold.
You have one hour. If you want Jared alive, don’t stall. You’ll get instructions.
Brenna stared at the screen. “No location. No hint where he might be.”
“Nothing yet,” the sheriff confirmed. “San Antonio PD is canvassing the area around his apartment. We’ve got officers pulling any nearby surveillance footage.”
Colt leaned in closer. “And there’s been no follow-up? No second message?”
“Not yet,” Naomi said, her voice thin. “Just that one.”
Brenna felt the pressure mounting. Less than an hour left. No clues. No second chance if they got this wrong.
There was a sharp knock at the door.
The sheriff opened it, and Noah stepped in with Harlan and Beck right behind him. Beck’s presence gave Brenna a flicker of surprise. She hadn't expected the combat medic, but she knew Beck had solid operational skills. Right now, they might need everyone they could get.
“Naomi’s phone,” Noah said, tipping his head toward it. “I can try to trace the number that sent the message.”
Naomi nodded and handed it over. “Please. Do whatever you can.”
Noah took it, but before he could even unlock the screen, a new message appeared. The room went still as he read it aloud.
“He’s in the cave near the dry creek bed east of Timberline. You’ve got forty-two minutes. Save him or he dies.”
Brenna and Colt moved fast, slipping out of the sheriff’s office and heading straight to their SUV. Harlan and Noah followed close behind, splitting off toward the one they arrived in. The sheriff gave a tight order for Naomi to stay put, then took off with one of his deputies.
Colt slid behind the wheel and started the engine, tires crunching on gravel as they peeled out. Brenna opened her tablet, fingers moving quickly as she pulled up an aerial shot of the cave system. The image loaded, a satellite view filled with deep green and jagged gray.
She knew that stretch of land. Everyone involved with the Timberline investigation did. It had been canvassed hard back then.
The cave they were heading toward sat nestled in a heavily wooded patch about three-quarters of a mile east of Timberline. There was no clear road in, just foot trails that had likely overgrown. Thick stands of cedar and oak tangled around the approach, and massive rock outcroppings jutted up like broken bones. The dry creek bed cut a winding path near the cave mouth, its chalky banks sun-bleached and jagged.
“Nothing but trees, stone, and shadows,” Brenna muttered, her pulse already racing. And really bad memories.
Colt didn’t glance away from the road. “Perfect place for an ambush.”
She nodded, already bracing herself. Because whoever had Jared had chosen that cave for a reason.
Brenna dug into the center console and pulled out their comms gear, quickly fitting the small buds into Colt’s ear and then hers. The SUV hummed along the rural road, trees blurring past the windows. She tapped her mic.
“Noah, you copy?”
A second passed, then his voice crackled through. “Loud and clear. When you get there, you and Colt take the east side of the cave. Harlan and I will come in from the west. Sheriff’s bringing her deputy straight in from the front.”
“Got it,” she said.
Noah’s tone sharpened. “Be careful. If this is like the setup at the water tower, we could be looking at more explosives. Keep your eyes open.”
Colt glanced her way. “You hear that?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I hear him.”
And she heard something else, too. The quiet undercurrent of urgency, the pressure ticking down with every mile they closed. They were racing the clock, and the margin for error had just vanished.
