The flashbacks came. Of course, they did. Flashbacks not of explosives and caves but of dead hostages. Memories and reminders that she’d failed. That people had died. She had to shove that aside. Had to. No way could she do this if she let the doubts and guilt consume her.
The miles seemed to crawl by, and it felt as if it took an eternity before Colt pulled off the narrow road and parked just off the shoulder beneath a cluster of cedar trees. The pathahead had narrowed too much for the SUV to continue. Gravel crunched under the tires as he killed the engine.
Noah and Harlan arrived seconds later in the other vehicle, pulling in behind them. Brenna was already out of her seat, opening the back to grab gear. Colt joined her, checking weapons and vests. Her knee still ached, but she pushed past it. They didn’t have time to think about pain.
The sheriff’s cruiser came next, kicking up dust as it pulled to a stop. Sheriff Chase stepped out, her expression tight with focus. She was followed by her deputy, a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a dark braid tucked under her cap. Chase motioned to her.
“Deputy Reyes,” she said.
Noah handed out the remaining comms gear. “These’ll keep us in contact once we’re inside. Everyone good?”
He paused as he looked at Brenna, then at Colt. “You two sure you’re up for this?”
Colt answered without hesitation. “We’re good.”
Brenna gave a nod. “Let’s move.”
With vests secured and weapons checked, the team fell into motion. Brenna took point beside Colt as they started down the uneven trail. Noah’s voice came through her earbud again.
“We’ve got maybe ten minutes on foot before we reach the cave. Could take longer to find Jared once we’re in. Stay sharp.”
Brenna pushed harder, ignoring the sting in her knee. They were close now. Too close to slow down.
Brenna kept her focus on the path ahead as she and Colt veered east through the thick woods. The others split off. Noah and Harlan heading west, the sheriff and Deputy Reyes going straight ahead. Leaves crunched beneath their boots, and the sun slanted through the trees in long golden beams. The woods here were dense, full of gnarled oaks and brush, with limestone outcroppings jutting out from the ground like jagged teeth.
Birdsong cut through the quiet, sharp and jarring against the tension in her chest. Her vest pressed tight against her bruises, and her knee throbbed harder, but she pushed through. Colt was just ahead, careful but quick, his rifle up, sweeping through the trees. She mirrored him, checking blind spots and watching the rise to their right. The trail narrowed, barely visible, a path more used by deer than people.
They ducked under a fallen branch, moved around a patch of loose rock, then kept going. The air was cooler in the shade, but her skin was damp with sweat. Every sound made her heart spike. A rustle. A snap. A bird launching into flight. She couldn’t afford to miss anything.
Through her comms, Noah’s voice came low and clear. “We’re about two minutes out. Cave should be just ahead.”
Colt looked over his shoulder and met her eyes. She gave a nod, tightened her grip on the Glock, and kept moving.
They moved fast, careful where they stepped. Brenna’s heart pounded as her eyes scanned the trail ahead. No tripwires. No pressure plates. Nothing that looked like a trap, but she kept her hand near her weapon anyway. The woods were quiet, too quiet, the kind of stillness that pressed in around her.
Colt raised a hand, signaling for her to slow as they reached the edge of the cave. She spotted Noah and Harlan on the other side, about twenty yards away. The sheriff and deputy stepped into a clearing that directly faced the cave.
“Brenna and I are going closer,” Colt said through the earpiece.
They moved together. Slow, cautious steps while they fired glances around them. The others would have their backs, but it was their fronts they had to worry about. Someone could be waiting inside for them.
Waiting to kill.
The cave opened like a gash in the side of the hill. Rough rock, slick with moss. The air inside was cooler, damp, and reeked of something metallic.
“Someone’s there,” Colt murmured.
She saw it too. A man lying face down near the cave wall. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the dirt.
Brenna’s pulse jumped. Her grip tightened on her weapon. They moved in, cautious but quick.
Not Jared.
She exhaled, then stepped closer, trying to place the face. Even with all the blood, she recognized the shape of the jaw, the bulk of his shoulders.
“I’ve seen him,” she said quietly. “That’s Jared’s uncle. Raymond Fitch. The one who was in that militia.”
Colt crouched beside the body. “Yeah. That’s him.”
