Colt kept his eyes on the screen as the first drone images came through. Grainy at first, then sharpening.
No visible explosives. No tripwires. No motion. Too clean.
“That’s not good,” he muttered.
Brenna leaned forward, her voice low. “He’s not going to leave anything obvious.”
Colt agreed. This guy wanted a show, not a warning.
He zoomed in on the image. A white van parked near the back entrance. No markings. Doors shut. It sat like it had been there a while.
“There,” Colt said, tapping the screen. “That’s how he moved them.”
“Not all nine at once,” Harlan said. “Too risky.”
Colt nodded. “Piecemeal. Probably took him hours. Maybe days.”
Which meant this wasn’t thrown together. It had planning. Patience. The kind of operation you build when you know exactly who you’re targeting.
He stared at the old facility. Timberline looked like it always had—abandoned, weathered, dead quiet. But there was life inside it now. And not the kind anyone wanted.
His grip tightened on the phone.
“ETA?” he asked.
“Two minutes,” Harlan said.
Colt’s pulse ticked louder in his ears the closer they got. The tree line opened up, giving them their first clear view of Timberline. It looked quiet. Still. But nothing about it felt empty.
Noah’s voice broke through the comms. “We’ve IDed the other six hostages. Facial recognition confirms they’re all related to the original Timberline victims. Siblings, cousins. I’ve got full data on each for after we get them out.”
Colt didn’t respond. Just listened.
“Bring them out,” Noah added.
Harlan eased the SUV to a stop at the end of the narrow road. Dust floated past the windshield. No movement ahead. No sound.
Colt unbuckled and opened the door.
It was time.
Colt stepped out into the heat. The sun pressed down like a weight, but it was the silence that landed harder. Too still. Too deliberate.
He scanned the road ahead. Dirt and gravel, chewed up by recent tire tracks. Not just once. Multiple trips. The ground bore the signs of it—deep ruts, churned dust. The killer had been here more than a few times. Set this up piece by piece, just like the hostages.
Brenna came up beside him. Her eyes swept the terrain. No words. Just focus.
Harlan checked his weapon, then scanned the rear. “Movement?”
“None yet,” Colt said.
Noah’s voice crackled in their ears. “Ran the plates on the van. They’re bogus. Nothing in any system. Burner plates. No help there.”
Colt gritted his teeth. Of course they were.
They opened the back of the SUV and grabbed their gear. Vests. Weapons. Comms checked.
Harlan snapped the last strap into place. “Watch your asses.”
