They moved fast, toward the sound. Toward Beck. Toward whatever was waiting in the dark.
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Chapter Nineteen
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Colt kept his weapon raised as they moved. The air felt hotter now, thicker. He could still hear Garrett and Cal behind them, voices low as they pushed the hostages toward the front.
He turned back. “Keep an eye on Naomi,” he told Garrett and Cal. “We don’t trust her.”
Garrett gave a tight nod. “Got it.”
Naomi was shaking, crying hard, shoulders hunched like she could fold into herself. It looked real. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.
“I don’t know who took us,” she said, voice cracking. “I swear. I never saw his face. But I can show you where they are. The guy you’re looking for, the Crossfire guy. Beck, you called him. And Gary. They’re behind a wall. I can take you.”
Colt narrowed his eyes. “What wall?”
“It’s new. Fresh drywall, fresh paint. It’s at the back of a big room in the east wing.”
Colt kept his steps quiet, steady, mind racing as they neared the east wing.
Naomi walked ahead of him, shoulders hunched, breath loud in the tense silence. She’d said the wall was new. Said Gary and Beck were behind it. Said a lot of things.
He didn’t trust her.
She could be bait. A distraction.
He slowed, motioned for Brenna and Harlan to stop. Naomi froze, turning slightly toward him.
“Don’t move,” Colt said.
He stepped up and frisked her, quick and efficient. Nothing in her pockets. No blade. No wire. Her hands were still tied behind her back.
She wasn’t armed. Didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. He met Harlan’s eyes, then nodded once.
And they moved again.
Naomi stayed in the middle with Harlan right behind her, silent and sharp, eyes locked on her every move. She might not have a weapon, but she could still signal someone. Call for help. Turn on them.
Colt didn’t trust a single breath she took.
They passed several gutted rooms with no doors and turned down a narrow corridor, paint peeling along the edges.
The air changed.
He smelled it. Drywall. Paint. Fresh. They were close.
Colt moved down the hall, every step slow, measured. The floor creaked under their boots, the sound sharp in the tight space.
The air felt thicker here. The walls closed in.
Their eyes had adjusted to the dark, but it wasn’t enough. They still couldn’t see where they were walking. Or see who might be around them. Harlan pulled out a flashlight, kept the beam low. He swept it side to side, careful to avoid tripwires, pressure plates, anything that might rip them apart.
No one spoke.
Colt’s hand stayed on his weapon. His heartbeat thudded hard against his ribs. Naomi walked stiffly, shoulders tense, breathing shallow.
