The light hit the end of the hallway. A wall. New drywall. Pale, clean. The paint hadn’t even fully cured. And a door. Slightly ajar.
Naomi stopped. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “This is where I escaped.”
Colt stepped forward, gun raised. No sounds from the other side. But he didn’t believe they were alone. He stepped to the door, heart hammering, and he pressed his boot to the edge to ease it open an inch.
They waited.
No blast. No wires snapping.
Still alive.
Harlan moved up beside him and lifted the flashlight, slow and careful. The beam slid across the room. Then landed on him.
Beck.
He was on his knees, tied at the wrists, gagged. His body hunched forward, tethered to the floor by one of those same rusted rings.
Colt pushed the door wider and stepped inside, sweeping the space with his rifle. No immediate threat. No movement. Just Beck.
And too much silence.
Brenna exhaled hard and rushed to Beck’s side. Colt moved in right behind her, crouching low.
“I’ve got him,” Colt said. He reached to pull the gag free.
But Beck shook his head. Frantic. Eyes wide, pleading. Beck’s gaze snapped to the floor. And Colt followed it.
Wires. Clay bricks.
Explosives.
Just like Wallace.
A tight circle, wrapped close around Beck’s body. One wrong move would light them all.
Colt’s heart slammed against his ribs. The explosives were tight around Beck’s legs, the wires coiled with purpose. One wrong breath could end it.
Then came the gunfire. Sharp bursts from somewhere outside the hall. Followed by shouting. A curse. More shots.
Colt turned his head toward the door. Garrett and Cal. The hostages.
They were under fire. Maybe an active shooter or it could be another round of cooked-off ammo in a fire.
Beck groaned through the gag and shook his head hard. His eyes locked on Colt’s. He didn’t need to speak. The message was clear.
Go. Save them.
“No,” Colt said, voice low and solid.
Brenna stooped down, examining the wires around Beck. “We’re not leaving you.”
Harlan moved to the door, checking the hall. “I’ll cover the hall. Whatever happens, we hold here until we get him out.” He tapped his comm. “Noah, we need your explosives skill set.”
“On the way,” was Noah’s reply.
The words had barely had time to leave Noah’s mouth when Colt heard movement. Not from the hall. To his right.
He turned fast, gun up. Brenna and Harlan did the same. A figure stumbled out of a side room, limping, bloodied, clothes torn.
