Since the DEA had arrived early that morning, they had been going over their strategies and plans. Supervisory Special Agent Derrick Cross was running the show, a lean, broad-shouldered man with neatly trimmed brown hair, a cookie-cutter version of a federal agent, who, for the most part, seemed to know what he was doing.
Edge had given Agent Cross access to the drone footage revealing the laboratory inside the third metal building. In exchange, no charges would be filed against the three people who had illegally entered the compound to rescue an alleged kidnap victim.
But Cross refused to let Edge, Skye, or anyone else accompany his agents during the raid. Instead, Skye stood next to Edge outside the perimeter, Callie and Trace not far away.
They had arrived in the Yukon and parked out of sight behind a row of black government vehicles. Low hills blocked the view of the front gate, but it wasn’t far away. The entire area had been cordoned off, no traffic allowed on the road in either direction. Agents in black tactical gear had been dispersed around the entire perimeter of the compound.
With the possibility of a hostage situation, a DEA crisis negotiator assigned to SSA Cross’s team waited tensely in a big black van, ready to make contact with the Reverend Daniel Henson. The hope was that he would give himself up peacefully, along with his men.
Skye glanced over at Edge, her tension escalating with every second that passed.
“I don’t like it,” Edge said, checking his watch for the umpteenth time. “Too many unknowns.” His gaze went to the low hills blocking their view of the compound. “Something should have happened by now.”
“Cross seems competent,” Skye said, mostly to make herself feel better. “If they rush things, people could end up getting killed.”
Callie’s head came up. “You think that’s what’s going to happen?” She had finally stopped pacing and now hovered nervously next to Trace in front of his black SUV.
“They’ll focus on the meth lab,” Trace answered. “But they can’t ignore the possibility that some of Henson’s men are holed up in the church or the cottages.”
“They’ll do whatever it takes to secure the location,” Edge said.
Skye reached over and caught Callie’s hand. “You need to stay positive.”
“Stay positive,” Edge repeated. “But be prepared if things don’t go the way they’re planned.”
Callie didn’t say more.
Trace shoved away from where he leaned against the Yukon. “They should have let us go in with them. We’ve been inside. We know the terrain.” His gaze went toward the location of the gate as if willing himself to see through the mountain. “What the hell is taking them so long?”
Skye gasped as a huge blast rocked the ground beneath her feet.
“Oh, my God!” Callie’s gaze shot to the column of thick black smoke billowing up from the location of the third metal building. A second blast followed, shaking the earth, then a third, the explosions filling the air with dirt and debris.
The blast also set off the sirens in the compound.
“Fuck.” Edge’s hands balled into fists as he watched the heavy wall of smoke rising into the air.
“They . . . they blew up the lab,” Callie said needlessly.
Skye gripped Edge’s arm. “You think there were agents inside?”
His jaw went tight as they both imagined the hellfire the explosion had rained down on anyone who happened to be too near.
Callie started walking. “I’m not staying here any longer. My friend is in there. She might need my help.”
Trace caught up with her and turned her to face him. “Let me take a look first, see if it’s safe.” He glanced at Edge, who nodded.
Trace grabbed a pair of binoculars and took off walking, heading for a gully that led up the hill, making his way to a vantage point on top where he could look down into the compound. He returned a few minutes later.
“DEA’s got agents all over the place. No sign of the women or any of Henson’s men.”
“I’m tired of waiting,” Edge said. “Let’s go.” They all piled into the Yukon, Trace behind the wheel. He pulled out from between two parked vehicles, drove back onto the main road, and headed the short distance to the compound.
As the Yukon reached the front gate, which stood open, agents swarmed the grounds inside, too busy to worry about a vehicle they had seen parked outside and figured was somehow connected to the raid.
Trace pulled through the gate, got as far as the church before two agents in black tactical gear ablaze with big yellow DEA letters stepped in front of the car, blocking their way.
One of them walked around to the window, an assault rifle slung across his chest. “Sorry, this area is closed. How did you get in here?”
