Glancing over his shoulder, our pilot for the ride catches my gaze. In his eyes is the same single-minded focus I always had on an op, like I’d flipped a light switch, shutting down my emotions until the danger was over. He gives me a quick thumbs-up and says, “Conditions are still good. Wind speed’s at seven knots. Only five percent cloud cover. This keeps up, we may make it in less.”
I lift my chin at Memphis, the retired Night Stalker I remember from my earlier days in the Army. Ten years older than me, he was already established as one of the top pilots in my battalion by the time I joined, renowned for his skills navigating in the most treacherous conditions.
Despite his reputation, I was initially hesitant about having someone else fly us here instead of doing it myself. But after spending fifteen minutes frantically calling around to figure out the best method of getting to Noelle—rent a helo at the nearest airport? Try to charter a plane to get us as close to her tracker as possible? Take the four-plus hours to drive? Get the local police involved and hope they could obtain a warrant in time?—the best option ended up coming from my old Night Stalker buddy,Owl, who’s living out in New Mexico helping to run a retreat for people with extreme PTSD.
Turned out Owl and his wife, Lara, were visiting a friend in Salem, less than thirty miles from the B and A headquarters. And his friend—Memphis—just happens to have a small collection of helos, including the AgustaWestland AW 609, which is one of the fastest civilian aircrafts on the market.
“We can get to you in under thirty minutes,” Owl told me when I called. “And Memphis said he’s pushed the Agusta to two-seventy in good conditions. The way it’s looking today, we should be able to catch up to your girl in an hour or so. No way you’ll get there even close to that fast in anything you borrow from the airport.”
There was no question of me accepting the offer. I’d have accepted a deal from the devil himself if it meant getting to Noelle faster.
Now we—me, Tyler, Ace, Memphis, and Owl, who insisted on coming along to help, are closing in on a remote ranch just west of Mitchell, Oregon. Rafe is back at Blade and Arrow, keeping an eye on Eden and Bea. And Indy’s been canvassing Williston, talking to possible witnesses and searching for evidence.
While Ace and I have been looking over the satellite images of the property and the interior photos of the house where Noelle’s being held—oh, I hope she’s still there, at least—Tyler’s been looking into the background of her captor.
Noelle’s captor. Her kidnapper. The man who drugged her—Indy found the chloroform-soaked cloth in the backseat of Noelle’s car, abandoned fifteen miles outside of Williston—and took her unconscious body to this fucking place in the middle of nowhere to do fuck-knows what with her.
Shit.
Fuck.
Whatishe doing to her?
What does Dario Accetta, retired theater producer slash guest lecturer, want with Noelle?
“Did you find a connection between Accetta and Donaldson?” I ask, turning back to Tyler again. He’s tapping away on his phone, either texting with Rafe or Indy or continuing his deep-dive into Accetta’s background.
Tyler taps his phone screen a few more times before answering. “There was nothing substantial. They didn’t work on any projects together. I found both their names on the guest lists for some theater conferences, but there were hundreds of attendees. Given their professions, it wouldn’t be unusual to see them both attending.”
“There has to be a connection,” I snap. “You can’t tell me this is a coincidence. Not with everything with Donaldson, and less than a month later… They have to know each other. Shit, maybe they were working together. And we missed it.” I thunk my fist on my leg. “We fucking missed it. And now Noelle?—”
Ace claps his hand on my shoulder. “We don’t know that we missed anything, Spidey. Don’t blame yourself.”
“How can I not?” My voice rises. “I’m supposed to be keeping her safe. Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Seattle. It was too soon. I shouldn’t have agreed to Noelle living alone in that apartment. I should have insisted she stay at B and A while I was gone. I should have?—”
“Should haves aren’t going to help,” Owl interrupts. “Trust me. It’ll drive you crazy. And it’ll get you nowhere. Focus on now. Focus on the plan. Focus on getting in there and getting your Noelle out.”
I barely manage to keep from snapping at him, too. After all, Lara is back at Memphis’s estate back in Salem, secured behind top-notch security. I want to tell him it’s easy not to think about the should haves and what-ifs when you know the woman you love is safe.
But I don’t snap at him, because I know he’s speaking from experience.
And I also know he’s right.
The plan is the important thing. The regrets can wait. That’s why I pull up the interior photos of Accetta’s house on my phone—thank fuck for real estate listings—and scan the layout of the first floor again.
“Okay,” I say after releasing a pent-up breath. “So it looks like we’ve got two points of ingress. The front door and the side entrance to the kitchen. I don’t love either option, since it’ll put us right into the main area of the house. But I don’t see an entrance into the basement, so aside from coming in through a window, I’m not sure there’s any other way.”
Ace pulls out his own phone to look. After a few seconds, he says, “I’d say the kitchen. If we use the thermal imaging camera, we’ll know if anyone’s nearby. And the basement is closer that way. Assuming he’s keeping her down there.”
“It’s possible,” Tyler adds. He frowns at his phone. “But there are outbuildings to consider, too. A barn, garage, guest house, several sheds… But once we’re closer, we should hopefully be able to narrow down Noelle’s location to a specific building.”
“Assuming she’s in the house,” Ace replies, “I think?—”
His voice cuts off with a loud crackle as the reception cuts out. I can see rather than hear him muttering curses before his headset comes back on again. “Damn headset,” he mutters. “What’s the fucking good in them if—” He stops. “Anyway. I think we go in through the kitchen. There are some trees around back for cover, so that’ll help.”
The helo tilts as Memphis makes a slight adjustment. Then he says, “I’m thinking the best spot to land is about a half mile west of the house. The ground is level there, not many trees, and it’s far enough to avoid being spotted, but not too far away from the main building.” He pauses. “What do you think, Webb?”
I pull up a mental image of the landscape in my head. After considering it for a few seconds, I reply, “Yeah. I think that’s best. From there, we’ll head south to the fence line. Tyler, you’ll be able to bypass any security, right?”
