Chase’s fingers stilled. He finally looked up. “So, the feed didn’t stop on this end?”
“No,” Caleb said. “The transmitter just ran out.”
Chase leaned back in his chair. “Okay. We’re missing three people, one vehicle, and the only lead we have is something that was never meant to be found.”
Caleb exhaled slowly. “As we were coming over here, I remembered something. Mia once mentioned she had a storage unit near a marina. Didn’t say which one.”
“That helps,” Chase said. “A little. But there are half a dozen marina sites tied to the lake. I don’t even know how many are active.”
Dex was already typing. “I’m pulling property overlays now.” He paused, then frowned. “There are about six storage units directly adjacent to marinas. Another dozen more within about three miles.”
Caleb groaned. “That’s not narrowing anything down.”
“What about FEMA lockers?” asked Nate.
Dex’s fingers moved again, then stopped. “I’m locked out. They updated the access protocols. I don’t have the clearance.”
Caleb swore under his breath.
Chase didn’t blink. He picked up his phone, hit a contact and put it on speaker as it rang.
“Yo, Mad Dog. How are you?”
“Been better,” Chase replied.
Caleb recognized the voice instantly. John “Tex” Keegan. Former SEAL. One leg, sharp mind, lived somewhere in Pennsylvania now with a wife and kids. He was the guy Chase called when the doors stayed locked and the trail went cold. The one who knew how to work systems from both sides and usually found a way in. They’d used his expertise before.
Tex asked, “What’s going on?”
Chase gave him the short version. Missing people. The truck. The disabled transmitter. Possible lockers near marinas. Dex jumped in with technical dead ends.
Tex listened without interrupting.
“Okay,” he said when Dex finished. “Stop trying to force access.”
Dex frowned. “Then what do we do?”
“Give me the parameters instead,” Tex said.
“Parameters?” asked Dex.
“Age of the structures, proximity to water. Any overlap with FEMA, state emergency or Army Corps staging during hurricane season,” Tex said. “I don’t need access. I need patterns.”
Caleb paced the room. “Mia said the storage unit was older.”
There was a brief pause on the line.
“All right,” Tex said. “Let me work it. Stay put.”
The call ended. The room went quiet.
Caleb stopped pacing and checked his watch again.
Still eighteen hours.
And counting.
Mia driftedin and out of shallow sleep.
