“You’re not going.”
Burton looked over his shoulder while calmly loading a magazine.
“If that girl’s up there,” he said quietly, “we bring her home.”
Grant watched the older man.
Then gave one small nod.
Because for the first time that night, somebody else in the room looked as angry as he felt.
Burke exhaled hard.
Then Scout’s voice crackled suddenly over the radio.
“Sheriff.”
The entire room froze.
Burke grabbed the radio instantly.
“Go ahead.”
Static crackled softly from the mountain.
Then—
“Movement.”
Burke’s shoulders stiffened.
“What kind of movement?”
A pause.
Then Scout answered quietly:
“I’ve got lights coming on near the landing strip.”
52
Mountain Ridge
The mountains grayed with the first hints of dawn.
Fog clung low through the trees below the ridge, drifting across the old landing strip in thin ribbons while work lights burned near the metal building.
Grant lay flat against the cold dirt beside Scout’s rifle pack, binoculars pressed to his eyes.
Below him, shadows moved.
Men loading pallets into the waiting box truck.
Flashlights cutting through darkness.
Cal.
Izzy.
