Chapter Nineteen
“Damn it!” Jackson slammed the phone down, his pulse roaring in his ears. He turned back to the screen, tried the call again. “Dispatch, patch me through to that last incoming number. Now.”
A beat of static. Then: “No response, sir. The line’s dead.”
“Try again,” he snapped. His hand was already gripping the desk, knuckles white. Avery stood beside him, silent, her face pale against the glow of the monitors.
“Nothing,” dispatch said finally. “It’s gone dark.”
Jackson swore under his breath and shoved the phone to speaker. He hit Noah’s contact and waited, every second dragging like lead.
Noah picked up on the second ring. “Talk to me.”
“Riley just called,” Jackson said, putting the call on speaker. “We’ve got her on recording. She sounded scared, scripted. Someone was feeding her lines. She gave us a location: the south ridge of the training facility. Said it’s where they’re holding her and Megan.”
“Son of a bitch.” Noah’s voice came back sharp, breathless. “You’re not the only one dealing with a fire. I’ve got Sheriff Chase on the other line. It’s chaos at the hospital.”
Jackson’s chest went tight. “What happened?”
“Hospital just got hit. Armed men, three maybe four. They shot the guards posted outside Mick’s room and took him.”
Jackson’s stomach dropped. “Took him? You’re telling me Mick’s gone?”
“Yeah,” Noah said, grim. “Vanished before backup got there. No ID on the shooters yet. They were fast, professional.”
“Hell.” Jackson raked a hand through his hair, mind racing. “So either Mick orchestrated his own damn extraction, or he’s next on the list.”
“Exactly,” Noah said. “I’ve got every unit I can spare locking down roads around the hospital, but if they planned this right, they’re already long gone.”
Jackson looked over at Avery. She met his eyes, jaw set, no fear. Just the grim understanding that everything had shifted again.
First the call. Now Mick.
Some movement caught Jackson’s eye, and he turned to see something he sure as hell didn’t want to see.
Avery was across the room, already strapping on her vest.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, stepping toward her. He kept his phone gripped in his hand.
She didn’t stop. “I’m not thinking. I’m acting.” The sound of Velcro and buckles filled the space, sharp and final. “You heard her, Jackson. Riley said the only way she and Megan live is if I give myself up.”
“Like hell you are.”
Her gaze cut to him, steady and unflinching. “You think I can just sit here while they’re being used as bait?”
Jackson felt the blood pounding in his ears. “That’s exactly what they want. You walk into that ridge alone, you’re gone before we ever see you again.”
Noah’s voice, strained and urgent, came through the phone still in his hand. “Jackson’s right, Avery. You can’t just go charging in there blind. That location screams setup. We don’t even know who’s running this anymore.”
Avery yanked her hair back and tucked it under her collar, her expression carved from steel. “I don’t care who’s running it. Riley and Megan are barely more than kids. I can’t leave them out there because I’m scared.”
“This isn’t fear,” Jackson shot back. “It’s strategy.”
“Strategy doesn’t matter if they’re dead,” Avery argued.
He took a step closer, voice low. “And what if that’s the point? What if they want you to walk in so they can finish this once and for all?”
She didn’t answer, just kept adjusting the vest. The click of the last buckle sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
On the line, Noah swore softly. “Listen to me, both of you. If you move, you move smart. Give me ten minutes to get eyes on that ridge. If you go now, you’re walking straight into a kill box.”
Avery looked at Jackson again, her expression breaking for the first time. “They said the only way Megan and I live is if Avery gives herself up,” she repeated quietly. “What am I supposed to do—ignore that?”
Jackson stared at her, the weight of her words cutting deep. Because he knew she meant it. She’d walk into hell itself for those hostages.
And he’d burn it down before he let her go alone.
Noah’s voice came sharp over the line, the hiss of the connection pulling tight around every word. “Get to headquarters. Now. I’ll get Isla and whoever else I can here for an op. Don’t move on the ridge until we know what we’ve got.”
Avery’s fingers were still working the last straps of her vest. She looked at Jackson like she’d carved the plan into bone. “If Mick did this,” she reminded him, “he saw Isla in the van. He’ll know the ploy. He’ll expect someone to use her to get us out.”
Noah didn’t hesitate. “I heard that. Could be Mick. Could be Darian. Could be Warren. Or it could be somebody else altogether. Doesn’t matter which until we have eyes. You come to HQ. You wait for me. We’ll move with a plan, not with our guts.”
Jackson watched the way Avery’s jaw set. He could see the blood under her knuckles where she’d tightened her fist. He wanted to grab her and shove her into a cruiser and brute-force his way to the ridge himself, but he’d seen what rushing in had done before. It had gotten people killed.
“Noah’s right,” he said finally, the words thick with everything he wasn’t saying. “We go to HQ. We bring Isla in. We do this with all of us in the loop.” He kept his voice level because if he didn’t, it would be panic—raw and contagious—and there was no room for that.
Avery’s eyes locked on his. For a second she looked eighteen again, reckless and certain. “They gave an ultimatum,” she said. “They want me. I can’t just—” Her voice broke and she swallowed. “I can’t stand by.”
“You don’t have to stand by,” Jackson assured her. “You don’t have to go alone either.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was only for her. “We’ll go together. But we do it Noah’s way. We don’t hand them what they want on a silver platter.”
Noah’s tone over the phone hardened. “Come now.” The line crackled, and he added, his voice softer, “We’ll get Riley and Megan back. Just get your asses to HQ now.”
Jackson killed the call, the silence after it dropping down like a hood.
He reached for his keys, the metal cold in his palm, and felt the weight of every choice closing in at the edges.
Avery’s willingness to sacrifice, Mick’s disappearance, the voice of a terrified hostage reading lines into a phone.
He moved to her, thumb brushing the strap at her throat. An instinct to tether her to him, to the mission, to the team. But he couldn’t keep her under lock and key.
Couldn’t keep her safe.
So he had to do his damndest to keep her alive.
After Jackson finished gearing up, they hurried out to his SUV and got in.
Rain slicked the windshield, each drop catching the glare of the security lights as Jackson drove and then turned into the Crossfire Ops lot.
The wipers beat a steady rhythm against the growing storm.
Avery sat beside him, silent, the weight of her vest heavy against the seatbelt.
Neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to say.
Headquarters loomed through the drizzle, lights blazing, every shadow sharp. The second Jackson rolled to a stop, Noah was already outside, rain dripping from his jacket collar, his expression carved out of pure tension.
Jackson and Avery climbed out, boots splashing through puddles.
Inside the bay, Isla stood in front of a mirror, pulling her hair into a rough braid, smearing dirt along her jawline.
Someone had tossed her a field jacket that was the same cut, same color as Avery’s.
It was uncanny how close she looked in the dim light.
“Not bad,” Noah said, eyeing her. “Close enough in the dark and from a distance. If they’re watching the approach, it’ll buy us a few seconds.”
Cal and Garrett were checking weapons beside one of the unmarked vans, the matte black paint glistening with a sheen of moisture.
Jackson frowned. “This isn’t the recon van.”
“Nope,” Noah said. “Undercover fleet. No tags, no trackers, no visible comms. If this goes south, nobody knows it’s ours.”
He said it like a precaution, but Jackson heard the subtext. If they died out there, Crossfire Ops wouldn’t leave fingerprints.
Noah nodded toward the van. “Load up. Isla drives. Cal, Garrett, take the back corners. Jackson, Avery—front seats. Keep your heads low until we’re past the outer fence.”
Jackson opened the side door, letting Avery climb in first. The interior smelled of oil and rain and adrenaline. His gut churned. Every part of this felt wrong. Too clean, too deliberate.
Noah climbed in last, slamming the door behind him. That didn’t surprise Jackson that Noah was coming along. Not with his niece out there in the hands of some sick bastard willing to kill her.
“You really coming with us?” Jackson asked.
Rain hammered harder against the roof, the sound merging with the low rumble of the engine. Isla pulled her hood up and glanced back at them, her eyes wide but steady. “You all ready?”
Jackson met Avery’s gaze across the dim van. The tension between them was a live wire—fear, anger, resolve all knotted together.
“Ready,” he said.
Noah’s voice cut through the sound of the storm. “Then let’s move. Nobody acts until I say.”
The van rolled out of the bay and into the rain-slick darkness, its tires whispering over wet asphalt. Isla gripped the steering wheel, hood pulled low, her knuckles white. The storm blurred the world into streaks of gray, headlights cutting small, fragile cones through the curtain of drizzle.
Jackson sat in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead, the words from Riley’s call circling in his mind like a curse. He repeated them to the others, making sure he didn’t miss a single detail.
“Drive down County Road 19 until you reach the old logging gate. Leave the vehicle there. Walk the spur five hundred paces. No flashlights. No radios. Knock three times on the concrete slab, then wait.”
He could still hear the strain in Riley’s voice, that trembling monotone of someone forced to say someone else’s words.