Chapter Two
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Eli threw open the garage bay door and jogged toward the nearest Crossfire Ops SUV, a blacked-out Suburban already prepped for deployment. Delaney was right behind him, her duffel slung over her shoulder, eyes sharp but tense. Neither of them said a word.
He tossed his gear into the back, climbed behind the wheel, and fired up the engine. The headlights cut through the fog curling low over the gravel lot as he shifted into drive and punched it out of the compound.
The SUV ate up the road as they left the security gate and turned onto the two-lane highway, asphalt winding through hills and stretches of open pasture. The Texas Hill Country rolled by in dark green swells and limestone bluffs. Fence lines blurred. Road signs flashed past like warnings.
Eli’s jaw clenched, hands steady on the wheel. He pushed the speed well past the limit. Quiet roads, no traffic, just the long strip of highway and the knot growing in his chest.
Delaney was already on the phone, her voice low but urgent. “Noah, talk to me. Do we have eyes on the team? Anything from external cameras?”
A pause. Eli glanced over, saw her listening hard, brows drawn tight.
She glanced at him and shook her head. “Still nothing. The house went dark seven minutes ago. No signal from either guard. Olivia’s secure phone, the one she’s been using to talk to her mom, is now offline.”
Eli’s grip tightened. He didn’t like walking into a blackout. Too many unknowns. Too many ways it could be a setup.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to a mission years back. Dust choking the air. He and his team had dropped into a combat zone to extract a pinned-down medevac crew. Every variable had been stacked against them. Bad intel. Incoming fire. Nightfall closing in.
And yet, everything had gone right.
He remembered pulling the wounded flight nurse out of the wreckage, the way her fingers clenched around his vest like she couldn’t believe she was still alive. That feeling, knowing he’d made it in time—that was what kept him going.
Eli brought himself back to the road, eyes scanning the horizon. He needed that ending this time. Needed it to go right. For Olivia. For Delaney. For himself.
Because the last thing he wanted was another rescue turning into a body recovery.
As the SUV crested a hill, he spotted his turn ahead. The safe house was a modest ranch-style home tucked between tall oaks, barely visible from the road. His gut told him they were already too late.
And that someone wanted to make sure they stayed that way.
Eli rolled to a stop at the edge of the gravel drive, engine idling low as his eyes swept the property. No movement. No sound. The house sat still in the early morning haze, its front porch partially hidden beneath the long shadows of two twisted oaks.
It was too quiet.
Delaney ended her call with Noah and tucked her phone away. “Still nothing,” she said. “No visual. No comms. Noah’s got a backup team on the way, but they’re twenty minutes out.”
They didn’t have twenty minutes. Hell, they might have no time left at all.
Eli put the SUV in park and cut the engine. He reached into the back seat and grabbed his vest, slipping into it with practiced ease. Beside him, Delaney did the same, her movements smooth and focused. No hesitation. No nerves showing.
She checked her sidearm, and she didn’t ask what to do next.
Good. She didn’t need handholding.
Eli had learned a long time ago that in moments like this, trust mattered more than rank or resume. And while he hadn’t known Delaney long, he trusted Owen, Ruby, and Noah. They didn’t put people in the field unless they were ready. If Delaney was out here, it was because she had the skill to be.
Still, even the most capable operator couldn’t predict the chaos once things broke loose. Eli had seen perfect plans fall apart because of timing, terrain, or the wrong person in the wrong place. Training helped, but it didn’t stop a full-fledged shitstorm.
And Delaney had already been through one of those. He’d heard enough from others around the compound. The girl she couldn’t save. The fallout. The headlines. Nobody gave details, but the silence around it said enough.
He didn’t hold it against her. Hell, they all had ghosts.
He looked over. She was staring at the house, jaw tight, breath slow and steady in the chill March air.
“You ready?” he asked.
She met his eyes. “Yeah.”
He believed her.
Eli reached for the rifle in the back, loaded and checked it, then stepped out into the cold. The air had a bite to it, not quite winter, not yet spring. Fog clung low over the ground and curled against the corners of the porch.
No birds. No wind. No sign of life.
“Stay low,” he instructed her. “We sweep the perimeter first. If we see anything, we shift.”
Delaney nodded and fell into step beside him. They moved in silence toward the house, boots crunching softly over gravel. Eli kept his eyes scanning, his instincts on high alert.
Eli moved first, rifle at the ready, eyes sweeping the yard. Delaney flanked him to the right, staying low, her sidearm steady in her grip. The morning air bit at his skin through the gaps in his collar, and the damp scent of trampled grass filled his lungs.
They circled the perimeter in silence.
No movement.
No sound.
But he could see where the grass had been crushed down in spots. Boot prints. Several sets. Some fresh. No tire tracks leading out. That told him something—whoever came here hadn’t used the driveway to leave. They’d likely come and gone through the woods that made a semicircle around the property.
They rounded the rear corner of the house, where the back porch steps led up to a screen door. Eli lifted a hand, and Delaney stilled beside him.
The door was open a few inches. Not enough to suggest forced entry, but enough to set every alarm in his head screaming. He gestured for Delaney to cover him, then moved up the steps, boots silent against the worn wood.
He nudged the door open with the barrel of his rifle.
It creaked.
Eli steeled himself and got ready for whatever the hell might come at them. But there was no return fire. No warning shout. Just that eerie, slow creaking of hinges and the chill of adrenaline riding his spine.
He stepped inside first. Delaney followed, close behind, and they fired glances around. The kitchen was empty.
Mostly.
There was broken glass from the window over the sink and three now empty tear gas canisters on the counter. The tear gas itself had mostly dissipated, but there was still the lingering stench of it.
Eli shifted his attention and spotted something else he hadn’t wanted to see. Blood smeared across the tile floor near the base of the refrigerator. Not a lot. Just enough to catch the light and make his heart start pounding harder.
He swept the room, then motioned toward the hallway leading deeper into the house. There was more blood here, this time streaked as if someone had tried to crawl. Eli rounded the corner and found a man sprawled on the floor near the laundry room, his face pale, one arm bent awkwardly beneath him.
He crouched fast, fingers to the man’s neck.
Pulse.
Faint, but there.
“He’s Crossfire Ops?” Delaney whispered from behind him.
Eli nodded, already recognizing the man. “Ty Merrick. One of ours.”
The last time Eli had seen him, Ty had been grinning and talking trash during a training drill. Now he was unconscious, blood pooling under his shoulder where a round had torn through the fabric of his vest.
“No sign of the second guard?” Eli whispered to Delaney.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
Delaney pulled her phone and stepped into the hallway, calling in for medical. Her voice was clipped and efficient as she gave coordinates and a basic rundown of Ty’s condition. Eli kept pressure on the wound, watching for any signs of consciousness. Ty didn’t stir.
When Delaney finished her call, her face was grim. Her expression was far from hopeful. “Ambulance is rolling. Ten, maybe twelve minutes.”
Eli stood and nodded once. “We clear the rest.” There wasn’t anything else they could do for Ty, but they might be able to locate Olivia.
They moved fast, room by room. A den, small office, spare bedroom—empty. Nothing but the creeping sense that they were too late.
Still on the hunt for the girl, they hit the last room at the end of the hall. The door was partially open, and Eli pushed in first.
The bedroom was a mess. Sheets ripped off the bed. A lamp on the floor. A chair knocked over. Something had gone down here, and it hadn’t been quiet.
On the dresser, a small toiletry bag sat open, half its contents spilled—lip balm, a compact, a bottle of prescription anxiety meds with Olivia Camden printed across the label.
A duffel bag lay near the closet, unzipped, with clothes still folded inside.
One shoe had been kicked under the bed. A sweater was balled in the corner, as if it had been yanked during a struggle.
Yeah, this had been her room.
Delaney stepped in behind him and crouched near the edge of the bed. “Look,” she said, her voice hardly louder than a whisper.
A phone lay face down on the hardwood floor. She picked it up and turned it over. The screen lit up. One unsent message filled the text box.
He found me.
He didn’t need to ask who “he” was. Whoever Olivia had been afraid of, whoever she was running from, had gotten here first.
And now she was gone.
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