Chapter 17 The Trap
Wrong Place
Moving on turned out to be harder than Finn expected.
Not impossible.
Just painful.
Painfully slow.
Painfully incomplete.
Every morning he woke up determined to stop thinking about Declan Harlan.
Every evening he failed.
The routine had become frustratingly predictable.
Three weeks had passed since he left the farmhouse.
Three weeks since their argument.
Three weeks since he'd watched the man he loved choose fear over trust.
The hurt remained.
Not as sharp.
Not as overwhelming.
Still there.
Like a bruise beneath the skin.
The kind that only hurt when touched.
Unfortunately, everything seemed determined to touch it.
The clinic.
The garage.
The town.
Willow Ridge wasn't large enough to avoid memories.
Every street contained them.
Every familiar face reminded him.
Even patients asked questions.
Carefully.
Politely.
The entire town had apparently noticed when he stopped living at the farmhouse.
Small towns missed nothing.
The realization remained deeply irritating.
Finn sat inside his office late Thursday afternoon reviewing charts.
The clinic had become his escape.
Work helped.
Work always helped.
Patients needed him.
Schedules demanded attention.
Problems required solutions.
Healing people felt simpler than healing himself.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
Rebecca entered carrying a stack of paperwork.
The nurse immediately narrowed her eyes.
"You skipped lunch."
Finn looked up.
"What?"
"You skipped lunch."
The accusation sounded serious.
Apparently it was.
The doctor glanced toward the clock.
Five thirty.
Oops.
The realization explained the headache.
Rebecca sighed dramatically.
A sound perfected through years of dealing with stubborn medical professionals.
"You can't keep doing this."
Finn knew what she really meant.
Not lunch.
Work.
The long hours.
The distractions.
The avoidance.
The nurse wasn't particularly subtle.
The doctor managed a smile.
"I'm fine."
Rebecca stared.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
The reaction felt unfair.
"You sound exactly like him."
The words landed unexpectedly hard.
Because neither needed clarification.
Deck.
Always Deck.
The smile disappeared.
The nurse immediately looked guilty.
"Sorry."
Finn shook his head.
"It's okay."
The answer wasn't entirely true.
The name still hurt.
Everything still hurt.
The nurse lingered for several seconds.
Clearly considering whether to continue.
Then wisely changed subjects.
"Go home."
The doctor looked around the office.
At the paperwork.
The charts.
The endless responsibilities.
Home sounded lonely.
The clinic sounded busy.
The choice felt obvious.
"I've got more work."
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
The reaction suggested she wasn't fooled.
At all.
Unfortunately.
Still, she eventually left.
The office fell silent again.
The quiet felt familiar now.
Not comforting.
Just familiar.
The doctor rubbed tired eyes.
Then forced himself back toward work.
Toward distraction.
Toward anything except thoughts of a mechanic with gray eyes and a self-destructive hero complex.
The evening stretched longer than expected.
Patient notes became reports.
Reports became emails.
Emails became treatment plans.
Darkness settled outside without him noticing.
By eight o'clock, most of the clinic had emptied.
Only a few staff members remained.
The building felt unusually quiet.
Finn finally closed his laptop.
Exhaustion settled heavily across his shoulders.
The day was done.
Finally.
His phone buzzed.
A text message appeared.
Unknown number.
The sight immediately raised suspicion.
Most people in Willow Ridge simply called.
The message itself looked strange.
URGENT. Patient from Miller Road collapse. Unconscious. Rural storage property off County Route 9. Ambulance delayed. Need physician immediately.
The doctor frowned.
The message felt unusual.
Yet not impossible.
Emergency situations happened constantly.
Especially during rebuilding efforts.
Construction accidents.
Equipment failures.
Rural injuries.
Unfortunately common.
Finn immediately reached for his phone.
Calling the number.
No answer.
The call went directly to voicemail.
Strange.
Very strange.
The doctor considered contacting emergency services.
Then hesitated.
The message included specific details.
Specific enough to feel legitimate.
The location also sounded familiar.
Several storage facilities sat near County Route 9.
The area remained sparsely populated.
Response times weren't great.
If someone genuinely needed help, waiting could be dangerous.
The realization settled heavily.
Because ultimately, he was a doctor.
Helping people wasn't optional.
The decision took less than thirty seconds.
Finn grabbed his keys.
Locked the office.
Headed toward the parking lot.
The entire drive felt wrong.
Not obviously wrong.
Subtly wrong.
The kind of feeling people ignored until afterward.
The roads gradually narrowed.
Town lights disappeared behind him.
Dark countryside stretched endlessly in every direction.
The storage property eventually appeared.
A cluster of aging buildings surrounded by chain-link fencing.
Isolated.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
The doctor parked near the entrance.
Engine off.
Headlights illuminating empty gravel.
No ambulance.
No police.
No construction vehicles.
The sight immediately made his stomach tighten.
Something wasn't right.
The realization arrived instantly.
Cold.
Sharp.
The property looked abandoned.
Not active.
Not occupied.
Abandoned.
Finn remained inside the truck.
Thinking.
Reevaluating.
His instincts suddenly screamed at him to leave.
Immediately.
The problem was that uncertainty still lingered.
What if someone actually needed help?
The possibility refused to disappear.
The doctor grabbed his phone.
Prepared to call emergency services.
A movement caught his attention.
Someone stepped out from between two storage buildings.
Then another.
Then another.
The blood instantly drained from his face.
Three men.
Large.
Unknown.
Moving deliberately.
Not injured.
Not frightened.
Not patients.
The realization hit like a truck.
Trap.
The word exploded through his mind.
A trap.
Panic surged immediately.
Finn reached for the ignition.
Too late.
A fourth figure appeared beside the driver's side door.
The man smiled.
Slowly.
The expression carried absolutely no warmth.
Only satisfaction.
The doctor's pulse hammered.
Every instinct screamed danger.
Real danger.
The kind Deck had warned him about.
The kind he'd spent weeks trying not to think about.
The kind connected to old wars and older enemies.
The realization arrived all at once.
Brutal.
Terrifying.
He knew exactly why he was here.
Not because someone needed medical help.
Because someone needed leverage.
And as the stranger tapped lightly against the driver's side window, Finn realized he'd just walked directly into a trap connected to Declan Harlan's past.
Touch Him and Die
The call came at 9:17 p.m.
Deck remembered the exact time because it was the moment his entire world stopped.
He was alone in the garage.
The farmhouse remained dark behind him.
The silence still felt wrong.
Everything still felt wrong.
For the past week he'd thrown himself into work.
Investigation.
Security.
Preparation.
Anything that kept him from thinking about Finn.
Anything that kept him from dwelling on the fact that the doctor still wasn't sleeping at the farmhouse.
The strategy hadn't worked.
Nothing worked.
Every road led back to the same realization.
He missed him.
Constantly.
Painfully.
The mechanic sat inside the garage office reviewing surveillance reports when his phone rang.
Rebecca.
The sight immediately raised alarms.
The nurse rarely called him.
Especially this late.
Deck answered instantly.
"What's wrong?"
Silence.
Not complete silence.
Breathing.
Fast breathing.
Then Rebecca's voice.
Tight.
Panicked.
"Finn's gone."
The words hit like a gunshot.
The mechanic froze.
"What?"
The nurse sounded terrified.
"He never came home."
A cold feeling settled into his chest.
Immediate.
Violent.
The office suddenly felt too small.
The air too thin.
"He left the clinic hours ago."
Rebecca's voice shook.
"He answered some emergency message."
The mechanic was already standing.
Already moving.
Already reaching for his keys.
"What message?"
The explanation came quickly.
Broken.
Scattered.
Enough.
A medical emergency.
A rural location.
An unknown number.
The moment she finished, Deck knew.
Absolutely knew.
Trap.
The realization hit with brutal certainty.
Because he'd seen it before.
Different country.
Different enemy.
Same method.
Separate the target.
Create urgency.
Remove options.
The oldest trick in the world.
And Finn had walked directly into it.
The mechanic ended the call.
Then stood motionless for exactly three seconds.
Three seconds.
Long enough for fear to arrive.
Long enough for terror to sink claws into his chest.
Long enough for him to imagine every terrible possibility.
Then something happened.
Something he hadn't felt in years.
Everything went cold.
Not emotionally.
Strategically.
The panic disappeared.
The fear disappeared.
The grief disappeared.
Locked away.
Buried.
Controlled.
The transformation happened automatically.
Like muscle memory.
Like instinct.
Like an old version of himself waking up.
The mechanic walked calmly toward the office door.
Opened it.
Crossed the garage.
Found Kane.
The older mechanic stood near a workbench discussing a repair with Tyler.
One look at Deck's face made him stop speaking immediately.
The garage suddenly felt very quiet.
Because Kane recognized that expression.
The same expression he'd seen years ago.
The one that never appeared anymore.
The one people survived by taking seriously.
"What happened?"
The question emerged carefully.
Deck stopped in front of him.