Chapter 29
Noah
Itear through the gas station doors after questioning the attendant. It was my first thought when I saw the tire tracks arcing out of the diner parking lot. If someone took her, if Raven took her, he’d drive away from town. He’d move outside the city limits.
Avoiding the police, I hightailed it out of Pinebrook, back toward the run-down gas station I ran into Lily months ago.
I work backward. If Raven is in town for Lily, he could be anywhere, but I know he’s here with another agenda.
He needs people. He needs a network for his Jackpot.
That requires a private place, far from the eyes of townspeople, but close enough to recruit and commute.
This gas station is the first building along a large portion of forest acreage. As I jog toward my truck, I’m vindicated. The woman working said a black SUV sped past not too long ago, toward the open road along the woods.
Max whines, scratching at the door as I approach. He’s been on high alert ever since I darted into the driver’s seat after finding Lily’s car abandoned. He reads my energy, and he knows. I know he knows.
I called my supervisor to him tell him about Paul and my theory about the dirty cops in Pinebrook on the way here. He’s going to contact his FBI counterpart.
I rip open the door and jump in, not bothering with my seat belt.
My truck screams out of the gas station parking lot as I head the direction the attendant pointed.
The road stretches ahead, and my headlights only do so much to carve through the darkness.
The shadows of the trees lining the miles of forest to my left are a distraction as I slow to scan the roadside.
I search for a break in the tree line, some unmarked path or perhaps a sliver of dirt cutting through the underbrush. Any indication that a vehicle may have pulled off the road.
Max paces the back seat. He’s stiff, ears pricked forward. He’s posturing before we even get out of the car—ready to go to work. Maybe I’m being overly optimistic, but he’s ready to go to work for her. For Lily.
The clock on the dash ticks up. It’s getting later and later.
When another car passes me, I slow even more, the truck practically in a crawl. My headlights catch a gap, and my fingers tighten on the wheel, only to realize it’s just a shallow dip in an overgrown hunting trail. Not wide or deep enough for a car.
But …
There.
Just ahead.
A break in the trees, wide enough for my car. I roll the truck closer. The engine hums and my pulse quickens as I turn onto the dirt path. My tires crack and pucker over the loose gravel, while low-hanging branches scratch over the side of the truck.
The road dips and Max jolts over each rut. The console rattles, making the headlights bounce, and the movement has me worried. Anyone out here is going to see my bright high beams flickering through the trees.
I don’t know how long this off-road trail goes. It could be miles and miles, or Raven and Lily could be right up ahead. Slamming my fist on the wheel, I brake. Dust kicks up in the rearview, swirling in the red glow of my taillights.
After switching off the truck, I open the door. Night air seeps in—cool and damp. The thick wet-earth smell and musk of decaying leaves feels like home.
I’m trained for this. Max is trained for this.
My boots sink into the soft ground, and with the darkness nearly absolute, I can’t even see where I’m stepping. Moonlight is the only illumination. I wince, reaching into the side of my door for a flashlight.
It’s quiet, except for the occasional trill of a western screech owl. Chilled wind brushes my nape, and I pull my North Face tighter around me and zip it up.
With a quick unholstering of my pistol, I pull back the slide to check the chamber.
A round sits ready. Good. Then I release the mag, letting the clip slide into my palm.
It’s full. I slam it into place, the click satisfying and comforting.
I ditch the loaded gun onto my seat and check the spare magazine tucked by my ribs on the inside of my coat.
Only one extra mag.
Might be enough—or it might be like bringing a cup of water to a wildfire.
I exhale, rolling my shoulders, and reholster my gun, relishing the familiar weight at my hip.
It’s against protocol to go off on my own. My supervisor made sure I was aware of that, having me repeat those words while I was on the phone with him.
Well, I lied—screw protocol. Like he wouldn’t go after his wife or kids taken by cartel dealing thugs?
No. I won’t be following the damn protocol.
Besides. I’m not alone.
Max bolts out of the back seat when I open the back door. Checking to make sure his vest is fitted and his recall collar is secure, I leash him and dangle a sweater Lily left in my truck in front of his nose.
His body tenses as he nuzzles the sweater and buries his nose in her scent.
A sharp whimper escapes him and his tail lashes unrestrained.
It’s a gamble with the scent. She most likely was in a car, not dragged on foot, but if there’s any chance Max can catch her scent, maybe from an open window or from it catching a breeze from wherever she is, I’ll take it.
Max locks on to the pathway ahead, and I raise my flashlight as he pulls us, jogging deeper into the woods to find her.