Chapter 33
Boone
I’m parked under the glaring fluorescent lights of a rundown gas station, the last confirmed surveillance spot for the white van that took Aubree. The night air is thick with tension, and my mind buzzes with a singular focus: get her back. Nothing else matters.
Around me, the men I’ve assembled—Garrett and Thor, plus two others we’ve worked with in the past—stand in a loose circle, eyes trained on a large county map draped over the hood of my truck.
We’re lit by the overhead fluorescent lights of the gas station, casting dancing shadows across the asphalt.
Our tactical gear is strapped tight: black cargo pants, chest rigs, sidearms, and rifles.
Each of us is bristling with the pent-up energy that comes before a rescue operation.
“Dean, you’re on speaker,” I say, raising my phone so the men can hear.
“Good. I can see your location on the map,” Dean says. “The gas station’s cameras lost sight of the van just down that county road. I’m cross-referencing property deeds within a twenty-mile radius. We know Earl’s from around here, so I’m trying to find any property his family might’ve owned.”
Thor, a mountain of a man with a braided blond beard, taps the map with one thick finger. “We’ve got forest and farmland in every direction. If he turned off the road, there could be a hundred places to hide someone.”
Garrett, lean and wiry, nods. “He’s not going to risk a busy area. He’d want somewhere isolated.”
My jaw tightens as I stare at the lines on the map.
My stomach churns with guilt and rage—Aubree could be anywhere in these backwoods.
I call up every memory I have of the last time we had intel on Earl.
We never pegged him as a threat, but now I realize how little we knew.
“Dean,” I say, forcing calm into my voice, “any luck with those deeds?”
“Yeah—hang on.” There’s a flurry of keyboard clicks in the background.
“I found something: an old cabin owned by an Earl Branson Sr. near Pine Hollow Road. Property records are outdated, but it’s only about six or seven miles west of your current location, up in the hills.
It hasn’t been sold, so it might still belong to the family. ”
Thor glances at the map, zeroing in on that area. “That’s rough terrain. Only a couple logging roads going up that way.”
“Perfect for someone who wants to hide,” Garrett murmurs.
Dean’s voice cuts in again. “I’m sending coordinates to Boone now. The place is about two miles off a main road, then you gotta take a dirt track. I’m scouring for any other possible leads, but this is our best bet.”
I check my phone, a dull beep letting me know the coordinates have arrived. My hands tremble with urgency. “We’ll head there right now. Dean, stay on standby. Keep scanning for any new intel—if the place has multiple buildings, if you see movement from overhead satellites, anything.”
“Understood,” Dean says. “Boone… bring her back safe.”
“I will.” My voice is tight, loaded with a promise I intend to keep.
I end the call and look at my team. Adrenaline thrums in my veins, but I force my shoulders to relax.
“We have a single target, Earl, plus Aubree as a hostage. We don’t know if he’s armed, but we have to assume he is. She’s top priority.”
Garrett nods, flipping his rifle’s safety off, then on again, a nervous habit. “We’ll approach quiet, set up perimeter coverage, and do a quick breach.”
The two other men, Daniels and Vega—both ex-military with solid track records—shift in closer, scanning the map. Daniels points to Rain Ridge Road. “That logging trail is pretty narrow. We might have to park and move on foot once it gets rough.”
“Better that way,” Thor says, voice low. “We don’t want him hearing engine noise from a mile off.”
I fold the map and tuck it under my arm. “All right,” I say, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “Let’s move.”
We depart the gas station in a small convoy—my truck in the lead, Garrett and Thor in an SUV behind.
The drive takes us along a desolate county road, the moon slung low over thick pine forests.
A sign for Rain Ridge Road appears, battered and half-hidden by tall weeds.
I flick on my brights and turn onto the narrower pavement, which soon degrades into gravel.
Ahead, the path snakes uphill through dense trees, branches scraping the side of my truck.
Finally, I spot a wide turnoff where we can stash our vehicles behind some brush.
I park, cut the engine, and the men pull up behind me.
The darkness here is thick, the air cool, and the only sounds are distant crickets and the soft rustle of pines.
We gather near the SUV’s open hatch, pulling out extra gear: night-vision goggles, suppressed pistols, short-barreled rifles for close quarters.
Each man checks his weapon, loads mags, and tests his comm gear.
My heart pounds, each beat echoing with the thought of Aubree—somewhere up that trail, alone with a psychopath.
Thor hands me a suppressed rifle. “We keep it quiet as long as possible,” he says. “No sense giving him time to hurt her if he hears us coming.”
“Agreed.” I sling the rifle over my shoulder and step in front of the group, the glow of a small tactical flashlight giving just enough light to see each face.
“Here’s the plan: we move up this logging road on foot.
Garrett, you take point. Keep an eye out for any sign of the cabin.
Once we see it, we fan out. Thor, you and Daniels circle around the left side, find a vantage.
Vega and I will move right, see if there’s a back entrance or side window.
We go in together on my call. Everyone clear? ”
Four nods answer me. Good. These men are professionals, men I trust. They won’t panic. They know how to handle a hostage situation.
I swallow hard, forcing down the knot in my throat. I have to stay calm for Aubree’s sake. “Let’s go.”
The hike up the trail is slow and silent.
We keep our footsteps careful, avoiding dry twigs that might snap underfoot.
Garrett uses a small thermal scope to check for any heat signatures ahead, but the dense foliage limits visibility.
The darkness is nearly absolute, except for thin moonlight filtering through the treetops.
After maybe fifteen minutes, Garrett raises a fist, signaling us to stop. We drop to one knee, hearts pounding. He points through a gap in the pines, and I see a faint glow—like a dim porch light or maybe the flicker of a single bulb inside a building.
“That’s gotta be it,” I whisper, inching forward to peer between branches. Sure enough, a small cabin emerges from the gloom, an old structure with a sagging roof. One window glows weakly, and there’s a battered van parked nearby—my gut twists, recognizing the white van.
Biting back a wave of anger, I motion for the men to split up. Thor and Daniels slip off to the left, rifles at the ready, vanishing into the trees. Vega and I circle right, creeping through tall grass and around the side of the cabin. My heart pounds loud enough that I worry it’ll give us away.
We converge near the cabin’s rear corner. A single broken window sits at shoulder height, boards nailed across half of it. Dim light seeps out, enough for me to see a dirty interior. I catch a glimpse of movement—someone walking across the room. Could be Earl. I can’t see Aubree yet.
I tap my earpiece. “Thor, you in position?”
His voice crackles quietly. “Yeah, we’ve got eyes on the front door. Looks like it’s barred from the inside. No direct line of sight to the occupant, though. Wait for your signal.”
I wave Vega forward, and we inch closer to the window.
Carefully, I angle my head to peek through a gap in the boards.
My breath catches: in the murky lamp light, I see Aubree.
She’s tied to a post in the far corner, looking pale and terrified.
Her wrists are bound, and a coil of rope snakes around her waist, securing her to the wooden beam.
She’s shaking, tears drying on her cheeks.
Then I see Earl. He’s half-sitting on a sagging couch, a beer can in one hand, some kind of small handgun resting on the cushion beside him.
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. He looks half-drunk, flipping channels on a battered old TV.
Every so often, he glances at Aubree, muttering under his breath.
She doesn’t speak—just trembles, eyes darting toward the windows. Probably praying for a miracle.
Time for that miracle to arrive.
I tap my earpiece again, voice calm. “We have visual on Aubree, hostage in the south corner. Earl is inside, armed with a pistol. Looks intoxicated. We’ll breach on my mark.”
Thor responds instantly, “Roger. We’ll come in from the front, draw his attention. You get Aubree out.”
I lock eyes with Vega, who nods, gripping his rifle. “Cover me,” I whisper. We shift along the wall, finding the rear door—a flimsy wooden thing with a rusted handle. I test it gently. Locked. I expected that. But from the look of the frame, it won’t hold up to a well-placed kick.
“All teams, stand by,” I say softly. My heart jackhammers against my ribs. I picture Aubree’s face when I finally free her, the relief in her eyes. One chance to get this right. One chance to make sure no one gets hurt.
I raise my foot, bracing for the breach. “Three… two… one… breach.”
Thor and Daniels must do the same up front, because I hear a tremendous crash from the other side of the cabin.
At the exact moment, I slam my boot into the door.
The old wood splinters with a deafening crack, the lock giving way instantly.
Vega and I rush in, rifles up, adrenaline flooding my system.