Chapter 24
The convoy of vehicles pulled up the gravel drive—trucks and SUVs creating a dust cloud that would have made their father proud.
Nash barely registered the familiar sight of the main house with its wraparound porch, the barn where he’d learned to ride, the corrals where they’d worked cattle every summer of his childhood.
All he could think about was Amy.
“Nash.” Porter’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “Come on. Office. Now.”
Nash followed his oldest brother into the ranch office, a room that had been their father’s domain and now served as Porter’s command center for running the Cross Creek operation.
Maps covered one wall—topographical surveys, property lines, and water rights documentation spanning back to when their great-grandfather first claimed this land.
Porter was already pulling out the historical property maps, spreading them across the massive oak desk their father had built with his own hands.
The desk was scarred from years of use, marked with coffee rings and the occasional gouge from when one of the brothers had gotten too enthusiastic with a pen or letter opener.
“Put down what Amy left,” Porter said, his voice carrying that authoritative tone Nash remembered from childhood—the voice that could settle any argument between brothers with just a few words.
Even though all of them had taken turns looking at it on the way here, Nash had hoarded it a bit. It was all he had of her.
Nash’s hands shook slightly as he unfolded the piece of map Amy had torn off and hidden in the boat cushion. The fragment was small, maybe three inches square, but it showed a detailed section with symbols and geographical markings.
“There,” Nash said, pointing to a distinctive rock formation marked on Amy’s fragment. “That’s Eagle’s Peak, isn’t it?”
Porter leaned forward, his weathered rancher’s hands tracing the modern property lines on his maps.
Trey moved to the other side of the desk, he began analyzing the tactical situation. “If Amy tore this piece off deliberately, she wanted us to focus on this specific area. She’s smart—she knew we’d need exact coordinates.”
“The question is whether she left it for us to find the gold, or to find her,” Marshall added, “From the air, this area would be completely isolated. Perfect for a hidden operation.”
Nash felt a chill run down his spine. “Or for holding someone prisoner.”
All this time, while they’d been chasing leads across Utah and South Carolina, the treasure had been right here. Right under their noses on the land they’d grown up on, worked, and called home for generations.
“That can’t be right,” Colt said from the doorway, entering with his typical straightforward approach to problems. “We’ve been over every inch of this ranch.”
Blaze appeared. “Not every inch,” he said thoughtfully. “We hit all of the missile silos that were marked and even the ones that were unmarked, but this ranch is huge. We could have missed something.”
Trent stepped forward. “These symbols here,” he said, pointing to markings from Amy’s fragment. “They’re not just indicating location—they’re showing depth. Underground structures.”
“Exactly.” Blaze moved to the map, pointing to an area marked with their father’s careful notations. “Dad said that area was unstable. He said there were pockets of gas we should avoid.”
Colt grunted. “We never questioned it.”
Hunter spoke up. “What if your father wasn’t just protecting you from physical danger? What if he was protecting something that could spiritually and morally destroy the family if it fell into the wrong hands?”
Nash felt a chill run down his spine. “I’m sure that’s what our fathers thought about it.”
Porter’s phone suddenly rang, the sound cutting through the tactical planning like a blade. He glanced at the screen, then frowned. “I don’t recognize the number, but it’s not spam.”
“Answer it,” Nash said.
“Porter Cross,” he answered, his ranch-boss efficiency evident even in a phone greeting. He put it on speaker.
“Is this the Cross Creek Ranch?” came a woman’s voice, tentative but determined.
“Yes. This is Porter Cross. Who am I speaking with?”
“My name is Eleanor. I was just at the Frontier Gas Station about forty miles east of you.”
“I’m familiar.”
“I was using the bathroom and came upon a young woman, and she looked scared to death.”
Nash felt his heart hammer against his ribs as every person went completely still.
“She was blonde, pretty, maybe mid-twenties?” Eleanor continued. “She tried to use my phone, but then some man started yelling for her to hurry up. Before she left, she typed something on my phone.”
Porter’s nodded. “What did she type, ma’am?”
“She wrote: ‘Call Cross Creek Ranch and tell them you saw Amy and that they are taking her to Windsong Reservation.’” Eleanor’s voice wavered slightly.
Nash closed his eyes, relief and terror warring in his chest.
Amy was alive, she was thinking clearly, and she was still trying to help them find her.
“Ma’am, you did exactly the right thing,” Porter said, his voice gentle despite the urgency of the situation. “Can you describe the men who were with her?”
“Two of them. One had a scar down his cheek, looked mean as a snake. The other had a thick beard, kept checking his phone. They were driving a black SUV with Wyoming plates. I couldn’t make out the numbers since I was late to watching them leave. I’m sorry.”
Trey leaned closer to the phone, his military training evident in his precise questions. “What time was this, ma’am?”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
Brooks was already pulling out his own phone. “Ma’am this is Agent Brooks Stone with the FBI. You may have just saved a woman’s life.”
Nash could hear Eleanor’s sharp intake of breath through the speaker.
“We’re going to need you to stay available for a more detailed statement,” Brooks continued, “but for now, you’ve given us exactly what we needed to know.”
“Thank you,” Nash said, leaning in.
After Porter ended the call, Brooks immediately dialed another number. “This is Agent Stone. I need to reroute the tactical team to Windsong Reservation immediately. We have confirmation of the target location.”
Nash was already moving toward the door. “I bet she’s throwing them off,” he said, causing everyone to look at him.
“What do you mean?” Colt asked, following Nash toward the front door where gear was being loaded.
Nash paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Think about it. Amy knows the map fragment points to our land, not the reservation. But she told that woman they were taking her to Windsong. She’s trying to buy us time.”
Trey nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. “She’s misdirecting them. Making them think the gold is on reservation land instead of Cross Creek land.”
“Which means they’ll waste time searching the wrong area,” Marshall added, appreciation evident in his voice. “That woman is brilliant.”
“And in serious danger,” Hunter said quietly. “If they figure out she’s misleading them …”
“Get moving!” Colt yelled.
“Brooks, how long until your backup reaches the reservation?” Nash asked.
“Forty-five minutes,” Brooks replied, ending his call. “They’re coming in from multiple directions to avoid detection.”
“We leave now,” Trey said, shifting into mission command mode. “Multiple vehicles, different routes. If Amy’s buying us time, we can’t waste it.”
The controlled chaos of departure began immediately—gear being loaded, vehicles being assigned, final communications checks being conducted. Nash found himself in Porter’s truck with Colt and Chance, following behind the lead vehicle containing Trey, Brooks, and Marshall.
As they pulled away from the ranch house, Nash caught sight of the women gathered on the front porch—his sisters-in-law and the Stone wives watching them leave with expressions of worry and determination.
Cheyenne stood at the center, her chin raised with the same stubborn courage that ran through all the Cross siblings.
The familiar landscape of Cross Creek Ranch rolled past the windows—pastures where Nash had learned to ride, fence lines he’d helped repair, the creek that had given their family its name.
All of it looked different now, colored by the knowledge that somewhere beneath this land lay the treasure that had cost Amy’s father his life and now threatened hers.
“She’s going to be okay,” Colt said from the passenger seat, his straightforward manner cutting through Nash’s spiraling thoughts. “Amy’s tougher than she looks.”
“I know,” Nash replied, though his hands were clenched into fists in his lap. “I just keep thinking about what could go wrong.”
“Don’t,” Chance said. “Focus on what we can control. We know where she is, we have backup coming, and we have the element of surprise.”
Porter’s radio crackled with Trey’s voice: “All vehicles, maintain radio silence until we reach the staging area. We go in coordinated and we come out together.”
“Go faster,” Nash said into the radio. “Haul as fast as you can!”