Chapter 23
Elvis and Gage were up front, remaining silent as they scanned the road like wolves scenting trouble.
They had called Blaze first thing that morning, filling him in on everything.
Dane had been there, so the call went on speaker, as they had Blaze ping Callen’s phone for a location, but not to call him.
Dane growled, knowing one of his own was about to get into some deep shit. “I’m sending Hawk and Grim your way. I have a feeling this thing will go south before it straightens out.”
They had only agreed because, really, they all had the same thought.
“Sage and Abbie picked up the SUV at the motel and are driving it back,” Dane continued. “They should be closer to where Callen’s heading, so I’ll reroute them as well.”
“Sounds good, boss,” Elvis said before ending the call.
She stared between the seats at the GPS on the dash, which showed a green path ahead, but none of them trusted that. Not anymore.
She’d refused Gage’s offer of his phone to call Callen, knowing he’d probably not answer, and even if he did, she didn’t want to hear his excuses. It would only piss her off more.
“Let him be surprised,” she’d said with a smirk. But now, the thought left a sour taste in her mouth.
Her stomach fluttered uneasily as she shifted in her seat.
She’d go crazy if she just sat there doing nothing while Elvis drove, so she dug into her purse until her fingers curled around the small burner phone they’d picked up at a gas station on the outskirts of Mobile.
Cheap, plastic, and preloaded with just enough minutes to keep someone off-grid for a few days.
Still, it worked, and that’s all she needed.
Unzipping the worn leather notebook tucked in beside her lip balm and the black pen Callen had stolen from the motel, she flipped quickly through the scribbled names and numbers. Her thumb hovered over the first entry.
Lucas.
Her heart tugged as she thought of the small boy who had been unfortunate enough to be with her when the shooting started.
If his family had been around, had been on time at pickup, Lucas would never have been caught up in her nightmare.
No one answered the last time she called, but this time was different.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then a woman’s sharp voice, cautious but clear answered. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Thompson? This is Meaghan Harrington, Lucas’s teacher. I wanted to call and check on him. I heard he made it home safely. How’s he doing?”
There was a long, charged pause, and then she heard a frustrated sigh.
“Of course you are. You’re the one who called and left the message.
” Her tone wasn’t exactly hostile, but it wasn’t warm either.
Meaghan couldn’t blame the woman. “Look, I’m sorry for snapping.
I just… I knew nothing about any of this until those strangers dropped my son off at my door. ”
Meaghan blinked. “I—I’m so sorry. I left a message—”
“I’m not mad at you,” the woman interrupted, her voice shaking now, softer at the edges.
“I’m mad at his dipshit father. We’re in the middle of a divorce, and to put it bluntly, the man’s an ass.
He was supposed to pick Lucas up from school and keep him for the weekend.
That’s why no one was there to get him. The man’s as irresponsible as the day is hot. ”
“I understand,” Meaghan said gently. “You should know… Lucas was incredibly brave. Even helped protect the other students. I didn’t let go of him once.”
“I believe that. Lucas told me everything. Said you had a superhero helping you protect them.” Another sigh, this one more tired than angry.
“I just… he’s all I’ve got, and to find out like that…
from some strangers showing up at my door, telling me there’d been a shooting, and he was safe now…
” Her breath caught. “I wasn’t prepared for that. ”
“No one ever is,” she whispered. “I wish it had been different. But he’s home now. That’s what matters.”
“He’s asked about you,” the woman said. “Said you taught him how to breathe when he thought the world was ending.”
Meaghan smiled, a dull ache pressing behind her ribs. “He listened too. Not every kid would’ve.”
“Thank you, Miss Harrington. For being there when all hell broke loose and not leaving my kid behind. I’m just sorry we weren’t.”
“You didn’t know,” Meaghan said, her voice low. “Just… take good care of him. Tell him I’ll be back soon.”
“I will. I promise.”
They hung up, and Meaghan sat for a moment in silence, phone resting in her lap, notebook still open. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the next number.
Sophie. This time, her older sister answered with a heavy sigh, sounding like she’d just stubbed her toe on a Lego or something. “She’s fine,” the girl drawled without preamble. “In her room doodling some silly ass superhero on construction paper.”
Meaghan chuckled, but it was soft and worn around the edges. Callen had made an impression on all of them, it seemed. “Thanks for watching her. Tell her I’ll be back soon.”
“Yeah, yeah.” And then the line went dead.
Charming as ever.
Shaking her head, she punched in the last number she needed to call.
Willie.
The line rang twice before an older voice, warm and worn like flannel, answered. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Davies? It’s Meaghan—Meaghan Harrington. Willie’s teacher. I wanted to call and see how he was doing after everything and make sure he got home all right. You are home after your surgery, right?”
“Oh, child,” the woman breathed. “After everything you’ve been through, and you’re asking about me. Willie always said you were the sweetest lady he ever knew. Said you remind him of his mother.”
Meaghan felt the blush color her cheeks. “That’s sweet of him. Is he doing all right?”
“He’s a little skittish around loud noises, but he’s doing fine. He told me everything. I hope you’re safe now. He missed you as his teacher today. Thank you for protecting my grandson. That boy means everything to me.”
“I’m glad he’s back with you,” Meaghan murmured. “He deserves to feel safe again.”
“So do you. Don’t let the bad guys win, Miss Harrington. We need angels like you in our world.”
Meaghan ended the call with a trembling breath, pocketed the phone, and looked out the window.
So many lives affected by so much wreckage.
And it wasn’t over yet.
She laid her head on the window, toying with the necklace Callen gave her at the motel, staring to the front when something in the side mirror caught her attention. She jerked her gaze behind them as a vehicle raced toward them.
“Shit,” she heard Elvis curse as he looked in his rearview mirror. “We’ve got company.”
Gage leaned forward, peering through the rearview. “Probably picked us up at the last stop.”
“I’ll bet my blue suede shoes that they’re probably tracking cameras like Blaze is doing for us,” Elvis said, his voice sharp but calm. “Hold on to your capes. It’s time to take care of business.”
Without warning, he yanked the wheel and veered onto the next exit ramp, tires squealing as they shot down the off-ramp and onto a rural side road.
Meaghan braced herself against the seat as the SUV dipped and jolted across uneven asphalt. “What’s the plan?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Drive like hell, and lose them on the back roads,” Elvis replied, tone clipped. “Get off-grid until Blaze can reroute us.”
“I wish Hawk and Grim were closer,” Gage said, glancing over his shoulder and out the rear window.
They made it less than two miles before another black SUV appeared ahead of them.
“Shit!” Gage shouted. “It’s a damn pincer.”
A second later, the rear vehicle slammed into them, jerking them forward with bone-rattling force.
The airbags didn’t deploy, but Meaghan felt her neck snap against the restraint as Elvis fought to keep the vehicle steady.
Gravel kicked up as they swerved off the road and onto a dirt shoulder.
Dust clouded the air as another hard hit from the side spun them into a shallow ditch.
The vehicle rocked violently before coming to a halt with a final, stomach-dropping jolt.
They were boxed in.
Men poured from the vehicles wearing black tactical gear and semi-automatics, precision in every move. Not mercs. Killers.
“Go hot!” Elvis shouted, grabbing his sidearm and throwing open the door.
Gage was already out the passenger side, firing from a crouch position behind the engine block. Meaghan ducked low in the backseat, adrenaline screaming through her veins.
“Meaghan, there’s a gun under my seat,” Gage shouted. “Grab it.”
Without hesitation, she reached for the weapon, thanking her father that he had at least had her learn how to shoot.
The air exploded with gunfire.
Elvis dropped one man with a clean shot to the shoulder, then ducked behind the hood as bullets rained down.
Meaghan clutched the weapon tighter. Her ears rang, and her chest felt like it was caving in. She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t built for this.
But she refused to be a damn victim either.
She shoved the door open and rolled out, crawling across the dirt toward the treeline, using the vehicle for cover.
That’s when she heard Gage cry out.
“Meaghan! Get down—!”
Too late.
A pair of gloved hands yanked her back by the arm, dragging her upright with brutal force. She screamed, twisting, kicking, slamming her elbow into the man’s ribs.
He grunted but didn’t let go.
Another figure appeared, helping the first. Together they wrestled her toward a matte-black van parked behind the SUV. One of them ripped the weapon from her grip.
“No!” she shrieked, heels digging into the ground, kicking wildly.
“Elvis!” she shouted, struggling harder. “Gage!”
She caught a glimpse before the men jerked her around. Elvis sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his head bloodied. Gage crawled a few feet away from him, clutching his stomach, as he tried to stand to get to her.
The last thing she saw before the doors slammed shut was Gage reaching for her, blood smeared across the dirt, and then—
Darkness.
The van peeled away, tires spitting gravel. The roar of the engine drowned out everything.
They shoved her onto her side, zip-ties binding her wrists, her breath ragged as she fought back tears of rage.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now. She was so close to Callen, to her father, and to the answers she needed. The answers she deserved.
The drive blurred together—long, quiet, methodical. But blindfolded, she couldn’t even see the direction they were going.
Whoever had taken her knew what they were doing. No chatter. No sloppy handling. No identifying details.
It was almost worse than the screaming chaos of earlier.
Eventually, they pulled off somewhere in the deep country, the scent of mildew and pine thick in the air. They dragged her from the van, still blindfolded, and walked across what sounded like rotted floorboards into an old house. Judging by the creaking, it had been abandoned for decades.
Then they ripped the blindfold from her head.
She blinked a few times, trying to force her eyes to adjust to the dim light from a single bulb overhead, thinking they ripped this scene right out of a cheesy film.
The room was sparse, with just a cracked fireplace, peeling floral wallpaper, and a wooden chair bolted to the floor, only increasing her earlier thought about old shows.
They shoved her into the chair and zip-tied her to it.
Not rope, which would make it easier to cut if she had a knife.
She didn’t, though. She should have paid better attention about being prepared.
Then they left her alone.
She tried counting the minutes, but time seemed to drag. She managed to get her breathing to slow down, to become steadier, refusing to panic. Panic got you dead, and she refused to go out this way.
She strained against the restraints binding her wrists, testing their give, but all she did was dig the hard plastic into her skin.
Then she heard the footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Confident.
A man stepped into the room, backlit by the hallway beyond. Late forties, maybe early fifties. Trim suit, dark hair, hands tucked into his coal pockets like this was a casual visit.
“Well,” he said, smiling without warmth. “The infamous Meaghan Harrington.”
She simply stared at him, saying nothing.
“To be honest, I expected a little more of a fight from you,” he went on, circling her like a vulture. “After all, you did give my men quite the chase in the woods around that cabin.”
“Trust me,” she hissed. “There’s plenty of fight left. Cut these zip-ties, and you’ll find out just how much.”
He chuckled as he clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head. “I would imagine you’re right, but you see, I don’t have the time to find out. After all, you’re merely a pawn. I want the one who forced me to place you on the board.”
She took a slow breath but remained quiet. Let him prattle on. He might just reveal what she needed to know.
“You see, I know what your father did. He got greedy, ran some deals of his own using my company’s name, and well, I created the trail with your name on it to let him know what would happen if he didn’t give me the money back.”
She narrowed her eyes, processing his words. “So you’re the one who set me up? Not my father?”
He shrugged. “Only to get your father’s attention. If anyone goes looking, then everything will fall to you, his punishment for cheating my system.”
Her jaw clenched. “You know you won’t make it out of this alive, right? Callen will find me, and you won’t like it when he does.
The man chuckled. “Oh, dear lady, I’m counting on it.”