Chapter Eighteen #2
“His name is Nathan Cole. But…” Jacob hesitated again. It was unlike Jacob not to just come out and say it. Which meant that whatever he was about to tell him was going to be bad.
“Spit it out,” M?rten growled. There was something more his friend wasn’t telling him.
“We also believe Paige Owen is alive. It seems she’s joined the terrorists after all. She was also at the airport.”
M?rten was speechless. Actually speechless.
Summer had been right; she had seen Paige the other day in the parking lot after all.
Why had he been so eager to brush her fears aside?
And why hadn’t he pushed Jacob harder to follow it up?
He’d been so sure that Paige was dead. And when Summer had talked about how, in hindsight, she could see that perhaps Paige’s actions on their field trip were a clue to her affiliation with the terrorist group, he’d shrugged off her concerns.
Because he’d been distracted. By his cock.
By his need for her. Making love with Summer in the forest that night had been magical, the best thing that’d happened to him in a very long time.
And so he’d buried Summer’s anxiety at the back of his mind, happy to soak in their newfound intimacy.
Then he’d spent the next day lost in his introspection about what it all meant.
Whether he should pursue it. Or whether he should just enjoy it and let her go. A one-time thing with no commitments.
Because he’d had sex with Summer, because he’d allowed himself to be distracted, he’d dropped the ball. And now she was paying the price.
M?rten covered his face with his hands, letting out a low groan.
“M?rten, are you there? Did you hear me?” Jacob’s tinny voice cut through the silence in the car.
He’d failed Summer. But he couldn’t dwell on that right now.
Right now, he might be her only chance of rescue.
He needed to get his shit together. He could ream Jacob out later about why they hadn’t followed Summer’s concerns up more closely.
About how the FBI, with all its billions of dollars and its fearsome reputation for always getting its man, could have failed in this one little thing.
“Yep, I’m here.” His voice was hoarse with emotion, and he coughed once to clear it. “Tell me everything.”
“She also traveled under an alias, but they flew separately; she boarded an earlier flight. One more reason it took us so long to find them.”
The cogs in M?rten’s mind turned painfully as he tried to switch from self-condemnation back to evaluating the situation at hand. He needed to get his head back in the game. “So does this mean Tyrone is still in America?” he asked.
“Possibly. We don’t know. We’re checking all the details. All his other aliases.”
“But why?” M?rten queried, his mind still slow to evaluate things.
“Why would Tyrone want us to think he’d left America?
” He’d been so fixated on the fact that it was Tyrone who had taken Summer, he now had to reconfigure everything in his head.
“So if it’s Nathan and Paige who’ve got Summer, then what do they want with her?
” M?rten said, speaking his thoughts out loud.
“Are they holding her as a hostage? As leverage until Tyrone can get out of the country as well?”
“I don’t know. I’m as confused as you are. Look, I’m just about to board the plane,” Jacob said. “I’ll be out of touch for the next ten hours, but you can contact Miller; she’ll answer any questions. We’re throwing all our resources at finding Summer,” he added. “She’ll be okay, I promise.”
M?rten knew the assurance was a hollow one, and so he didn’t reply.
He might not know the exact reasons behind the EIC abduction of Summer, but one thing was for sure. M?rten was heading out to this abandoned farmhouse to find her. And if she was there, he was damn well going to rescue her. The rest could be sorted out later.
* * *
M?rten was pretty sure he was lost. Actually, he knew he was lost. The map app was no longer helpful because this myriad of narrow roads and dirt tracks were not even registering anymore.
This was the fourth driveway he’d taken in the past two hours, but he was determined not to give up.
He was in the right area; the map told him that much at least. He was close to the lake, but he just couldn’t find the correct house.
A couple of the driveways had led to two occupied farmhouses—the inhabitants of which had come out of their doors to stare at him as he pulled up in the front, wondering who could be calling on them at this late hour.
But they’d all shook their heads when he’d asked if they’d noticed any suspicious behavior in the area, and then pointed him further north, confirming the Neilsson place was in that direction, but he wouldn’t find anyone there, the farm had been deserted for many, many years.
The third driveway had taken him to a ruined building, and for a second his heart had leaped in expectation.
But even from his car, he could see the property was totally empty and falling to pieces.
He’d got out of his car and walked the perimeter anyway, just to make sure. But it’d been a dead end.
The light was failing now. It was after ten, and the gray Nordic twilight swathed the sky.
Almost exactly six hours since he’d talked to Summer on the phone.
A lot could happen in six hours. The most urgent question was, where was Summer now?
Was she still wandering around in the dark, lost in the forest?
Or did the abrupt end to her phone call mean that she’d been recaptured?
Because they were two very different scenarios.
And if she had been caught again, had they punished her for her escape attempt? Hurt her? Or even killed her?
No, he refused to let his mind go there and focused all his senses on the road in front. The only lead he had at the moment was the Neilsson house, and that was where he was going. Everything else would hopefully be revealed in time.
He slowed his car as the dirt track turned a corner, becoming even more overgrown the further in he went.
Long grass bowed before his front bumper, and shrubs scraped each side of his car.
But he could see that a vehicle had been down this lane recently.
There were fresh tire tracks in the damp earth, and the grass was bent and broken.
He sat up straighter, his senses coming on high alert.
This could be the place.
He decided to continue the rest of the way on foot.
If the kidnappers were here, he didn’t want to warn them of his presence with the bright headlights of his car.
Finding a small gap in the undergrowth, he parked and got out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Then he stood for a few moments, allowing his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness.
He could just make out a light in the distance through the encroaching wilderness, which was fast taking back the derelict pastures.
He stalked closer, eyes straining to make out the building, right hand resting on his gun holster at his hip, his body tense even as he tried to make no sound.
The light suddenly disappeared, and M?rten stopped.
What did that mean? If it were simply one more farmhouse stuck way out here in the isolated forest, then maybe the owners had just gone to bed.
Jacob could be right, and he was on another wild goose chase.
But he was here now, and he was determined to check it out, so he kept going.
After five minutes of brisk walking, the track opened up, revealing a large gravel area with the main house nestled at the back and a couple of scattered outbuildings to the rear. M?rten hunkered down behind a copse of small shrubs to survey the scene.
Tall weeds grew up around the building, and all the windows were boarded up.
A large red barn stood off to the left, but part of the roof had caved in and one wall leaned precariously inward.
It certainly seemed deserted. This could be the farm he’d been looking for.
Then he saw it. The rear bumper of a car protruding from behind the dilapidated barn and his heart rate spiked.
It was a modern vehicle, bright and shiny.
Had he found the place? Was this where they’d been holding Summer?
Was she inside? He’d taken two steps forward, fingers flicking open the catch on his holster, before he could stop himself.
No. He needed to slow down can make a clinical assessment of what he was seeing.
He couldn’t let his emotions—which were screaming at him to charge in and break the door down, guns blazing—take over.
This thing had to be done right, or Summer may die.
M?rten went back to kneeling in the dirt, weighing up his options. He should probably do a perimeter search first, check to see if there were any signs of life around the front of the property, as well as other exits. Make sure there was no one guarding the area, including the outbuildings.
But the decision was taken away from him when, suddenly, the rear door of the house swung open and light spilled out.
A male figure stepped out carrying a couple of bags and stalked angrily across the gravel to where the car was parked.
Could this be Nathan Cole? It was hard to tell in the near-dark.
The guy was smallish, almost skinny. M?rten watched as he dumped the bags on the ground and then popped the trunk up. He was muttering to himself.
“Wait, Nathan, can’t we just talk about this?” The plumpish figure of a woman appeared silhouetted in the doorway. That could well be Paige, if Summer’s description was correct. He was on the right track. In the right place. Now he needed to confirm Summer’s whereabouts.
“Please,” Paige added with a pleading whine.