Chapter Nine
Grace’s hand trembled slightly as she hit the speaker button, setting her phone on the table between them. Jonah’s voice crackled through the line, rough and urgent.
“Did you hear me? I escaped, and I need your help.”
Grace swallowed, her voice unsteady but steady enough to press. “Tell me what happened.”
Jonah breathed hard on the other end, as though he had been running.
“Someone grabbed me four days ago. I don’t know who.
They kept me blindfolded and tied up inside a travel trailer parked in the woods.
When my captor left early this morning, I worked the ropes loose.
Found a phone on the counter. I grabbed it and ran. ”
Beck leaned closer, every instinct sharpening.
Jonah continued, his voice breaking. “I’m not sure where I am, but I think it’s near an old sawmill. There’s a clearing, and the trees here are tall and close together. Pine, mostly.”
Grace shot Beck a glance, her face pale and her eyes wide. He knew what she was thinking, because the same thought cut through him. It was possible Jonah was telling the truth, that someone really had been holding him all this time.
But Beck also knew the man could be lying.
Jonah’s breath rasped through the speaker. “There’s a road nearby. I just heard a vehicle go by, but I don’t want to risk going to it in case it’s the person who took me. I don’t have a weapon.” His voice cracked with panic. “Grace, I need you to come and get me.”
Beck’s pulse kicked harder. Every word might have been truth. Or a lure.
Before Grace could respond, Jonah’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “The son of a bitch found me.”
The line went dead.
Grace stared at the phone as if willing it to ring again. Beck kept his eyes on the dark screen, every muscle tight.
Beck snatched up his phone and dialed Noah, giving him the rundown in clipped sentences while Grace pulled up maps and possible routes on hers. She had already zoomed in on the area around Crossfire Creek where an old sawmill had once operated.
On the other end of the line, Noah’s voice came steady. “Do you believe this could be a trap?”
Beck glanced at Grace, who was scrolling quickly, her jaw tight. “I don’t know. But we have to check it out.”
There was a pause, then Noah said, “Agreed. Come to headquarters. I don’t have an operative on the grounds right now, but Isla and I will go with you. She can bring her infrared gear and scanning equipment. If Jonah’s anywhere near that sawmill, she’ll pick him up.”
Beck ended the call and looked at Grace. Her phone screen glowed with possible pinpoints, her eyes sharper than her tired frame should have allowed.
“We’re going,” she said, as if there had been any question.
Beck nodded once, already on his feet.
They geared up quickly and just as quickly hurried outside to his truck. Sleet tapped against the windshield, the icy drizzle hissing in the bitter cold. As he started the engine, Beck glanced at her.
“You know this could be another trap,” he reminded her again.
“I know,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. “But if it’s not, if Jonah really was taken, then he’s in serious danger.”
Beck didn’t argue. She was right.
By the time they pulled into headquarters, the sleet had thickened, dusting the blacktop with a slick sheen. Noah was waiting in the lot, already geared up. Beside him stood Isla Prescott.
She was shorter than most operatives, her red hair clipped close in a no-nonsense cut that somehow still managed to look a little mischievous.
The limp was more pronounced in the cold, a reminder of the injury that had taken her out of the field, but Beck knew better than anyone that Isla had not lost her edge.
Her quirky personality often disarmed people, but behind it was a razor-sharp mind.
If anyone could pinpoint Jonah out there, it was her.
Beck parked, stepped out, and felt the bite of sleet on his face. The air carried the weight of another op about to unfold.
The four of them piled into one of the black Crossfire Ops vans. Isla gave a crooked grin as she climbed into the backseat. “Finally, some excitement. Sitting behind a screen makes me twitchy. No offense to screens, of course.” She patted the tablet in her lap as if it were a pet.
Beck slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and he steered them out of the lot. Grace had taken shotgun, already keying in the address of the old sawmill. Noah settled beside Isla, his presence quiet but steady.
While Beck focused on the road, Isla flipped open her gear case, wires and monitors spilling out in organized chaos. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll have eyes everywhere. You would be amazed what you can find if you are willing to let a drone do the dirty work.”
Grace glanced back at her, then returned her attention to the map on her phone. “The sawmill property covers about twenty acres. It is surrounded by woods on all sides. Jonah said he heard a vehicle near a road, and this one here,” she traced her finger over the map, “could be it.”
“Good enough for me,” Isla said. Her fingers tapped rapidly over her screen. “I just launched two drones. Sky Eye will give us the wide look, and Sneaky Pete will skim low. If Jonah is there, or anyone else, they will show up.”
Beck gripped the wheel tighter, his gaze on the frost-slick road ahead. The cold morning was bright and sharp, carrying the kind of silence that made every sound matter.
The drive took them through the heart of Crossfire Creek.
Since the sawmill sat on the opposite side of town, there was no avoiding Main Street.
It was still early, not even eight, and the cold kept most people inside.
A few trucks were parked in front of the diner, and the gas station had only one customer at the pumps.
Otherwise the place looked like it was holding its breath against the chill.
Once they cleared town, the road narrowed and trees thickened on either side. Beck slowed, the van’s tires crunching over patches of ice. The woods here were dense, the kind of place a man could disappear without much effort.
“Sky Eye is in position,” Isla said, eyes glued to her monitor. “Sneaky Pete is almost there. Feed looks clean so far. No movement, no heat signatures.”
Noah leaned in, watching the second monitor while Isla adjusted the angle while Beck turned onto the old road that led toward the sawmill. He kept the van at a crawl, his eyes sweeping the tree line.
“Stop the van,” Isla said suddenly, her eyes narrowing at the monitor. “Sky Eye just picked up something.”
Beck braked, easing the van to the side of the road. The woods stretched out ahead, quiet and still, but he could feel the weight of eyes on them.
“What do you see?” he asked.
Isla zoomed in, her fingers moving quickly over the controls. “It looks like movement near the sawmill clearing. Could be a person, but I need to get a tighter angle before I can say for sure.”
Noah leaned closer to her screen, studying the shapes in the grainy feed. “It is something. Too big to be an animal.”
Grace pressed her hand against the dash, her voice low. “Is it Jonah?”
Isla shook her head. “Sky Eye doesn’t know faces. Just heat signatures. But there is definitely someone out there.”
Beck gripped the wheel, pulse steadying into that familiar rhythm that came right before things broke loose.
“The figure’s moving fast,” Isla said, her tone sharpening. “Heading deeper into the woods. Looks like he’s running from someone or something.”
Beck leaned forward, eyes narrowing on the thick wall of trees. “Where?”
Isla pointed toward the screen, then to their right. “That direction. About a hundred yards in.”
Beck nodded. “I can go in.”
“I’m going with you,” Grace insisted.
“So am I,” Noah added.
Isla exhaled, her fingers still flying over the controls. “Fine. Just keep your comms open so I can track you and relay what Sky Eye and Sneaky Pete pick up. If something shifts out there, I’ll know first.”
Beck reached for the door handle, his muscles tightening for what came next.
Noah, Grace, and Beck moved into the woods, their boots crunching over dead, frozen grass and weeds. Rocks littered the ground, forcing them to watch their steps. Beck scanned the area but saw no footprints, no broken branches or tracks to suggest anyone had been here recently.
Above them, the faint hum of the drones carried through the cold air. Isla’s voice crackled in Beck’s earpiece. “Sneaky Pete is in position. He’s zooming in on the figure now. Remember, Sneaky’s got a camera, not just heat-seeking. Give me a second.”
Beck lifted his gun, keeping his gaze forward while his ears strained for any sound beyond their own movements.
“I’ve got eyes,” Isla continued. “Dark hoodie. Looks like a man, mid-build. He just stopped… wait…he darted behind a tree.”
The words had barely left her mouth when the crack of gunfire split the morning. The sound rolled through the woods, sharp and close. Beck dropped low, heart pounding, his mind already calculating angles and cover.
A burst of static filled Beck’s earpiece followed by Isla’s sharp curse. “Sneaky Pete just got shot out of the sky. I’m moving Sky Eye higher, out of gunfire range.”
Beck’s jaw tightened as he crouched lower against the frozen ground. The bitter cold seeped through his knees, the earth hard and unyielding, but he ignored the discomfort. He raised a hand to keep Grace and Noah still. Charging ahead blind would be suicide.
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. Beck’s hand tightened around the grip of his handgun, the cold metal biting against his skin. Who was pulling that trigger? Jonah’s captor? Or had Jonah himself been the one to fire?
He steadied his breathing, eyes locked on the thick line of trees where Isla had last spotted the hooded figure. They needed answers, but all they had right now were questions and the echo of gunfire hanging in the cold.
“Holy shit,” Isla’s voice cracked through the comm. “I just spotted Jonah. He’s leaning out from behind a tree and waving at Sky Eye.”
Beck’s pulse jumped. “How far is Jonah from the last spot where you saw the figure in the hoodie?”
“Not far,” Isla replied quickly. “Maybe twenty yards, tops.”
Beck narrowed his eyes, scanning the tree line ahead. Twenty yards was nothing. It would have been easy for Jonah to pretend to run, ditch the hoodie, and step out as if he were the victim.
“Keep eyes on him,” Beck ordered, rising slightly from his crouch. He motioned to Noah and Grace. They began moving forward again, keeping low, their boots crunching over frozen weeds and stiff grass. Every sound carried in the cold air, every breath a sharp cloud.
Beck kept his gun ready, his focus locked on the trees ahead. If Jonah was really there, they would find out soon enough.
They moved carefully toward the stand of trees where Isla had spotted Jonah. Each step crunched against the frost-stiff ground.
“Stop,” Isla’s sharp voice cut through the comm. “Don’t move. Sky Eye just picked something up.”
Beck froze, signaling the others to hold. “What is it?”
“Boobytraps,” Isla said, her voice grim.
“I’m seeing wires strung low, almost invisible from the ground.
Looks like tripwires. If you hit them, you’ll set off whatever is attached.
Hold on…” She adjusted her feed. “Claymores, at least two, maybe more. They’re rigged to the wires.
One wrong move and this whole patch lights up. ”
Beck’s gut tightened. The setup was smart and precise, the kind of trap that turned a rescue into a bloodbath. He shifted just enough to scan the ground, and sure enough, he caught a glint of thin wire stretched between two rocks.
Grace’s breath caught, and Noah muttered under his breath. Beck steadied his grip on his handgun, every nerve alive with the knowledge that they had just walked into someone’s killing ground.
“Jonah’s on the move,” Isla’s voice snapped in Beck’s ear. “He’s coming straight for you.”
Beck’s heart kicked hard. If Jonah kept running blind through the brush, he would hit one of those wires and the whole place would blow. Calling out would risk giving away their exact position, but watching Jonah get torn apart was not an option.
“Jonah,” Beck shouted, his voice cutting through the trees. “Stop! There are explosives.”
The cold air carried his words, echoing through the woods. Beck held his breath, watching Jonah’s shadow shift between the trees, praying the man had heard him in time.
Jonah froze at Beck’s shout, and then he dropped into a crouch.
He twisted, glancing over his shoulder like a man expecting a bullet in the back.
Even from this distance Beck could see the bruises across Jonah’s face, the split skin on his cheek.
He looked unsteady, swaying slightly, as if his legs barely held him up.
If it was an act, it was a damn convincing one.
Isla’s voice filled Beck’s comm. “I can guide him through the minefield, but listen, there could be charges Sky Eye can’t see. Wires buried deeper, pressure plates hidden under debris. This isn’t clean work.”
Beck’s grip on his gun tightened. His mind turned over the possibilities, each one worse than the last. If there was a shooter lying in wait, Jonah would be gunned down the second he moved.
If Jonah was telling the truth, they had to risk it to save him.
But if this was an act, if Jonah was setting them up, then walking into the minefield could be the last mistake they ever made.
“Isla,” Beck said, his voice clipped, “tell us where he can step.”
“I’m on it,” she answered, he could hear her fingers flying over the controls.
But before she could add anything, the woods erupted.
An explosion thundered behind Jonah, fire and dirt shooting skyward. The shockwave rattled the ground under Beck’s feet. Splinters and debris rained down on Jonah, and he threw his arms over his head.
Jonah staggered to his feet and bolted toward them. His run was clumsy, panicked, and after only a few yards he stumbled hard, hitting the ground with a grunt.
“Cover me,” Beck barked to Grace and Noah. Without hesitation, he broke cover and sprinted into the open.
The air tasted of smoke and earth. Beck’s boots pounded across the frozen ground as he reached Jonah. The man’s eyes were wide, wild, his face streaked with grime and blood. Beck grabbed him by the arm, hauled him upright, and dragged him back toward the cover of the trees.
By the time they reached Grace and Noah, Beck’s chest was burning from the cold and the sprint, but he had Jonah. Alive.