Chapter Sixteen
Behind you. Isla’s words echoed like a live wire in Gage’s ears.
Hell. Someone was right on their asses, and Gage figured these guys weren’t here to make nice.
Cal’s voice came next, low and steady through the comm. “Silent takeout if possible. Move quiet. Confirm targets.”
Gage didn’t hesitate. He slipped backward through the line, keeping his body low, eyes sweeping the dark. Rena had rear watch. If there was trouble coming from behind, she’d see it first.
He found her crouched by a scrub line, weapon up, her gaze slicing through the shadows. When she spotted him, she shook her head once. No movement. No sound.
Gage dropped beside her, every sense stretched tight. He could feel the tremor of tension in the air, the kind that came before a firefight. But the woods behind them were nothing but shifting darkness and the faint whisper of wind through the branches.
Too quiet.
He adjusted his grip on his gun, the metal cool against his palm. Maybe Isla’s drone had picked up residual heat. Something mechanical, something old. But his gut said otherwise.
A darker thought crept in. What if the jamming signal wasn’t clean? If their enemy knew their playbook, they could’ve sent a false return, making it look as if the system was down when it wasn’t. Maybe those heat sources weren’t appearing out of nowhere. Maybe they’d been there the whole damn time.
And maybe those sons of bitches had been waiting for Crossfire Ops to walk right into their trap.
Gage’s pulse thudded even harder in his throat. They waited, seconds dragging out like hours, every breath measured, every muscle locked tight. The night was a living thing now, breathing around them, thick with the promise of violence.
Then, movement.
A whisper of gravel to his right. Subtle, but wrong.
He caught it before anyone else did, a flicker of darker shadow against dark. He signed low, flank right, and started moving, each step deliberate, controlled. Rena ghosted after him without a sound, the two of them slipping through the underbrush like smoke.
They stopped just shy of a small clearing. The trees here were sparser, the moonlight cutting through in sharp silver slashes. Gage crouched, one hand braced on the dirt, scanning the shadows for what had made that sound.
Nothing.
Then Rena shifted, leaning just far enough out to catch a line of sight. Her movement was slight, just enough to draw a predator’s eye.
The bait worked.
Branches snapped, and a hulking figure burst out of the trees, full tactical gear, face painted black, rifle slung but hands already reaching for her.
Gage moved before the man could even shout. He slammed forward, tackling him low, driving his shoulder into the guy’s ribs. They hit the ground hard, rolling. Fists and knees, no time for subtlety.
Behind them, Gage heard the chaos. The faint thud of boots, grunts, and the crack of impact. No gunfire, everyone was keeping to Cal’s order. Hand-to-hand, fast and brutal.
Rena pivoted, sweeping her leg under another attacker who lunged from the side. He went down with a muffled grunt.
Gage ducked a swing, countered with an elbow to the throat. The man choked, stumbled back, but he didn’t go down.
Rena moved fast, too fast for the thug to get a clean grip on his weapon. She pivoted hard, her boot slamming into his wrist. The gun skittered into the dirt, vanishing in the dark.
Gage didn’t wait. He surged forward, driving a fist into the man’s jaw. The hit landed solid, a satisfying crack. The thug staggered, swung back wild, and Gage ducked under it, twisting behind him. His arm snaked around the man’s neck in a chokehold, using his momentum to drive him down.
The fight was short, brutal, and one-sided. Nothing rusty about Gage’s skills. He moved on instinct, muscle memory, and fury. The man hit the ground hard, gasping. Gage slammed a knee into his back to keep him down.
Then, movement, a blur in his periphery.
“Rena—”
Too late. Another guy, built like a tank, was already on her.
She spun, dodging the first grab. The guy was huge, easily twice her weight, but Rena didn’t back up an inch. She drove a knee into his thigh, followed it with an elbow to his ribs. He grunted but came at her again.
Gage started toward them, but before he could close the distance, Rena ducked under the man’s next swing, hooked his leg and used his own size against him. He hit the ground with a thud that rattled the dirt.
She didn’t hesitate. From her belt, she yanked out a stunner and drove it into his side. The man convulsed, muscles locking before going limp.
“Nice,” Gage muttered, his breath hard as he grabbed the first guy and yanked his arms behind him.
Together, they worked fast. Rena hit both thugs again with the stunner just to be sure while Gage zip-tied their wrists and ankles. Then he stripped them of weapons, tossing their rifles a good distance away.
He pressed a finger to his comm. “Isla, two down, restrained. Sending coordinates for pickup once the area’s secure.”
“Got it,” Isla’s voice crackled back. “Good work. Keep moving.”
He glanced at the two unconscious men. “Let’s hope these bastards are chatty,” he muttered. “Because I’d sure as hell like to know who’s signing their paychecks.”
Gage and Rena cut through the brush, moving fast and low, every instinct still humming from the fight. The air smelled of dirt and sweat, adrenaline still sharp on his tongue. Ahead, faint movement.
Cal’s signal flash.
They closed the distance to find the rest of the team crouched in a small clearing just short of the hangars.
Two more men were down—one face down in the weeds, the other slumped against a tree, both zip-tied, weapons already stripped away.
Cal stood over them, breathing hard, his knuckles raw.
Garrett was sweeping the perimeter, checking for stragglers.
Rena fell in beside Gage, scanning the tree line while keeping her weapon up. “Four total,” she murmured, eyes narrowing. “Either a recon team or the last of the guards.”
“Let’s hope it’s the second,” Gage said under his breath.
Sheriff Chase crouched near the captured men, flashlight beam cutting across their faces. Neither looked conscious enough to talk. She tapped her comm, voice low. “Isla, tell me you’ve still got clear visuals.”
“Affirmative,” Isla replied. “No more heat sources within fifty yards. You might be clean… for now.”
“Good,” the sheriff whispered. “I’ve got deputies and cruisers staged three miles out. Once we clear the interior, call them in for pickup.”
“Copy,” Isla said.
Gage swept his gaze toward the silent hangars ahead. Metal walls gleamed faintly under the moonlight, still and cold, but that only made his pulse climb higher. If these guys were just the outer ring, whatever, or whoever was inside might already know they were here.
The team began to move again. Slow, deliberate, each step measured as they fanned out. Garrett took point, his scanner raised, while Isla’s voice crackled softly through their comms.
“Noah wants a drone sweep,” she whispered. “Low altitude. Loud enough to rattle the walls. Let’s see if it stirs the hornet’s nest.”
A moment later, the faint whine started, growing fast. The drone cut low over the treetops, its rotors slicing the quiet night apart. The noise hit like a pulse, echoing off the metal hangars.
Then came the heavier thump of Noah’s helicopter circling above. Steady, controlled.
Gage kept his weapon trained on the doors, watching for any flicker of movement, any shift in the shadows. He could feel Rena’s breath beside him, steady but tight.
The drone passed again, even closer this time. The hangars stayed dark, silent.
“Nothing?” Cal murmured.
“Negative,” Isla said through the comms. “No heat signatures moving. No sound from inside.”
The quiet that followed was worse than the noise.
Gage’s jaw flexed. “Either they’re gone,” he muttered, “or they’re waiting for us to step right into it.”
“My bet’s on door number two,” Rena responded.
They moved in tight formation, the silence pressing in like a held breath.
The first hangar loomed ahead. Massive, metallic, and cold in the moonlight.
Garrett crouched at the keypad, pulling a small jammer from his vest. He hooked it to the control box, and after a few tense seconds, the lock gave a quiet click.
Cal eased the door open an inch at a time. No alarms. No movement. He gave a small nod.
Gage went first through the gap, weapon raised, Rena right behind him. The air inside was sharp with metal and disinfectant, too clean as if someone had scrubbed the place of any and everything.
“Clear,” Gage whispered, sweeping his light across the cavernous interior. The beam hit nothing but bare walls and polished concrete. No crates. No weapons. No signs of life.
Cal and Sheriff Chase moved in next, their flashlights cutting through the dark. The beams hit smooth walls, corners, and the empty shell of what should’ve been an operation hub.
Garrett scanned along the baseboards and floor seams. “No panels. No hidden trapdoors,” he muttered. “If they were here, they took everything with them.”
Outside, the steady chop of Noah’s helicopter grew louder as it passed overhead. The searchlight swept the ground around the hangar, long arcs of white cutting through the dark.
Cal’s flashlight cut out suddenly, plunging them into deeper shadow for half a heartbeat before flicking back on.
Noah’s voice came through the comm, low and tight. “Team One, I’m not seeing any exterior movement. Copy?”
Gage’s gaze swept the vast, hollow space. “Copy,” he answered.
They moved in tighter this time, every sense on edge. The second hangar loomed larger, its doors sealed, padlocked, and wired into the same security grid. Garrett knelt again, working faster now, his hands steady despite the tension crackling in the air.
“Security jammed,” he whispered. “We’re in.”
Cal eased the door open. The hinges groaned, a low metallic sound that echoed in the still night. Rena and Gage were the first through, and the smell hit immediately. Oil, metal, gunpowder. Not bleach. Not clean.
Gage swept his light across the space and froze. “Holy hell,” he muttered.
The place was full. Crates stacked chest-high, weapon racks lining the walls. Rifles, ammo boxes, tactical vests, explosives, field kits. Enough firepower to supply a war zone.
Cal gave a low whistle. “Someone’s been busy.”
“Or preparing for something big,” Sheriff Chase said, her voice hushed.
Rena and Gage stayed at the entrance, weapons trained outward, covering the others as they moved deeper inside. The silence outside pressed in against the sound of boots on concrete and the dull thud of boxes being opened.
Cal pried one open, lifted a box lid, and cursed under his breath. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
Gage risked a glance over his shoulder. Cal was holding up a manifest sheet taped inside the lid, company logos stamped at the top.
“Same supplier Rhett Danner used to buy those choppers,” Cal said. “These are direct shipments.”
Rena’s jaw tightened. “Then it could be him who set all of this up.”
Gage frowned, unease twisting in his gut. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Or maybe someone wants us to think it’s him. Plant the gear, leave the paper trail. Same move they pulled with his DNA.”
No one disagreed with that. They’d need more proof than this if they wanted to put Rhett in a cage.
Outside, Noah’s helicopter circled again, its light flashing across the open hangar doors like a warning.
They spread out through the hangar, flashlights cutting through the dim light, beams glancing off steel crates and rifle barrels. The smell of oil and gunpowder was heavier here.
Cal and Sheriff Chase moved methodically, checking along the back wall while Garrett ran another sweep with his scanner. “Too much gear,” he muttered. “If there’s anything hidden, we’ll have to move half the damn place to find it.”
“Do it,” Cal insisted. “Check for false walls or floors. Anything that looks out of place.”
That quiet pressed in on them again. Only the faint echo of their footsteps and the low hum of the portable jammer filled the space.
Then… something.
A faint thunk, metallic and hollow, from somewhere deeper inside the hangar. Everyone froze.
Rena looked over her shoulder, whispering, “What was that?”
Before anyone could answer, another sound. Rolling metal. Then the hiss.
“Tear gas,” Garrett shouted.
The canisters clattered across the concrete, spewing thick, white smoke that swallowed their lights in seconds. Gage’s lungs seized as the acrid burn hit his throat.
“Masks, now,” he barked, dragging Rena toward cover as chaos erupted in the haze.