Chapter Ten
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“Wallace, where are you?” Brenna asked, already pushing open the door to the parking lot.
“I’m not sure,” he said, his breath ragged. “I’m in a shed. There’s a water tower. Old. Rusted red. And train tracks.”
Brenna looked at Colt and Harlan. “Could be the old freight yard about ten miles from here,” Harlan suggested. “There’s a water tower out there, hasn’t been used in years.”
Harlan was already pulling out his keys. “Let’s go.”
Brenna hesitated for a second, glancing toward the sheriff’s office. She should tell Arden where they were headed, but the sheriff wasn’t there, and time was running out.
She turned and rushed after Colt and Harlan, catching up as they headed to the Crossfire Ops SUV. Harlan slid behind the wheel of his vehicle, Colt took shotgun, and Brenna climbed into the backseat, her phone still pressed to her ear.
“Wallace, are you hurt?” she asked, putting the call on speaker.
“I think my ankle’s sprained,” he said. “Bruised and cut up, and I was drugged, I’m sure of it. But I’m alive. For now.”
“Who took you?” Brenna pressed. “How did you get away? On the last call, you said she was murdering you. Who’s she?”
Wallace groaned. “I don’t know for sure. The person wore a mask. Not just a ski mask. There was another mask over it. A printed face. Naomi’s face.”
Colt twisted in the seat to look at her, his eyes narrowing. Brenna met his gaze, and her mind began spinning with what that could mean.
“Are you saying it was Naomi?” she pressed.
“I’m saying I don’t know,” Wallace said on another groan, this one drenched in frustration. “It could have been anyone under there. But yeah, the mask looked like her. That’s why I said what I did.”
Brenna sat back, her grip tight on the phone. It didn’t add up. If Naomi really had taken him, why wear a mask of her own face? Why not try to frame someone else?
None of it made sense. Not yet.
As Harlan drove out of town, the tires humming on the pavement, Brenna held the phone tighter.
“Wallace, how did you escape?” she asked. “And whose phone are you using?”
There was a pause, just a hitch in his breathing. “The phone belonged to… I don’t know. My captor, I guess. It was in the cabin where they were keeping me. They must’ve left it behind when they left.”
Brenna didn’t say it aloud, but her pulse jumped. Why leave a phone behind? That was either a mistake or a trap.
“I waited until I was sure no one was coming back,” Wallace said. “Then I managed to break the lock on the back door. I fell coming down the steps and twisted my ankle. It slowed me down.”
He sounded winded. Scared.
“I tried to call you earlier,” he added. “But I was stuck in a dead zone.”
The dead zone didn’t surprise her. There were plenty of those in the area, but there were other parts of his account that put a knot in her gut.
Was this another trap?
And was Wallace pulling the strings?
She thought of what Naomi had said, about Wallace going off the rails after his wife left him. Too bad Brenna didn’t know if that was the truth or a lie that Naomi had constructed to try to deflect the guilt onto someone other than herself.
“What cabin, Wallace?” Brenna asked. “Where were you being held?”
“I think it’s one of those old hunting cabins near the dry creek bed just off—” He stopped, breath catching. “Wait. I hear someone.”
Silence stretched thin and sharp.
“Please hurry,” he whispered. “I think they found me.”
Wallace hung up.
“Damn it,” Brenna snapped, gripping the phone tight.
She didn’t try to call him back. If the killer really was nearby, the sound of a ringing phone could give away his hiding spot. Instead, she quickly opened a text thread to Noah.
Can you trace the phone Wallace Kemp just used to call me? We’re en route to the location Wallace described. The old freight yard about ten miles out. ETA is six minutes,” she added after glancing at the GPS that Harlan had loaded.
She hit send, her thumb hovering a second longer before she locked the screen.
“They’re at the sheriff’s office,” she said aloud, her voice tight. “Naomi and Jared. They couldn’t be the ones doing this.”
Colt didn’t turn from the windshield. “They could’ve hired someone.”
Brenna exhaled slowly. “Yeah. They could’ve.”
Outside the window, the town of Crossfire Creek gave way to open land and long stretches of weathered fencing.
Scrub brush and low trees blurred past as Harlan kept the SUV moving fast but steady.
The road narrowed, weaving through the countryside as they closed in on the area Wallace had described.
Colt tapped at his phone. “I’ll start the background check on Jared. Socials, contacts, phone history. If he so much as looked up a hitman online, we’ll find it.”
Noah’s text came through. Working on the trace. Will update soon.
Brenna stared at the message. “It’s probably a burner,” she said, her voice low. “Still… if there’s even a sliver of a chance Wallace is there, we have to try.”
She didn’t say what they were all thinking. That it could be another trap.
Her phone vibrated again with another text from Noah.
Silent backup on the way to your location. ETA is about fifteen minutes.
Not long, but they couldn’t hold out for that long. Which meant they were on their own. Still, it was good to know that someone would have their six if things went sideways.
She relayed the info about backup to Harlan and Colt and continued to keep watch. Continued to ready herself for whatever they were about to face.
Colt’s phone was on the console now, the screen alive with data about Jared. The background check was already churning out results. Names, numbers, old addresses. Nothing jumped out yet, but it would.
Colt reached for a vest and winced when he pulled it on. “Gear up,” he told her.
She nodded and reached beneath the seat, pulling out a vest from the back and then a Glock from the ammo box. She checked the chamber and clicked the safety off before sliding the weapon into the holster at her side.
The thoughts wouldn’t stop. Was Wallace really out there, scared and injured, or were they charging into a setup?
Again.
She glanced at Colt. His jaw was tight with focus, his movements controlled but slower than usual. He was hurting. She knew he was nowhere close to one hundred percent, not after taking that shot to the ribs. But she also knew there was no keeping him out of this. Not now.
Not ever.
Harlan pulled over about a quarter of a mile from the location Wallace had given. The road was narrow and rutted, no real cover except the tree line. As soon as he killed the engine, he reached for his vest and weapon.
Colt checked his phone again, then cursed under his breath. “Jared has a connection to Timberline,” he said. “He dated one of the hostages. Sophia Serrano.”
Brenna’s stomach tightened. “The message left on Leah’s wall said Sophia was part of the drug supply chain. If that’s true, maybe Jared was too. Or maybe he’s trying to avenge her death.”
She let the thought roll around in her head. There were too many questions and not enough answers. She would come back to it later. Right now, Wallace might be bleeding or dying, or this could be another trap meant to lure them into the open.
Colt was already stepping out, his gear snug and secure. Brenna followed, pulling her vest tighter and double-checking the Glock in her grip.
They moved as a unit, quiet and steady, into the thick fringe of trees. The branches above swallowed the sunlight, casting the path in shifting shadow. Somewhere ahead stood the shed Wallace had described. Just beyond that, the rusted skeleton of the old water tower loomed.
Brenna kept her gaze sharp, scanning the trees and brush around them. She didn’t trust anything out here. Not the silence. Not the terrain. And certainly not that this wasn’t another ambush waiting to spring.
The tower came into view, rising above the trees like a ghost of the past. Rust streaked down its legs, and the old white paint peeled in long strips. One side looked buckled near the base, like a storm had shoved it hard and left it leaning just slightly.
Brenna spotted the shed just beyond the tower. Small, weathered, its roof sagging in the middle. The door hung crooked on one hinge. No sign of Wallace. No movement at all.
The shed was wide open. No trees nearby. No brush to hide behind. If someone was watching, they would have a clear shot.
Brenna gripped her Glock tighter and scanned the tree line again. Nothing. Still, every nerve in her body pulled tight.
“I’m calling him,” she said, voice low.
Colt gave a small nod, eyes locked on the shed.
She hit redial, and the phone rang. The sound carried from inside the shed, clear and loud in the silence.
But Wallace didn’t answer.
He didn’t come out.
Her chest tightened. Please, don’t let us be too late.
She ended the call and looked at the others. “The phone’s inside, but no answer. He’s either unconscious or…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t want to give it voice.
Colt gave a short hand signal. Go. Harlan moved first, keeping low, his rifle up and scanning the area. Colt followed, then Brenna. Every step across the clearing sent a fresh jolt of fear through her chest. Still no movement. Still no Wallace.
They reached the shed. Colt pressed to one side of the door, Harlan to the other. Brenna stayed back, watching the woods behind them.
Colt gave the door a firm push. It creaked open. He went in first, fast.
“Clear,” he called a second later. “Phone’s here. No Wallace.”
Brenna stepped inside and saw a few drops of blood trailed toward the back wall. There was a chair, a cut length of rope, and a needle on the ground. Not good.
“He was here,” Colt said. “Not long ago.”
“Then where is he?” Brenna whispered.
A deep metallic groan cut through the air.
They all froze.
She turned toward the tower. Another groan. A hiss. Then a low rumble.
“Move!” Harlan shouted.
The water tank exploded with a thunderous boom.
Steel tore apart. Water blasted out in a white surge, the force of it shaking the ground. The wave hit the shed like a sledgehammer, and Brenna went flying.
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