Chapter Nineteen
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Colt kept his weapon raised as they moved. The air felt hotter now, thicker. He could still hear Garrett and Cal behind them, voices low as they pushed the hostages toward the front.
He turned back. “Keep an eye on Naomi,” he told Garrett and Cal. “We don’t trust her.”
Garrett gave a tight nod. “Got it.”
Naomi was shaking, crying hard, shoulders hunched like she could fold into herself. It looked real. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.
“I don’t know who took us,” she said, voice cracking. “I swear. I never saw his face. But I can show you where they are. The guy you’re looking for, the Crossfire guy. Beck, you called him. And Gary. They’re behind a wall. I can take you.”
Colt narrowed his eyes. “What wall?”
“It’s new. Fresh drywall, fresh paint. It’s at the back of a big room in the east wing.”
Colt kept his steps quiet, steady, mind racing as they neared the east wing.
Naomi walked ahead of him, shoulders hunched, breath loud in the tense silence. She’d said the wall was new. Said Gary and Beck were behind it. Said a lot of things.
He didn’t trust her.
She could be bait. A distraction.
He slowed, motioned for Brenna and Harlan to stop. Naomi froze, turning slightly toward him.
“Don’t move,” Colt said.
He stepped up and frisked her, quick and efficient. Nothing in her pockets. No blade. No wire. Her hands were still tied behind her back.
She wasn’t armed. Didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. He met Harlan’s eyes, then nodded once.
And they moved again.
Naomi stayed in the middle with Harlan right behind her, silent and sharp, eyes locked on her every move. She might not have a weapon, but she could still signal someone. Call for help. Turn on them.
Colt didn’t trust a single breath she took.
They passed several gutted rooms with no doors and turned down a narrow corridor, paint peeling along the edges.
The air changed.
He smelled it. Drywall. Paint. Fresh. They were close.
Colt moved down the hall, every step slow, measured. The floor creaked under their boots, the sound sharp in the tight space.
The air felt thicker here. The walls closed in.
Their eyes had adjusted to the dark, but it wasn’t enough. They still couldn’t see where they were walking. Or see who might be around them. Harlan pulled out a flashlight, kept the beam low. He swept it side to side, careful to avoid tripwires, pressure plates, anything that might rip them apart.
No one spoke.
Colt’s hand stayed on his weapon. His heartbeat thudded hard against his ribs. Naomi walked stiffly, shoulders tense, breathing shallow.
The light hit the end of the hallway. A wall. New drywall. Pale, clean. The paint hadn’t even fully cured. And a door. Slightly ajar.
Naomi stopped. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “This is where I escaped.”
Colt stepped forward, gun raised. No sounds from the other side. But he didn’t believe they were alone. He stepped to the door, heart hammering, and he pressed his boot to the edge to ease it open an inch.
They waited.
No blast. No wires snapping.
Still alive.
Harlan moved up beside him and lifted the flashlight, slow and careful. The beam slid across the room. Then landed on him.
Beck.
He was on his knees, tied at the wrists, gagged. His body hunched forward, tethered to the floor by one of those same rusted rings.
Colt pushed the door wider and stepped inside, sweeping the space with his rifle. No immediate threat. No movement. Just Beck.
And too much silence.
Brenna exhaled hard and rushed to Beck’s side. Colt moved in right behind her, crouching low.
“I’ve got him,” Colt said. He reached to pull the gag free.
But Beck shook his head. Frantic. Eyes wide, pleading. Beck’s gaze snapped to the floor. And Colt followed it.
Wires. Clay bricks.
Explosives.
Just like Wallace.
A tight circle, wrapped close around Beck’s body. One wrong move would light them all.
Colt’s heart slammed against his ribs. The explosives were tight around Beck’s legs, the wires coiled with purpose. One wrong breath could end it.
Then came the gunfire. Sharp bursts from somewhere outside the hall. Followed by shouting. A curse. More shots.
Colt turned his head toward the door. Garrett and Cal. The hostages.
They were under fire. Maybe an active shooter or it could be another round of cooked-off ammo in a fire.
Beck groaned through the gag and shook his head hard. His eyes locked on Colt’s. He didn’t need to speak. The message was clear.
Go. Save them.
“No,” Colt said, voice low and solid.
Brenna stooped down, examining the wires around Beck. “We’re not leaving you.”
Harlan moved to the door, checking the hall. “I’ll cover the hall. Whatever happens, we hold here until we get him out.” He tapped his comm. “Noah, we need your explosives skill set.”
“On the way,” was Noah’s reply.
The words had barely had time to leave Noah’s mouth when Colt heard movement. Not from the hall. To his right.
He turned fast, gun up. Brenna and Harlan did the same. A figure stumbled out of a side room, limping, bloodied, clothes torn.
Gary.
His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut. A gag still covered his mouth, hands bound behind him. He staggered into the room and froze at the sight of Colt’s rifle aimed at his chest.
“Don’t move,” Colt said. “Stay right there.”
Gary’s eyes widened in shock. Then fury. He twisted his head, working the gag down with effort until it fell to his neck.
“I’ve been held hostage,” he snapped. “They beat the hell out of me.”
Colt didn’t lower his gun. Neither did Harlan or Brenna. They didn’t trust Naomi, and they sure as hell didn’t trust Gary.
More footsteps echoed down the hall. Fast. Colt shifted, weapon still on Gary.
The comm crackled. “It’s me,” Noah said.
Relief punched through Colt’s chest. Seconds later, Noah stepped into the room, eyes scanning fast. He took in Beck, the explosives, Gary, and Naomi in one sharp sweep. Without a word, he crossed to Beck and dropped to his knees beside him.
“Can you disarm it?” Colt asked, still watching Gary.
“Yes,” Noah said. “But it’s going to take a couple minutes.” He glanced up. “You should go. Take Gary and Naomi. If this blows, it won’t be small.”
Colt didn’t flinch. Neither did Harlan. Brenna stayed beside Beck, one hand on his shoulder.
They weren’t leaving.
Noah exhaled and got to work. His hands moved fast, careful. Sweat already beading on his brow.
The room went quiet, except for Beck’s rough breaths and the faint, terrifying click of Noah’s tools. Naomi let out a sharp cry and turned to run, but Harlan grabbed her arm and held firm.
“If you’re innocent, I’ll owe you an apology,” he snarled. “But right now I can’t take the risk that you won’t get to a detonator and light up these explosives.”
Naomi kept struggling, kept sobbing, but the sounds of gunfire drowned her out. It sounded as if a war was going on.
The comm flared. Garrett’s voice came through. “It’s cooked off ammo. Looks like a fire tripped a timer. We’ve all taken cover until the rounds stop.”
Colt clenched his jaw. He hoped none of them took a bullet from that mess.
And while he was hoping, he added another that they didn’t all get blown to bits in the next few minutes.
Noah worked fast, eyes locked on the device. “Timer’s running,” he muttered. “Less than five minutes.”
Colt’s gut twisted. Even if Noah disarmed it, they still had to cut Beck loose. Then get the hell out.
Noah’s voice was tight. “Almost got it. Just a few more wires.”
Colt watched his hands work, fast and precise. Then Gary moved. Colt saw it out of the corner of his eye.
Gary brought his arms forward. They weren’t tied. And he held a small black detonator.
Colt swung his gun toward him. “Don’t move.”
Gary didn’t flinch. His eyes were cold, steady. “Back away from the explosives,” he said to Noah. “Now.”
Noah froze, hands still above the device.
Colt’s pulse pounded. The detonator had a red switch, and Gary’s thumb rested on it. A manual trigger. Probably an override.
“Step back,” Gary said again, louder. “All of you.”
Brenna stood slowly, gun raised. Harlan moved beside Colt, weapon up, aimed at Gary’s head. No one spoke. One twitch of that thumb, and it was over.
Naomi shrieked, the sound sharp and raw. “He’s the killer!” She pointed at Gary, her voice cracking under the weight of rage. “You killed Jared. You murdered him.”
Gary didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.
“It was necessary,” he said, calm as ice. “Just like killing his uncle. He’s the one I paid to build all this.”
Colt felt a flicker of shock but kept his aim steady.
Gary looked at Naomi. “Jared got too close. Started digging where he shouldn’t have. He didn’t know how to shut up.”
Naomi broke into sobs again, dropping to her knees.
Gary looked down at the detonator in his hand and pressed something. The timer stopped. Silence stretched.
“I’ll speak my piece,” Gary said. “Then you all die.”
He took a step toward the door.
Noah didn’t move. Brenna’s gun stayed up. Colt tracked Gary’s every motion.
Gary kept talking. “I gave years to that team. Risked my life. Got nothing in return. Just orders and lies. Always in the shadows, always disposable.”
He took another step.
“I watched while the rest of you got your glory, your second chances. And I got left behind.”
Colt’s jaw tightened. “So you turned on all of us?”
Gary’s eyes burned. “No. I woke up. I stopped pretending Strike Force was anything but a machine that eats its own.”
He kept inching toward the door.
Toward his escape.
Toward the kill.
Colt watched Gary inch closer to the door, every nerve stretched to the breaking point. If Gary made it through that doorway, it was over. He’d flip the switch and kill them all. They were out of time.
Colt leaned toward Brenna, voice low. “Shoot him in the knee.”
Her eyes snapped to his.
“It’s a risk,” Colt said. “Everything is.”
Behind them, Harlan’s grip loosened on Naomi. She yanked free and bolted toward the door, sobbing, stumbling.
Gary didn’t even glance at her. He was too focused on the detonator.
Colt saw the moment Brenna raised her weapon. One breath. One heartbeat. The shot cracked loud.
Gary screamed, dropping to one knee.
Colt didn’t wait. He threw his gun aside and launched forward. His shoulder slammed into Gary’s chest, driving him back into the wall. Colt grabbed for his hand, the one holding the detonator.
Gary fought hard, teeth clenched, rage burning in his face.
Harlan dove in next, stomping on Gary’s free hand with a brutal snap of bone. Gary howled but didn’t stop fighting.
Noah dropped his tools and grabbed for Gary’s arm, pinning it.
Brenna shoved in close, eyes locked on the detonator. She yanked it free, tore it from Gary’s grip. He roared, trying to twist away. Colt pinned him harder, blood from Gary’s leg pooling under them.
Harlan pressed a knee to his back. “It’s over.”
Gary kept struggling, breath ragged. But the switch was gone. Brenna backed away, detonator clutched in her hands, chest heaving.
Colt didn’t move. He stayed right there, hand still wrapped around Gary’s broken wrist.
Just in case.
Colt leaned in close, his voice low and certain. “You don’t get to take anyone else with you, you son of a bitch. You’re done.”
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