Chapter 51
Jackson County Sheriff’s Office
The bullpen was alive when Burke and Grant came through the doors.
Phones ringing.
Radios crackling.
Deputies moving fast beneath harsh fluorescent lights.
Fear and adrenaline hung thick in the air.
Burke walked straight through the middle of it.
“Jenkins,” he barked.
Deputy Jenkins looked up instantly from one of the desks.
“Sir.”
“Call everybody in.”
Jenkins straightened. “Everybody?” “Everybody except Scout. He stays in position.” The air in the room shifted. Burke kept moving. “Luke, Baker, Sara, K-9. Full gear. I want everyone ready to roll the second I get back.”
Luke Hale came out of the equipment room already pulling on a vest.
“What’ve we got?”
“Possible hostage location.”
The room went dead quiet.
Grant stood off to the side near Burke’s office, pacing hard, running one hand through his hair over and over.
Barely holding it together.
Burke looked at Jenkins again.
“You tell dispatch nobody leaks this location over open channels. I don’t want this mountain lit up with blue lights before we get there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Burke turned toward his office—and stopped.
Caitlin sat in one of the chairs beside his desk.
Eyes red.
Face pale.
She stood immediately when she saw him.
“Oh God…”
Burke crossed the room fast and pulled her against him before she could finish.
She held onto him hard.
“Burke, please…” Her voice broke. “You have to find her.”
He closed his eyes briefly against the top of her head.
“We will.”
Behind them, deputies moved quickly through the bullpen, gathering rifles, flashlights, and radios.
Burke kept one arm around her.
“Baby, listen to me.” He pulled back enough to look at her. “We’ve got people in position already.”
Fear shimmered across her face.
“What if they move her?”
The question hit hard because Burke had already thought the exact same thing.
He forced calm into his voice anyway.
“We’re not going to let that happen.”
Caitlin nodded shakily.
Burke brushed hair back from her face.
“You stay here or go home with Mom. Either way, I’ll keep you updated every second I can.”
“Okay.”
He kissed her forehead quickly.
Then Sheriff Scott took back over.
Burke turned toward the bullpen.
“Five minutes,” he ordered sharply. “Be ready.”
* * *
The courthouse clock was striking midnight, but Main Street wasn’t asleep.
The neon sign for Catch My Draft Bar buzzed steadily in the humid late-spring air, casting a dull red glow across the pavement.
Inside, Steve and Mike wiped down taps and counted registers while a couple of off-duty county firefighters and an EMS driver lingered over a final beer near the front window.
Steve’s police scanner sat low behind the bar beside the register, turned almost all the way down.
An hour earlier, Deputy Jenkins had stopped in for coffee and quietly told him:
“Keep the scanner close tonight.”
That was it.
No explanation.
No details.
But now, when Burke’s cruiser and two dark state tactical SUVs slipped silently through the intersection—headlights cut completely black—the mood inside the bar shifted instantly.
The EMS driver paused with his glass halfway to his mouth.
Steve stopped mid-wipe.
Nobody said a word.
They all watched the convoy disappear up toward Snob Hill.
The firefighters knew the difference between a routine patrol and a tactical roll-out.
And whatever was happening tonight—
* * *
Sylva — Judge Harlan’s Residence
Judge Harlan answered the door, looking furious.
“You better have a body in the truck, Burke.”
Burke stood on the porch holding the warrant packet while Grant waited behind him in the darkness.
“We have probable cause connected to a kidnapping and narcotics movement.”
Harlan exhaled hard.
“Jesus Christ.”
He stepped aside reluctantly.
The old judge moved into the study, muttering under his breath while Burke laid photos and property maps across the desk.
“Burke, this is thin, and you know it.”
“Last time I signed one of your warrants tied to Wade Hollis, all you found was fertilizer, horse feed, and a very expensive lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Burke held his ground.
“They moved the shipment before we got there.”
“And Wade Hollis made this department look foolish in front of half the county.”
“We have active surveillance on the property.”
“You have a deputy looking at a building in the woods.”
“We have a kidnapping victim potentially being moved before daylight.”
Harlan looked up sharply.
That landed.
Still—
He shook his head.
“You’re asking me to authorize a tactical operation on a mountain property tied to Wade Hollis based on circumstantial evidence and an informant.”
Grant stepped forward, finally.
“With all due respect, Judge, while we’re standing here arguing they could already be loading her into a damn plane.”
“Grant,” Burke warned.
Harlan rubbed his face, his eyes lingering on the maps. “I’m not saying no because I don’t believe you, Burke. I’m saying no because if you’re wrong—if this is just another ghost chase—this county burns.”Then headlights swept across the front windows.
All three men turned.
A truck rolled into the driveway.
Burton Scott climbed out.
Harlan stared through the glass.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Burton walked up onto the porch slowly, still in his work jacket from the farm.
He looked tired.
Older.
But steady.
Harlan opened the door before he knocked.
“What are you doing here, Burton?”
Burton looked directly at the judge.
“Give the boy the warrant.”
Harlan looked between father and son.
Something shifted in his expression.
“Burton—”
“That girl’s life depends on it.”
The old judge studied him a long moment.
Then finally—he reached for the pen.
* * *
Jackson County Sheriff’s Office — 12:41 AM
The bullpen looked different now.
Harder.
Vests.
Rifles.
Extra mags spread across desks.
Deputies moved with the coiled focus that always came before danger.
Sara Parker tightened the straps on her vest while Luke Hale checked flashlights and ammunition beside the evidence counter.
The metallic slide of rifles coming from racks echoed through the room.
Luke looked up.
Sara’s eyes met his briefly across the bullpen.
No smile.
No words.
A look that lingered a second too long.
You good?
Yeah.
You?
Sara gave the smallest nod.
Luke looked away first and grabbed another flashlight.
Nearby, Deputy Baker was fitting Ruger’s K-9 harness while the German Shepherd paced with restless energy.
Jenkins loaded shotgun shells into a side pouch.
Grant stood near the map wall, looking like a man built entirely out of rage.
The front doors opened.
Burke walked in holding the signed warrant.
Behind him, the glass doors pushed open. Burton Scott stepped into the bullpen, wearing a worn, dusty tactical vest. The room went still.
Burke frowned immediately.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
Burton walked straight toward the rifle rack in Burke’s office.
“What’s it look like?”
He unlocked the rack and pulled out a patrol rifle with practiced familiarity.
Burke stared at him.
“You’re not going.”
Burton looked over his shoulder while calmly loading a magazine.
“If that girl’s up there,” he said quietly, “we bring her home.”
Grant watched the older man.
Then gave one small nod.
Because for the first time that night, somebody else in the room looked as angry as he felt.
Burke exhaled hard.
Then Scout’s voice crackled suddenly over the radio.
“Sheriff.”
The entire room froze.
Burke grabbed the radio instantly.
“Go ahead.”
Static crackled softly from the mountain.
Then—
“Movement.”
Burke’s shoulders stiffened.
“What kind of movement?”
A pause.
Then Scout answered quietly:
“I’ve got lights coming on near the landing strip.”