Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
The mountain road could only take them so fast, and Archer hated every mile of it.
The four-wheel drive SUV fishtailed through snow and wind while his pulse outran the engine, every instinct in him throbbing to reach Jolie.
Cannon’s voice came over comms. “Townie was right. Map shows only one structure on this road. The rest rotted to the ground or were demo’d.”
“The Tucker cabin,” Rome added.
“What the hell is the Tucker cabin?” Archer demanded. “And who the hell is Tucker? Anybody live there?”
Rome’s voice filled their ears again. “Dead miner from a hundred years ago. The cabin kept his name.”
The comms crackled and Townie came on from the other SUV. “Been empty for years unless you count squatters or addicts.”
“Or the motherfucker who just dragged Jolie into it,” Archer ground out. “Give me more. What are we walking into?”
Cannon took over. “One road in. Several exits through old mine cuts in the hillside could provide fast cover.”
Archer stared into the white storm ahead, jaw locked so hard it ached. He jammed his boot onto the gas, but the truck was already maxed out, tires fighting for purchase on the snow-packed road.
The whole team surrounded him in a staggered convoy, engines cutting through the dark as two trucks clawed their way up the mountain. Every second trapped inside steel and machinery felt like he’d lose his mind.
Cannon’s voice came over comms. “Road ends in two hundred yards. We switch there.”
Archer gripped the wheel tighter. He’d drive straight through the mountain if that was what it took to get Jolie back.
They hit the turnaround in a spray of snow and brakes. Doors flew open before the trucks fully stopped. Men poured out fast, hauling weapons, med kits, breaching gear and packs in practiced motion.
Two snowmobiles were already being kicked to life. The tracked UTV growled awake beside them, exhaust curling white into the storm.
Rome and Townie mounted the first sled. O and Younger took the second. Rivers tossed his med bag into the rear of the UTV and climbed in while Cannon jumped into the passenger seat. Archer hit the driver’s side before anyone could assign him elsewhere.
Rorke grabbed the rear roll bars and planted himself on the outside step rail, half hanging off the machine like a lunatic. He threw his head back and screamed into the storm like Lieutenant Dan riding out the hurricane.
“Move,” Cannon barked.
Archer pinned the throttle. The tracks bit deep and launched them ahead.
He’d trained for this kind of ground in the Black Heart Tactical Training Facility—snow, steep grades, bad visibility, machines bucking under him while the weather tried to kill his focus. He knew how to keep moving when the world turned deadly.
What he didn’t know how to do was stop the fear from climbing higher in his chest and taking hold.
They drove hard and fast, chasing the last of the tracks before the storm could bury them. They rounded a bend and started up a rise.
The Tucker cabin sat at the edge of a clearing.
Archer’s heart slammed forward before he ever hit the brakes. Cannon ordered them to kill the headlights short of the clearing and approach on foot.
In seconds, they were on the move, snow creaking under their boots as Archer and Cannon took point with Rome on their six.
O and Townie peeled off wide to cover the rear of the cabin.
Rivers moved through the dark like he was part of it, med gear slung over one shoulder and rifle over the other, while Rorke and Younger locked down the outer perimeter.
Archer raised the thermal scope. The image flickered, then sharpened.
“Two bodies. One heat bloom.”
“Heat source. Woodstove,” Cannon confirmed.
Archer adjusted his focus until his eyes burned. One body moved near the middle of the room. The second stayed lower and still near the far wall.
Jolie. Alive.
His lungs unlocked enough to drag in one brutal breath before tightening again.
They settled into position just outside the cabin, snow hissing across the porch steps and roofline while every man waited on Cannon’s signal. Then a tiny red light blinked near the side of the cabin.
Once.
Twice.
O’s voice cut low through comms. “Alarm.”
Before anyone could rework the plan, a gunshot exploded inside.
A heavy crash followed.
Then another.
Archer surged for the door, every ounce of discipline burned away by panic.
Glass shattered at the rear of the cabin.
Younger barked over the comms. “Movement!”
“On him!” Rorke and Younger tore after him.
“Breach!” Cannon ordered.
Rome drove the front door inward with one kick and entered low. Archer was on his heels before the wood finished splintering. The scent of woodsmoke mixed with fear hit him. But it was the copper scent that made his blood freeze.
Then he saw Jolie.
She lay on the floor, roped to an overturned chair. Her hair covered half her face and blood soaked her sleeve.
Panicked, he dropped to his knees beside her. “Jolie.” His voice was a hot rasp, and his hands hovered over her, unsteady.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Archer?”
Air slammed back into his lungs. He wanted to throw his head back and howl his relief to the sky. He wanted to roar with fury that someone had done this to her.
He trapped both noises behind his teeth as he worked quick to cut her bonds.
“Archer!”
“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” He was afraid to hold her for fear there were unseen wounds.
He swept the room and called out to Rivers. “She’s bleeding.” His voice didn’t sound all that steady, and Jolie touched his jaw even though her own mouth was bloody.
God, this woman was amazing, trying to soothe him when she was the one who needed it most.
Rivers landed on his knees beside them and assessed her in one steady sweep. “I need to look at this shoulder.”
She nodded but winced when he cut open her sweater to get to the wound. As he carefully pulled the fabric away, she moaned.
“Christ, Jolie. Are you okay? Talk to me,” Archer grated out.
She trembled against him and he felt her breath come faster. “Y-you took forever.”
Her words pushed a huff of a laugh from him, but it sounded more like a cry of pain.
Rivers met his stare. “You good?”
“Just worried about her.”
Voices filled his comms. “Lost him.”
“He used a thermal blanket to try to conceal the heat register.”
“He’s headed into the mine shafts.”
“Get authorities and dogs on him.”
Archer heard all of it and ingested none. All that mattered was Jolie was alive and in his arms.
Rivers checked her pupils and ran his hands over her ribs and arms.
Archer met his stare over Jolie’s head.
He turned his attention to the bullet wound bleeding freely down her arm. With efficient moves, Rivers ripped open packages of gauze and staunched the bleeding.
She let out a low hiss of pain, and Archer cradled her head to his chest.
“How bad is it, brother?” Archer grated out.
Rivers flicked a look at him. “She’s going to be fine. She’s good enough to move. Can you tell me what happened?”
Jolie exhaled, but Archer still couldn’t find enough oxygen. As she stuttered through the story, he gently enfolded her hand in his.
“H-he drugged me. I woke up tied to the chair. He must have heard you coming—I don’t know how. But suddenly he pulled out his gun and fired. I threw the chair over and the bullet just tore past me.” She blew out a breath that sounded like she realized how close she’d come to dying today.
The knowledge sat like concrete in Archer’s gut, making it difficult to breathe.
He looked from the broken chair to her face. The image of her—drugged, bound to that chair, bleeding—would not be leaving him anytime soon.
Rivers pressed a bandage over her wound, and Jolie twisted her head to look at her shoulder.
“There go those summer tank tops,” she added weakly.
A huff of a humorless laugh escaped Archer, and Rivers chuckled. “We’ll get you back to base and I’ll fix you up right. Get some antibiotics into you.”
Her brows pinched together. “Antibiotics? I was thinking grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
“I was thinking whiskey,” Archer muttered.
Rivers laughed again.
Archer brushed her hair back from her forehead, hand shaking once before he forced it to steady.
She searched his face. “How did you know?” she whispered. “How did you know I was missing, let alone how to find me?”
O’s voice preceded the thud of his boot on the floor. “He called and you didn’t answer.”
Her mouth curved faintly, eyes still hazy from whatever that bastard had drugged her with. “So confident. What if I was ghosting you?”
O snorted. “Then we found your phone in the motel room and a witness saying you were signaling for help.”
Fear rippled over her face. “Do you think my family’s okay? Jake and Tanner and Lara?” Panic sharpened her voice.
Archer drew her protectively against his chest. “I’m sure they’re fine. We’ll check as soon as we get back to base.” He tipped her chin up. “What O’s saying is I knew you wouldn’t disappear without a fight.”
“What Monk’s saying is you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.” Rivers zipped the medical kit shut and pushed to his feet.
Archer shot him a mock glare. “Thanks for making me look like a pussy in front of my girl.”
“Maybe you can meditate the shame away.”
They all laughed, including their teammates connected through the comms as they searched the surrounding area for Jolie’s attacker.
Rome appeared in the doorway, coated in snow. “No visual. He vanished near the shaft line.”
Cannon answered immediately. “Rorke. Younger. On tunnel watch.”
“Copy,” sounded in their ears.
His team had come together because he needed them. They’d chased a ghost through a storm because Jolie mattered to him. No one even hesitated.
His tattoo finally meant more than simple dedication to his team. It meant he was part of the brotherhood.
He slid one arm under her knees and another behind her back.
“I can walk,” she protested, but he silenced her by pressing his forehead to hers and staring into her eyes for a long heartbeat.