Chapter 17
WEBB
“How much longer until we get there?”
As soon as my question crackles through our headsets, Tyler looks over at me with a grimly sympathetic expression.
Though I’ve asked some variation of the same thing at least half-a-dozen times since we’ve been in the air, he doesn’t call me out on it.
Because he knows the depth of my fear; not knowing if Noelle is okay, if she’s hurt, if she’s—
My chest constricts. My throat narrows, turning each breath into a struggle.
She has to be okay. The thought of the alternative is unbearable.
But she might not be.
After all I’ve seen, I understand the reality of the situation better than most.
My Noelle, the first woman I’ve ever loved, was kidnapped. Snatched right off the street on her way to work, not even a block away from the diner. Taken two-hundred miles away, to a ranch in the middle of nowhere Oregon.
And now?
The last time she triggered the alert on her necklace was less than two hours ago. That’s a good sign, Tyler and Ace reassured me. It means she’s awake. Alert. Not hearing anything from her would be worse.
Maybe so. But it’s been seventy-five minutes since then. And with every silent minute that passes, the scenarios spinning through my head get exponentially worse.
What if her captor discovered Noelle signaling for help? What if he realized what the necklace was for, ripped it off, and took her to a new location? What if we reach this ranch only to discover we’re too late, and Noelle is gone?
What if she’s being hurt? Tortured? Assaulted?
Whatever happens to Noelle, I’ll be there for her. Hospital stays. Counseling. Taking an extended break from work to care for her. Anything she needs, I’ll make sure she gets it.
But then there’s the nightmare scenario where I don’t get the chance.
No. I refuse to consider it.
As if I can somehow force the horrific images in my head away, I slam my eyes shut against them. I silently repeat to myself, She’s okay. Noelle is smart and strong and determined. She’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive until I get there.
Except she’s so much smaller than the man who took her.
Noelle’s in good shape, but she’s not trained like me.
She gets her exercise from working in the diner, along with brief sessions in the B and A gym when she would walk on the treadmill while watching me run through my workout.
And if the man who took her is armed, like I suspect he is?
If he wants to hurt her, she won’t be able to stop him.
My gut lurches.
I’ve never felt a flicker of motion sickness before—that would have put an end to my aspirations of becoming a pilot pretty damn quickly—but right now, I feel like I’m on the verge of throwing up all over the floor of the helo.
In an attempt to quell the nausea, I clench my fists while forcing myself to take long, steadying breaths. I chase after the panicked thoughts careening through my head, trying to wrangle them.
She has to be okay, I tell myself again. She has to be. I can’t lose her. I don’t know what I’ll do—
“Fourteen minutes out,” Tyler replies. His voice is just as crackly as mine, which is to be expected given that we’re all talking through headsets to be heard above the roaring whir of the rotors. “We’ll be there soon.”
Glancing over his shoulder, our pilot for the ride catches my gaze.
In his eyes is the same single-minded focus I always had on an op, like I’d flipped a light switch, shutting down my emotions until the danger was over.
He gives me a quick thumbs-up and says, “Conditions are still good. Wind speed’s at seven knots.
Only five percent cloud cover. This keeps up, we may make it in less. ”
I lift my chin at Memphis, the retired Night Stalker I remember from my earlier days in the Army. Ten years older than me, he was already established as one of the top pilots in my battalion by the time I joined, renowned for his skills navigating in the most treacherous conditions.
Despite his reputation, I was initially hesitant about having someone else fly us here instead of doing it myself.
But after spending fifteen minutes frantically calling around to figure out the best method of getting to Noelle—rent a helo at the nearest airport?
Try to charter a plane to get us as close to her tracker as possible?
Take the four-plus hours to drive? Get the local police involved and hope they could obtain a warrant in time?
—the best option ended up coming from my old Night Stalker buddy, Owl, who’s living out in New Mexico helping to run a retreat for people with extreme PTSD.
Turned out Owl and his wife, Lara, were visiting a friend in Salem, less than thirty miles from the B and A headquarters. And his friend—Memphis—just happens to have a small collection of helos, including the AgustaWestland AW 609, which is one of the fastest civilian aircrafts on the market.
“We can get to you in under thirty minutes,” Owl told me when I called.
“And Memphis said he’s pushed the Agusta to two-seventy in good conditions.
The way it’s looking today, we should be able to catch up to your girl in an hour or so.
No way you’ll get there even close to that fast in anything you borrow from the airport. ”
There was no question of me accepting the offer. I’d have accepted a deal from the devil himself if it meant getting to Noelle faster.
Now we—me, Tyler, Ace, Memphis, and Owl, who insisted on coming along to help, are closing in on a remote ranch just west of Mitchell, Oregon.
Rafe is back at Blade and Arrow, keeping an eye on Eden and Bea.
And Indy’s been canvassing Williston, talking to possible witnesses and searching for evidence.
While Ace and I have been looking over the satellite images of the property and the interior photos of the house where Noelle’s being held—oh, I hope she’s still there, at least—Tyler’s been looking into the background of her captor.
Noelle’s captor. Her kidnapper. The man who drugged her—Indy found the chloroform-soaked cloth in the backseat of Noelle’s car, abandoned fifteen miles outside of Williston—and took her unconscious body to this fucking place in the middle of nowhere to do fuck-knows what with her.
Shit.
Fuck.
What is he doing to her?
What does Dario Accetta, retired theater producer slash guest lecturer, want with Noelle?
“Did you find a connection between Accetta and Donaldson?” I ask, turning back to Tyler again. He’s tapping away on his phone, either texting with Rafe or Indy or continuing his deep-dive into Accetta’s background.
Tyler taps his phone screen a few more times before answering.
“There was nothing substantial. They didn’t work on any projects together.
I found both their names on the guest lists for some theater conferences, but there were hundreds of attendees.
Given their professions, it wouldn’t be unusual to see them both attending. ”
“There has to be a connection,” I snap. “You can’t tell me this is a coincidence.
Not with everything with Donaldson, and less than a month later…
They have to know each other. Shit, maybe they were working together.
And we missed it.” I thunk my fist on my leg. “We fucking missed it. And now Noelle—”
Ace claps his hand on my shoulder. “We don’t know that we missed anything, Spidey. Don’t blame yourself.”
“How can I not?” My voice rises. “I’m supposed to be keeping her safe. Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Seattle. It was too soon. I shouldn’t have agreed to Noelle living alone in that apartment. I should have insisted she stay at B and A while I was gone. I should have—”
“Should haves aren’t going to help,” Owl interrupts. “Trust me. It’ll drive you crazy. And it’ll get you nowhere. Focus on now. Focus on the plan. Focus on getting in there and getting your Noelle out.”
I barely manage to keep from snapping at him, too. After all, Lara is back at Memphis’s estate back in Salem, secured behind top-notch security. I want to tell him it’s easy not to think about the should haves and what-ifs when you know the woman you love is safe.
But I don’t snap at him, because I know he’s speaking from experience.
And I also know he’s right.
The plan is the important thing. The regrets can wait. That’s why I pull up the interior photos of Accetta’s house on my phone—thank fuck for real estate listings—and scan the layout of the first floor again.
“Okay,” I say after releasing a pent-up breath.
“So it looks like we’ve got two points of ingress.
The front door and the side entrance to the kitchen.
I don’t love either option, since it’ll put us right into the main area of the house.
But I don’t see an entrance into the basement, so aside from coming in through a window, I’m not sure there’s any other way. ”
Ace pulls out his own phone to look. After a few seconds, he says, “I’d say the kitchen. If we use the thermal imaging camera, we’ll know if anyone’s nearby. And the basement is closer that way. Assuming he’s keeping her down there.”
“It’s possible,” Tyler adds. He frowns at his phone. “But there are outbuildings to consider, too. A barn, garage, guest house, several sheds… But once we’re closer, we should hopefully be able to narrow down Noelle’s location to a specific building.”
“Assuming she’s in the house,” Ace replies, “I think—”
His voice cuts off with a loud crackle as the reception cuts out.
I can see rather than hear him muttering curses before his headset comes back on again.
“Damn headset,” he mutters. “What’s the fucking good in them if—” He stops.
“Anyway. I think we go in through the kitchen. There are some trees around back for cover, so that’ll help. ”