Chapter 95
JAKE
The truck hits eighty on the straightaway.
Luke's already in the back, geared up—sidearm, rifle, tactical vest, demolitions pack. He's checking magazines with mechanical precision. Mason's in the passenger seat, pulling up the map on his phone, his rifle next to him.
"Distance?" I ask.
"Twelve minutes at current speed." Mason's voice is flat. Operational. "North ridge access road is narrow. Single lane. No cover. Through the Circle H."
“No wonder they want to buy Emma’s property.” Luke stretches forward to hand over our comms. “They want the access.”
“And with her land, they can reroute deliveries if needed,” Mason adds. “Ten minutes.”
I push the accelerator harder. "Approach angles?"
"Two options." Mason points at the right. "Main access road, direct but exposed. Or we cut through the eastern ridge trail, slower, but gives us high ground."
"Main road," Luke says from the back. "We don't have time for tactical advantage."
I take the turn hard, tires biting gravel. "Agreed."
Mason doesn't argue. He knows. We have no idea how long Emma’s been gone. We only know two things with certainty: that Emma doesn’t have the experience to go up against a man like Turner, and our extraction window is closing fast.
My hands tighten on the wheel. I am terrified. I’ve never felt this scared in my life.
The road narrows. Trees close in on both sides.
I see the ridge ahead—dark silhouette against the night sky.
"Two minutes," Mason says.
I kill the headlights.
We go in dark.