Chapter 8
GRANT
We arrive with five minutes to spare, the SUV skidding to a stop in front of a fence with a yellow metal sign tacked to it that reads:
WARNING
THIS PROPERTY IS CONDEMNED.
KEEP OUT!
The gate hangs open, a lock dangling uselessly from a chain around the post.
“Looks like they’re already here,” Gunn says, taking note. “This is the only way in or out.” He eases the Yukon forward and then brakes once he’s past the fence. “No word from John yet?”
Holston shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Shit. Okay. You have your service weapon?”
Holston pulls the gun from his holster in answer.
“Good,” Gunn says. “Let’s go.”
We get out, and I slip into the driver’s seat as Gunn pulls open the hatch and grabs something. When he appears through the open passenger door he’s holding a hunting rifle.
A slug of dread hits me. “What’s that for?” I ask.
“To protect you and your wife if this doesn’t go right.
” He points up the road. “The quarry is just over that ridge. Officer Holston will take a position behind those boulders there while I flank west into the trees. Grant, you keep driving and head for the clearing.” He turns his attention to Holston.
“Calvin, if this turns ugly, cover Grant. And if you see anyone coming back down that road but him, you stop them, understand?”
Holston nods.
Gunn’s gaze narrows. “We arrest them if we can, but if they don’t comply, you do whatever you need to do. The training wheels are off on this one. These people cannot get away.”
Holston’s face firms. “They won’t. I’m ready for this.”
“You better be. Now move!”
Holston spins around and nearly trips before racing up the road in a half crouch.
“You’re going to need to delay them for a few minutes,” Gunn says, eyeing me again. “I need some time to get into position. Shouldn’t take long. Think you can do that?”
“Yes,” I say, even though I have no clue how I will.
“Good. Now listen. If you see anything going sideways. If they look like they’re going to hurt your wife, rub the back of your neck and I’ll try to take them out.
But Grant, if that happens, you need to get to her and then find cover.
You cannot hesitate. I probably won’t be able to tag them both, at least not right away. ”
“Got it.” He doesn’t need to say it. I won’t hesitate. Not when it comes to Avery. “What about a gun? Should I take one?”
He shakes his head. “No. We don’t want them to have any reason to view you as a threat. Don’t worry. I’ll be watching.” He checks his watch. “Okay, you gotta go.” He leans into the car and places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You’ve got this.”
An unexpected wave of gratitude rolls over me. The man doesn’t have to be doing this. He’s potentially putting his career—and his life—on the line. All to help me save Avery.
“Thank you,” I say. “I owe you one.”
His eyes soften. “No, you don’t. I’ve got a wife and kids of my own. If I were in your shoes, I’d want someone to do the same thing.” A hint of a smile plays over his lips. “But I will let you buy me a beer afterward.”
I issue a single, nervous laugh. “Deal.”
“Now go,” he says. And then he’s gone, hustling away with the rifle and vanishing into the trees.
I put the Yukon into gear and drive. Gravel crunches beneath the tires.
A soft breeze drifts through the window as I grip the steering wheel and climb the road.
When I pass Holston, he gives me a single nod.
He doesn’t look nearly as frightened as I feel, seems almost excited in a way, like he’s looking forward to this.
Something about his posture reminds me of a wolf stalking its prey—head low, weight shifted forward.
He’s probably been waiting for a moment like this where he thinks he can make his mark when in reality it could easily get him killed.
Don’t be a hero, kid, I think.
I crest the hill and he slips from my mind, swallowed by the view.
To the left of the road lies a vast open pit.
Cliffs like teeth jut skyward from a table of unnaturally blue water far below.
Piles of stone surround it along with mounds of gravel.
The pit is so massive it looks like God himself reached down and tore free an immense scoop of earth.
Skirting higher to the right of the road, I spot the clearing Gunn mentioned—a huge, flat patch of dirt overlooking the quarry.
A charred fire ring sits at the center, surrounded by several rusted folding chairs.
Beyond that, further back, there’s nothing but trees.
And no van. Where is the van?
I accelerate and descend the road, then ease into the clearing and stop. Streamers of dust float past the windshield. I stare at the clock. It’s 2:30 sharp and I’m the only one here. There’s no one else.
Anywhere.
What the fuck?
My pulse clicks higher. I push open the door and step outside to the smell of chalk and minerals, the wet must of earth.
An empty beer can crunches beneath my shoe, and I kick it away.
The quarry looks even deeper this close, the vertical walls of granite scarred by decades of machinery harvesting rock.
I turn my attention to the trees—a dense thicket of cottonwood, pine, and aspen—and then spin a three-sixty and search for movement, for anything at all.
There’s nothing. Just the trees and the quarry with the mountains rising beyond.
I return my gaze to the road I traversed—the only way in or out.
Isn’t that what Gunn told me? That there was no other way to access this place?
Which means they should already be here, just like Gunn said.
The lock on the gate was cut. So why aren’t they?
The answer hits like a bat to the face. Shit. They must have spotted us arriving, saw Gunn and Holston get out of the car with their weapons drawn. They saw and they fled. But that doesn’t make sense, either. Again, only one way in or out, so we would have seen them leaving. And we didn’t.
Goddammit. My head feels like it’s full of smoke. I don’t know what’s happening. All I know is that coming up here with cops was a mistake. That has to be why the abductors aren’t here. It has to be. Nothing else makes sense.
Which means I fucked up.
Which means Avery might already be dead.
I’m ready to crawl out of my skin, about to hop back into the car and round up Gunn and Holston when I hear the sound. The same sound I first heard this morning at the trail. The intermittent chug of an engine. It’s soft at first, a rattle in the distance.
The van.
But it isn’t coming from the road I descended.
It’s coming from the opposite direction a ways back from the clearing.
It’s hard to tell through the bright afternoon sun, but I can barely see the vehicle edging past a second bank of trees I didn’t notice until now, planted farther back beyond an old equipment shed at the end of the quarry.
The van draws closer, rising and falling until it reaches the clearing and comes to a stop on the far side.
I cup my hand to my forehead in an attempt to ward off the sun.
Like before, it’s hard to see much through the tinted windshield, but I can just make out the outline of the driver through glass.
Where is she? I think. Where’s Avery? Is she safe?
The side door slides open with a loud thwack!
and a masked man gets out. The man. The same guy who assaulted me earlier.
The one who grabbed Avery. I can see it in the way he stands with his arms crossed and his shoulders squared.
I can feel it in the heat of his gaze. A bolt of fury runs through me.
I ball my hands into fists and take a step forward, but he raises two fingers and wags them side to side while shaking his head. Then he turns and leans into the van.
When he reappears, it’s with Avery.
My legs fill with cement as he drags her from the vehicle and holds her in front of him.
Her hair looks matted and dirty, her eyes hidden behind a bank of weeping red strands.
Her nose and mouth are concealed by a handkerchief which is knotted tight around her face, and her hands are bound behind her back.
I can’t make out anything else, but I can tell this: She’s crying.
It’s evident in the way her chest is heaving up and down in little quaking shifts. She’s scared. Beyond scared. Terrified.
I’ll kill you for this, I think as I stare at the man. I will fucking end you.
The thought dies the second he plants his gun against her temple.
Something vibrates in my pocket—the phone. I grab it and raise it to my ear.
“Yeah.”
“Transfer the rest of the money.”
“Let her go first.” Despite my anger, I manage to keep my voice steady.
“As soon as you transfer the money.” The voice sounds like it’s been run through a blender. It has to be the driver speaking, though I can’t see enough of him to make out a phone pressed to his ear.
“How do I know you won’t hurt her if I do?” I ask.
“You don’t.”
“Then you won’t get anything.”
The man falls silent, his breath rolling through the phone and into my ear like a mechanical tide.
It wasn’t the right thing to say; I pushed him too far, too fast. But I can’t simply transfer the money, either.
Not without guaranteeing Avery’s safety first. And where is Gunn?
He told me to delay, but has to be in position by now, right?
It’s been … I have no clue how long it’s been, but surely long enough.
Not that I can risk searching for him in the trees.
That would give away the fact I’m here with support.
All I can do is stare at the driver—who keeps staring directly back at me.
After what feels like a lifetime, he turns and barks something at the man holding Avery. The man nods and pulls the gun from her head and aims it vaguely in my direction, the barrel hovering a few inches from Avery’s skull.
He fires.
The gunshot echoes off the granite walls like a thunderclap.
The bullet pings a stone somewhere to my left.
Avery lets out a high, piercing shriek that quickly turns to a low mournful wail.
The cry is muffled through the handkerchief—a noise I’ve never heard her make.
It’s pure, unfiltered terror. All the blood in my body flushes to my feet.
“The next one goes in her brain.”
I flinch at the voice, don’t realize I’m still smashing the phone to my ear until I hear the words.
“Transfer the money NOW!”
The statement is physical, like a slap to the face.
I can’t delay any longer. I pull the phone from my ear, tap the screen, and load my account.
What’s left of my money—and Avery’s—stares back at me in seven black digits.
Two point four million, all of it about to disappear with a single flick of my finger.
It’s so much money—everything we were planning to use to slow down in a few years.
To retire early. But right now money doesn’t matter.
Money can be replaced. Avery can’t. It’s not even a choice.
I tap the green transfer button, confirm the transaction, and watch the balance in the account evaporate. The screen changes to a confirmation: Transaction complete.
I crush the phone back to my ear. “You have it,” I say.
But no one’s there. The line is dead.
My gaze comes to rest on the man holding Avery.
Nothing’s changed. He still has the gun pressed to her head, his fingers roped in her hair.
The driver shouts something at him and he stiffens.
His jaw dips. His eyes hit mine. For a long, sick moment I think he’s going to do exactly what Gunn said he’d do—take our money and kill Avery anyway.
But he doesn’t. He pistol whips her instead.
“No!” I cry.
I give the signal, rubbing the back of my neck as he lets go.
Avery collapses in on herself like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
The man leaps back into the van and slams the door shut.
And then I’m running, pounding toward her as the van spins in a U-turn, kicking up a giant rooster-tail of dust. From somewhere a thought hits, vague and distant: Gunn hasn’t fired a single shot yet. Neither has Holston.
But I don’t care.
All I’m focused on, all I can see, is my wife lying face down in the dirt with her hair spread around her in a halo of red. My voice gushes up my throat thick with panic the moment I reach her. “Avery! Oh, Jesus, Avery! Are you okay? Please, tell me you’re okay!”
I skid to my knees and roll her over, run my hands behind her head. There’s already a substantial knot rising beneath her hair, the skin hot and sticky with blood. My thoughts splinter and burst. Check for a pulse! I press two fingers against her neck. Find her heartbeat!
It’s weak but there, fluttering like butterfly wings beneath my fingertips. Relief rolls through me as tears flood my eyes. She’s alive. She’s alive and I have her back.
I have you back, I think. I finally have you back.
She groans and coughs, fighting to breathe through the handkerchief still covering her mouth. I grab it and tug it lower.
And that’s when my world fully disintegrates.
I gawk at the broad nose and too-thin lips, at the square chin and plump, rounded cheeks. This isn’t Avery. The realization hits like a shotgun blast, so hard, I thump down onto the dirt. The woman lying on the ground in front of me is a stranger.