Chapter 42
Brandon
A good soldier carries silence like a weapon. He knows when to clock the details and when to lock them away.
The sand on Morra’s boots.
The delay in waking me up.
The missing equipment and weapons.
Birdie’s photo sent to his phone by Ashford and its timing.
The fool’s errand he’s sending me on.
These are too much to lock away.
I pray to God I’m wrong. I’ve looked up to that man. Tristan Morra taught me everything I know about the job, took me under his wing, believed in me and gave me an opportunity at a better life when no one else would.
How could he be a murderous stalker who kidnaps, tortures and kills?
There is only one way to prove it. The signal jammer. When Morra isn’t here, I’ll disable it for one second. If Ashford gets a signal, Mrs. Abel is right here, somewhere under this cabin and near the cove, and Morra is Butterfly Man.
A part of me doesn’t want to wait, wants to tear these walls and floors to find her myself, now, and stop whatever pain and horror he must be putting her through, but it’s too much of a risk.
I’m only one injured man who doesn’t know what he’s up against on the other side.
Any mistake is fatal. Patience is the only key to survival.
I play my part. I eat the fucking soup like a good boy and go to that boat.
I contemplate telling Marcus to get him to help, but he idolizes his best friend and hates Mrs. Abel.
I bite my tongue and play another part. The soldier that has already fallen but hasn’t told his body yet.
I make sure Marcus sees it. He orders me to return and rest, and I have no choice but to follow chain of command.
Morra is nowhere to be seen. He must be with her. That’s my cue. I override the feed, turn off the signal blocker, turn it back on and run as fast as I can. If he suspects the device has been tampered with, he won’t think it’s me if I was never here. Until he figures it out, hopefully too late.
Once I’m out of the cabin’s isolated range and get a signal, I call Ashford. “Did it work?”
“Yes. Sending coords to confirm. Lambert’s Cove.”
I check the message. “Correct. It’s a secluded cabin on the east side near the cove. Ashford, bring sonar and battering rams, big ones. Bring a wrecking ball if you have to. I think he has her under the bunker, and wherever it is he’s keeping her, it has access to the beach.”
“Jesus Christ. I’m on my way.”
“Get a squad ready by the cove, too. I think that’s his way out.”
“Copy. You stay put. Don’t blow your cover. We don’t know if we’ll still need it.”
I stay back, close enough to see the cabin through the trees, far enough not to get caught if Morra figures it out.
My pulse hammers as the police cars approach the dirt road. Any second now, they’ll find her. Any second, this nightmare will end.
Seconds pass like years. “What’s taking them so long? They should have broken in by now.” Ashford said I was the backup plan if his went south, but maybe I should go help. “C’mon.”
Two more minutes. I can’t wait any longer. I take one step toward the cabin—
A blinding white flash followed by a roar tears the air apart. The cabin lifts, splinters and collapses in a bloom of fire.
“Ashford!” Smoke rolls over the treeline. Outlines of bodies—Ashford and his team—scatter across the clearing.
My stomach drops. He knew. Morra knew we were coming.
I run toward the cove. A faint wake slices through the water’s surface. A boat, the fucking Beneteau Morra sent me to investigate, already moving, already gone. The last trace of her, the last proof he was ever here.
The bastard planned it all. He still has her, and I have no clue where he’s taking her or how the hell I’m supposed to find out.