“I know. Here.” He jerked a fist toward his gut, and that got every man on Sierra team on his feet.
He spun and rushed to Cannon’s office. His CO looked up, read his face and slammed his book shut. “What going on?”
“She’s not answering. I have a feeling. I need to go to the motel.”
He gave a stern nod. “O is with you.”
A minute later he and O were in the SUV, snow kicking up under the tires as they tore down the mountain road leading to town. Archer sat in the passenger seat with his phone in one hand and fear and fury building in his chest.
He called her several more times on the way. Still nothing. By the time they hit the motel parking lot, panic had sharpened into a knife of certainty that something was wrong.
He and O marched straight to room twelve and he rapped on the door. Jolie didn’t answer, and no sounds came from within.
He pounded harder.
“No way can she be sleeping,” he muttered. He took a step back, eyeing the door.
“Let’s talk to the front desk before you break down the door, Monk.”
He gave a stiff nod and strode to the office, throwing open the door hard enough to rattle the bell overhead. The motel clerk looked up.
“You’re back,” she said.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
The woman’s faint brows creased. “The girl left.”
Archer went motionless as his heart slammed into his ribs with enough force to stop it if it wasn’t already.
“With who?” O took over.
She frowned. “Another guy. He was wearing black too—I assumed he was with you.”
The walls closed in around them, and Archer’s vision narrowed.
“She didn’t even wait for her food. So I ate it. I wasn’t going to let that grilled cheese go to waste.” She issued a low laugh.
Rage rocketed through Archer, and he reached across the counter toward the woman, ready to shake her, but O gripped his arm hard to restrain him.
“Tell us everything you know!” Archer barked.
The woman’s face paled. “Th-the man was tall and strong, like you. They left in a funny-looking vehicle with big tracks. Smaller than a truck.”
“A Trax?” O said, flashing her a picture he pulled up on his phone.
“That looks right.”
Archer’s fist tightened so hard his knuckles popped. “Did she go willingly?”
“She wasn’t wearing a coat. She seemed cold—was moving her hand weird. Opening it and closing it behind her back to warm up her fingers.”
Archer’s pulse slammed.
“That’s the universal sign for ‘I’m in danger.’”
The woman went paler. “Oh Lord.” She crossed herself.
“We need the key to check her room,” O said.
