“Find us a route to the water, Six. Now. Before they disappear and we have to search a thousand freaking containers.”
But Six was already spinning the Wrangler around, barreling down the next cross street. He hit an intersection—plowed right through. Not even touching the breaks—then swerved down an alleyway barely wide enough to fit without scraping the mirrors. He didn’t slow, didn’t waver, launching them across another thoroughfare, then skidding into a large gravel lot. He gunned it, sliding to a halt in a blinding cloud of dust.
Colt was up and out before the air cleared, the Jeep still rocking beside him. One quick check of his equipment and he was off—darting down the fence line, scouring the area for guards or cameras. He wasn’t sure what kind of security the place had, other than their own damn police force. If they’d have to cut through wire, vault over walls. Didn’t matter. He had everything. Bolt cutters. Grenades—flashbangs and smoke. More firepower than a SWAT team, and enough C4 to level a wall. They could arrest his ass. Lock him up. He didn’t care as long as he got to Ellis.
She was in that Suburban. Colt knew it. Felt it. It seemed fitting McCormick would take her back here. So close to where she’d escaped. Like a slap in the face. And with all the noise—the trucks, the cranes. The constant play of the ocean. The gulls crying overhead—Ellis could call out and no one would hear her. And it was too early to be that busy, which probably meant a reduced police presence.
Hadn’t reduced the work going on, though. Damn place was up and running. Twenty-four seven, it seemed. Boats coming in off the ocean. More lining the dock.
Christ, what if McCormick intended on taking her away? What if he wasn’t planning on interrogating her here? Was simply going to put her on a boat—get into international waters, then vanish?
Screw that.
In under a minute, they’d worked their way to a section of the fence blocked by trailers and trucks. Colt went to one knee, making quick work of the chain link. He didn’t know if it was electrified—he didn’t think so, but the cutters were insulated. So, he made the hole large enough to get through without touching it. Risking his team.
Ice went in first, Six and Kam following after him. Neither of the two should be there. Colt didn’t know how Six was moving the way he was. As if he hadn’t been shot a few days, ago. Hadn’t torn out some stitches last night. And Kam—who knew what she’d been through. How she’d gotten the bruises and scattering of lacerations. But they hadn’t listened to Colt’s protests—ones Ice wasn’t backing up, which was shocking. Or it meant the other man was bone-deep worried even the four of them wouldn’t be enough, let alone just two.
There wasn’t time to argue. Colt had no idea where the Marshal’s drone was. Which car it had followed. And without visual, they were running blind. Were focused on gaining access so they had a chance.
Not that getting in had been extremely hard. Between the shadows and the machinery, they’d punched right through. But the damn area was a mix of tightly packed containers and buildings interspersed by wide open sections. Nothing but empty pavement they’d have to cross. Even in the dark, they’d stand out.
The group fanned out, crouching behind a group of containers. They watched for a minute, Ice making hand signalswhen a patrol car rolled by, flashlight haphazardly bouncing over the metal boxes.
Ice counted it down, then waved them on. Colt took off sprinting, racing across the asphalt then ducking in behind another grouping of boxes. His team followed suit, continuing on once they’d regrouped.
Another two sprints, and they were in the middle of the complex, hiding in the shadows, trying to guess which damn way McCormick would go. He’d want something remote, despite the area already being isolated. Maybe close to the water to board a ship.
Or toss her body off the pier.
He pushed the thought aside—checked his watch. Forty minutes. Ten past when they should have gotten a signal.
Fine. They’d do it old-school. Search every damn inch of the place, if needed. Start at the far end closest the water, then work back. Use every damn skill they’d learned in the Teams. McCormick was going down.
“I’ve got a ping.”
Colt stopped mid-step, turning back to Kameron. She moved in beside him, holding out the phone. A small blue dot showed on the map—mid-way along the pier—close to the water.
Colt offered up a silent prayer. He still had a chance, but they weren’t close to saving her, yet.
Ice drew his finger around the area. “Bastards are boxed in. Nothing between those buildings and these containers but open space. Lots of it. He’ll have a SOG team armed with thermal scopes. Most likely cameras panning the perimeter.”
Colt nodded. It was a freaking strategic nightmare. “They’ll pick us off like flies before we can get close enough to take them out. See how far away Cannon is.”
Ice nodded, spoke quietly into his com. “Twenty minutes. Everyone is.”
“Damn it. That asshole knew we’d follow. Split us up on purpose to limit our resources. But I don’t know if she has that much time.”
“You got an idea?”
“Just one.”
Six groaned. “I know what you’re thinking. You do realize the water’s barely above freezing, right? We’ll lose dexterity if we’re in it too long.”
“Then, I suggest we be quick. Figures Bishop, our resident winter specialist, is off on some red-herring ride. This is exactly the kind of shit he loves.” He glanced around. “Everyone up for this? Kam?”
Kam huffed. “Please, I’ve done a few Ironmans. I’m not afraid of a bit of cold water.”
“Yes, ma’am. Six?”
