Jackson’s voice cut through the heavy silence. “Mick, aren’t you still in the hospital?”
“Yeah,” Mick said, his words uneven but steadier now. “They’ve got me on observation, but my injuries aren’t that serious. I’m fine.”
Avery could hear the rustle of movement on the other end. He was already up, probably pulling out IV lines and ignoring the nurses.
“Mick,” Jackson warned, tone sharp, “you need to stay put—”
“I think I know where they are,” Mick interrupted. His voice cracked again, but this time it was with conviction, not grief. “When the sheriff told me about Mom, she told me where they found her body. It was off County Road 19, near the old timber cut. Darian used to run survivalist training out that way.”
Avery’s pulse kicked. She knew that area from research she’d done on the Brotherhood. It was a patch of rough land about thirty miles outside Crossfire Creek—dense woods, uneven terrain, and plenty of places to hide things you didn’t want found.
“Darian has a whole setup out there,” Mick went on. “Obstacle courses, concealed trails, live-fire training. He builtit like a prepper compound—dozens of traps, camouflaged pits, the works. But there’s more. About a mile south of the main clearing, there’s an old underground bunker. It was part of a Cold War shelter project or something, concrete reinforced, no cell signal. You could keep someone down there for weeks and nobody’d ever know.”
Avery’s hand tightened around the phone. “And you think that’s where Megan and Riley are.”
“Iknowit is.”
“Then let us handle it,” Jackson said, and it wasn’t a suggestion.
Mick’s voice came back low and strained. “No. I’m not sitting here while they’re out there. I’m getting dressed and heading that way.”
Avery could picture it. Mick moving fast, adrenaline masking the pain, a storm of rage and guilt pushing him forward.
“Mick,” she said carefully, “don’t do anything until we get there. If that place is wired like you say, it’s a death trap.”
“Then you’d better hurry,” he said, and the line went dead.
Jackson lowered the phone, his jaw locked tight.
Jackson was already on his feet, grabbing for his jeans as he punched Noah’s number into his phone. Avery pulled the sheet around herself for a second before forcing herself to move. The calm of the last few hours had evaporated, replaced by the familiar thrum of adrenaline.
“Noah,” Jackson said when the call connected, his voice clipped. “We just got a call from Mick. He’s still at the hospital, but he says he knows where the hostages are, something about a training facility Darian built near County Road 19.”
Avery could hear Noah’s reply faintly through the speaker, his tone sharp and incredulous.
“Yeah,” Jackson replied. “He says there’s an old bunker out there. Claims that’s where Megan and Riley are being held.”
A pause. Then Noah said something that made Jackson’s mouth harden.
“Do it,” Jackson said. “Keep him there, whatever it takes.”
He ended the call and turned to Avery. “Noah’s going to look into the site and make sure Mick doesn’t walk out of that hospital.”
“Good,” Avery said, already pulling on her clothes. “Because if this is what I think it is, Mick could be walking us into a setup.”
They dressed fast, no words wasted, and crossed the compound to Jackson’s office. He powered up his computer, his fingers flying over the keys as Avery leaned over his shoulder.
A satellite map filled the screen. Miles of rough terrain.
“Darian really did build himself a fortress,” Jackson muttered.
Avery studied the image. The land was a maze of limestone bluffs and tangled trails. Pockets of dark caves pocked the terrain, and narrow gullies ran like veins through the woods. If someone didn’t know the layout, it’d be almost impossible to navigate, let alone stage a rescue.
“This looks like a nightmare for an extraction,” she said quietly.
“Exactly,” Jackson said. “Perfect place for a trap.”
Her phone buzzed. A text from Noah.On it. Sending someone out now. I’ll let you know what we find.
