Page 38 of Kyle

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I was soaked through with sweat, my body armor trapping heat and moisture making my wet tee cling to my skin. The sun hadn’t risen and it was already in the eighties. In another hour the rays would peek over the horizon and the temperature would soar.

“I feel like I’m in Florida with all this humidity,” Dec grumbled.

“Brother, I’d take Florida any day over this.”

We continued to walk the last quarter mile to the only road leading into the camp where the girls were being held and stopped to survey the area. A one lane dirt road that wouldn’t be travelled by anyone who didn’t have business down the road.

“What do you think?” I asked Declan.

“Looks good.” He glanced around. “There’s a downed tree, we don’t even have to cut one down.”

And thank God for that. Not only would us axing down a tree make noise but it would take time.

Declan and I dragged the large tree across the lane, blocking the path of all vehicles, making sure Preston Lockhart couldn’t swerve around it.

“Now we wait,” Declan said when everything was in place.

We disappeared into the overgrown brush on the side of the road to conceal our presence and waited. With nothing else to do to pass the time, my thoughts wandered to Anaya.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her nightmares and if she’d been able to sleep. Would they subside now that the girls were rescued? I’d spent the last twenty-four hours trying to tamp down my worry. But a niggling feeling in my gut wouldn’t stop. She was supposed to stay in the truck away from prying eyes. What if someone had seen her? What if they were followed? Declan and I had stayed behind to make sure the truck had made it out of the neighborhood safely but someone could’ve picked up their tail anywhere in the city.

Amisha was dead, so were her two bodyguards. But we hadn’t made an attempt to enter the other house. Was someone in there watching? Tex had called the Timorese officials, and as we were leaving, a swarm of people had approached the orphanage. Would those girls be safe? They were all younger; they’d have time but how much time? Something felt wrong.

“You’re thinking,” Dec commented.

“What’d Tex say about the girls in the orphanage?”

“He said an Australian-run charity already took custody of the girls and were moving them. It’s all good.” I nodded thinking that was good. “What else is on your mind?”

“You didn’t see anyone watching the truck, right?”

“No. But it’s always a possibility.”

That was one thing I liked about Declan, he didn’t sugarcoat shit. He was a straight shooter and would tell you the truth even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

“You’re worried about Anaya?” he surmised. “Call her and check in when this is done.”

“I’m being—”

“Fuck, Kyle, just call her. When we get home, we got shit to do. Important shit that’s going to require your full attention.”

He was not wrong. Omni had waged war, and I couldn’t have my head full of Anaya. I needed to sort myself and put her behind me. She was gone. And most likely safely getting the girls she’d rescued settled before she headed home, then off to South America for two goddamn years.

“I’ll check in with her later.”

Declan perked up and tilted his head. “You hear that?”

I nodded and adjusted my Colt M4 and watched as Dec did the same. We inched closer to the road, staying hidden behind the thick brush, and listened as the crunching of tires on gravel got louder.

We didn’t have to wait long for the car to roll to a stop, unable to pass thanks to our trap. The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out and looked around.

Declan nudged me and I gave him a quick lift of my chin acknowledging the nonverbal question positively identifying the man.

Preston Lockhart.

Declan didn’t delay. Though he never did. Two snaps rang out and the man dropped where he’d stood. The gunshots echoed through the forestry and we moved.