Page 153 of The Deadly Shallows

“This medic was just telling me where he last saw her.” Turning his attention back to the medic, he said, “Can you show me exactly where you last saw her?”

“Of course.” The medic turned to another. “Carl, you’re in charge.”

Noah studied the footprints in the snow as they walked to the tree line.

“They were right here,” the medic said as he kneeled to examine the patient Brooke had been assisting.

Noah noted two sets of footprints about a stance apart. Side by side. He’d no doubt held her at gunpoint. Whichever he it was who took her.

Noah thanked the medic and turned to Marshal Harris. “They’ve definitely taken her.”

SEVENTY-TWO

Yanking her by a rope secured around her wrists, Frank Mirch kept Brooke’s pace at a run. Snow crunching beneath her soaked tennis shoes, she struggled not to trip over tree roots or slip on patches of ice.

“Dad,” Scott said, his breath white puffs in the thickening snowfall. “What did you do?”

He did it all, thought Brooke. Frank Mirch had deployed the laser, killed and injured countless people, and broken his son out of prison.

Frank didn’t slow his pace, her rope in one hand, an AK-47 in the other.

“What do you mean, what have I done?” Frank said. “I’ve given you your freedom.”

He frowned.. “You were behind the mass shooting, weren’t you?”

“I took care of the men who set you up. I got the weapon that set you free.”

“But you’ve killed so many people. Innocents . . .”

“Collateral damage,” Frank said.

“Is that what Amy Caldwell was?” Brooke said, hoping to jar Scott, to make him question his dad further. It was probably a long shot, but she prayed he’d even turn on him.

Scott stopped. “What happened to Amy?”

“Your dad killed her.”

Frank’s fist collided with her cheekbone. Pain ricocheted through her face. “Enough!” he hollered.

Warm liquid slipped down her face. She wiped the blood trailing from her nose. Scott looked horrified, but he did nothing, just stood silent.

“One more word, and you’re dead,” Frank said.

“You won’t kill me until you make it safely away,” Brooke said.

“Don’t try me,” he clipped out, and she believed him.

Dogs barked and howled in the distance, the woods crawling with search teams. Having found Dwayne shot in the head, Noah and Harris now followed three sets of shoe prints—two larger, one smaller. The Mirches and Brooke.

Thank you, Lord, for the snow.

Noah’s breath caught in his chest. Brooke had become his heart, and until he had her safe and back in his arms, nothing would feel right.

Please, Jesus, don’t let them harm her, I beg you.

Harris’s arm came out and nearly clotheslined him.

Noah teetered on the top edge of a ravine. He looked over to thank Harris, but the marshal held a finger to his lips and pointed. “Half a klick downstream,” he whispered.