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His words about the grimmodus operandiof his mentor replay in my mind. “Lyric,” I whisper, pressing my fingertips to my lips, “do you think?—”
“Oh, I know,” he interrupts, his words laced with a lethal calmness amid the storm. “I’ve never kidnapped a child. I want that clarified first.” His words are dark, carrying the weight of past anger. “It’s why I killed my mentor, why I killed every single person involved in taking kids within our organization.”
“Looks like you missed one,” Matty points out, his tone devoid of mockery but laden with truth.
“I did,” Lyric admits. “I know how they do it,” he whispers, and I’m unsure if I want to know, but he continues regardless. “They observe, wait, and study your patterns, waiting for an opportunity. Usually, there are three roles. One to lure. One to distract. One to take.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel as he recounts the grim details. “The lure? It’s always a child.”
My eyes close involuntarily, my heart pounding in my chest. “Plan,” I grind out, needing to focus on what comes next.
“Looks like they are heading for the private airstrip,” Matty informs us, his eyes scanning the road. “It’s just on the other side of this mountain.”
My heart hammers violently in my chest, but calmness settles over me, a focus born from desperation.
“I have the layout,” Matty continues, grim-faced. “There is a perimeter fence surrounding the airport. It looks like the owner is one… Fuck.” He glances back at us. “Salvatore Bonanno.”
I breathe slowly as the name hits my ears. It’s no longer possible to brush this off as a coincidence.
“Point of entry,” Desmond demands.
“To the north,” Matty responds before addressing Lyric. “Don’t approach directly. There’s a small logging road they can’t monitor. Enter there. You’ll have to navigate potholes in that fancy car of yours.”
“Fuck if I care,” Lyric responds, determination in his eyes as he speeds down the road, passing an airport sign.
“Authorities?” I question, anxious for every detail.
“No.” Desmond shakes his head, his fingers furiously texting. “The less involvement, the better. We’re on our own here.”
“There are only two points of entry. We just passed the official one that the public knows about. My contact at the FBI says that the logging road has no surveillance, but there is a gate,” Matty explains, urgency in his voice. “Take the next right,” he directs, holding onto theoh shitbar for stability.
The car nearly explodes into the air before it thumps onto what looks like a rustic driveway. Unfortunately, as we enter the forest, Lyric has to slow down a little. It makes my skin itch that we’re losing time.
“My brothers are going to follow us down the logging road.” Desmond continues to text and strategize. “The rest of my men are heading to the front on our call to prevent anyone from escaping.” He looks up at me. “No one survives. Matty, my other FBI contact won’t take over tech support, so we have you on deck.”
“Where the fuck is the gate, Matty?” Lyric leans forward, driving through brush and low-hanging branches.
“Fuck,” Matty curses, his frustration evident. “Service is splotchy.”
“Well, un-splotch it!” Lyric yells at his brother.
“Right! Hard right!” Matty yells, and Lyric blindly follows, taking a hard right and throwing me into Desmond.
A fence comes into view, and I clench my eyes shut. There’s a sound of ripping and tearing metal before it hits the car, and I swear we go airborne again. When I open my eyes, Lyric is on the tarmac.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “There are no planes on the runway.” I unbuckle my seatbelt, looking for any planes, but there are none. I see nothing but a large white hangar. “The hangar.”
“I see it,” Lyric mutters, adrenaline and purpose infusing his voice. “Fuck it, guns blazing.”
“Milo!” I scream.
“I know, dove, I know,” Lyric replies, his knuckles white on the wheel. “Can they see me, Matty?”
“Cameras aren’t picking you up,” Matty replies, his eyes glued to the screen.
“They are going to get scrambled in three, two…” Desmond’s voice tightens with urgency. “One.”
Lyric takes another hard right, adrenaline coursing through his veins as the tires screech across the runway before abruptly stopping to the right of the hangar.
For a moment, all we can do is breathe, the weight of our mission heavy in the air.
