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Blaze took off in the direction he’d come from, circling back to Jackson every few moments to make sure he was following.
“I’m right behind you, buddy. Take me to her.”
When Jackson was sure his lungs would burst and his legs wouldn’t carry him any farther, man and dog reached the fringes of the campsite. Jackson managed to keep Blaze from running right into plain view then the pup growled at something off to their right. Creeping toward the dog, Jackson found a large indentation in the brush and fresh blood dotting the wide leaves of some ferns.
Was that Eugene’s blood? Isabel’s? Both possible scenarios made Jackson sick to his stomach. It had been bad enough thinking these thugs had their hands on Eugene. To think they had Isabel too made Jackson downright unhinged.
The time to stomp into that campsite had come. He didn’t have a good plan. He didn’t have any plan at all. All Jackson knew was he needed Eugene and Isabel to be okay.
With Blaze racing ahead, he stepped forward, but an arm hooked around his waist and pulled him back. Instinctively, Jackson fought against the hold, kicking a leg back and connecting with something solid.
“Goddammit, Jackson.”
He spun around to find Donovan bent in half and rubbing his shin. Several uniformed cops stood behind his brother.
“We have to get Eugene and Isabel,” Jackson said.
“Isabel is in there too? I told her to stay put.” Donovan shook out his leg and straightened to his full height.
“Yeah, so did I, but her grandfather is missing,” Jackson said. “Her only family. Would you stay put under those circumstances?”
“No.” Donovan motioned to the assembled officers to move forward. “I suppose I can’t convince you to run back to one of the squad cars and wait inside, can I?”
“No way.”
“Fine. Stay close and don’t do anything stupid.”
Jackson was about to protest that order, but Donovan shook his head. “Say one word and I’ll slap cuffs on you and have you hauled to a car. I’ll do it.”
Biting his lips, Jackson nodded and crouched beside his brother as they scanned the campsite.
“How many do you see?” Donovan asked a nearby officer with binoculars.
“Four stationed outside that main tent, two at the one next to it,” the officer reported. “No way to tell how many are inside the tents though.”
“There’s a way,” Donovan said. “I don’t like it, but it’s our only option.”
With only hand signals, Donovan’s team advanced onto the campsite. “Police!” he shouted to identify their presence. He had a gun raised and this was the first time Jackson had seen his brother wielding a weapon. Of course, he understood being a detective meant his brother owned a gun, but seeing it in his hands, pointed at bad guys, made Jackson feel as if he’d slipped into a movie.
The two closest guards at the main tent put their hands up, revealing they had no weapons in hand. Jackson was confident they both had weapons on them somewhere, however. Ward wouldn’t want unarmed mercenaries for his dirty work.
“On your knees.” Donovan motioned for some of his team to grab this pair.
Jackson didn’t understand why the guards were so quick to concede, but when he looked over his shoulder, more cops emerged from the tree line circling the camp from all sides. In that moment, Jackson had immeasurable respect for his brother. He’d called in an army of officers to save Eugene and Isabel.
With more signaling, Donovan sent officers inside the main tent and several to handle the second tent. Jackson stuck close by his brother, but the moment he saw Ward, he lost it.
“What the fuck, Ward?” he yelled. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
“Why, archaeology, of course.” Ward’s nonchalant attitude made Jackson’s temper flare.
“No, what you’re doing is not archaeology. You’re doing business. With other scumbags like you.”
Ward shrugged. “Not everything belongs in a museum, Henley.”
“Not when you can get a hefty sum for it,” Jackson spat back.
“Precisely.” Ward took a bold step forward.
