These scenes take place between Chapters 29 and 32 of Guarding His Heart. There are major spoilers for the book in this scene, so read at your own risk!
West
“Where the fuck are they?” I check my phone screen. Two green dots—the GPS signals—blink off and on, but they’re not together. Natasha’s is moving east, and Doc’s is headed south. “Base, tell me you can get into the camera network.”
“Negative,” Wren says over comms. “Airports and hospitals are the two hardest networks to hack. I got you the traffic cameras between the airport and the Army CID office. Give me a little credit.”
Doc’s GPS signal winks out completely. “What the hell? Did the battery die?”
Across from me, Inara sends a message to Royce. The GPS trackers are his baby, and he promised us the new batteries would last up to thirty-six hours.
At least Natasha’s is still working. She’s moving through part of the airport inaccessible to the public. But we know where she’ll end up. Doc? It’s anyone’s guess.
“They’ve got him,” Ryker says in my ear. “And I know how. Dropping a pin. Get moving.”
Inara grabs the large briefcase sitting at her feet. The tricked-out modular rifle can be assembled in under a minute, and while it’s nowhere near as accurate as her Barret, no one in the airport gave us a second look since we’re outside security.
“Talk to me, base,” I mutter as Inara and I rush down the escalator to baggage claim.
“An ambulance pulled up seven minutes ago. But there’s nothing on Instant 911. I lost it at the end of the Arrivals pickup lane, and just found it again at the airport exit.” After a beat, he continues. “Fuck. There it is. Lights and sirens on.”
We burst out into the exhaust-laden air. Seconds later, a black sedan screeches to a stop. “Get in,” Vasquez shouts. “If we’re lucky, we can catch them.”
***
We weren’t lucky. Wren was able to get the license plate number off the traffic cameras, and Ripper tracked its GPS. But it was abandoned in an underground parking garage ten miles from the airport.
Trevor and Ella are sitting on the CID office, but there’s been no sign of Natasha yet. Then again, we had to guess which of a dozen different divisions Bastian would send her to. Special Investigations seemed the most applicable, but what if he made her go to headquarters in Quantico? Vasquez pulls up next to the van with Raelynn, Ford, Graham, and Ripper, and I pray we haven’t just lost everything.
***
We’re running out of time. Natasha’s been in CID custody for almost three hours now. Dax came through big time and got us an in there. Graham’s on his way. If we have to, we can pull her out. But that won’t find Doc or Gladys.
“Base to Whiskey.” Ryker’s voice breaks through the chatter in my ear. These comms units have three channels, and I’ve been listening to Trevor and Ella debate how many more times they can drive each of four different cars around CID before someone gets suspicious. Ry wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t important.
“Tell me you have something.”
“Gladys. On comms. And since she knew the code word, Doc’s still alive. Or was less than ten minutes ago. Get your asses to 1816 Frontage Road. It’s a call center with a basement—according to the schematics we pulled—and Gladys says Doc’s in there. She’s at a mall two blocks away.”
“We’re on our way.”
***
“Wait. It’s open?” Inara asks. “There are people inside. Right now.”
“According to their website, yes.” Ripper steadies his laptop as Vasquez takes a corner too quickly for the van’s bulk.
“We go in as S.W.A.T.” Digging in my pack, I come away with a bag of patches and start rifling through them. “Inara, Raelynn, Vasquez, and me. Ford, you’re staying with Rip. You up for this, kid?”
Vasquez is only a year younger than Graham. And he’s seen some shit in his thirty-something years. But I’ve only worked with him once—when Wren was kidnapped a few months ago, and he was mostly with Ford and Trevor during that op.
“Yes, sir.” He eases the van to a stop in a parking lot behind the building.
“We go in three minutes. Vasquez keeps anyone inside from following us down to the basement. Raelynn, you’re on the door. Inara, you and I will go in together. You want high or low?”
She tugs on a black cap and secures the S.W.A.T. patch to the front of it. “Why do you ask me that every time?”
“Low. Got it.”
Going in the back door would be easier. But S.W.A.T. would just bust right in, so that’s what we do.
“Everybody down!” Vasquez shouts. “We have a warrant to search the premises!”
We have no such thing, but how many people are going to question a S.W.A.T. team when they come in with guns blazing?
Raelynn clears the hallway and starts down a long set of stairs. “Well, shee-it,” she mutters after only a few steps. “Door’s open.”
“Fuck. They probably moved him minutes after Gladys got out. Charlie, any traffic cameras in the area? It’s the only way we’ll find him.”
We check the basement anyway, but there’s nothing but a couple of soda cans—one empty, one full—a candy bar wrapper, and a small pool of blood next to a broken zip tie.
“He was here,” Raelynn says, kicking the empty soda can halfway across the room. “If we’d been faster—“
“We got here as fast as we could,” I say.
“If you’re done down there,” Vasquez says, “the manager’s making noises about calling 9-1-1.”
“We’re done,” I say. “Doc’s gone. Time to go get Gladys.”