Chapter 50

CHAPTER FIFTY

Sawyer gripped the warrant in his hand, his knuckles white with tension. The ink on the paper was still fresh, the official stamp barely dry. He glanced at Cam and Dare, their grim expressions mirroring his own. They all knew time was running out.

Without a word, the three men climbed into Sawyer’s car, the engine roaring to life as they pulled out of the station parking lot. The drive to Burt Johnson’s house felt both too long and too short, every second ticking away like a countdown in Sawyer’s head. The implications of what they might find weighed heavily on them. Brynlee’s face flashed in Sawyer’s mind, her smile, her laughter—memories now tainted with the stark reality of her abduction.

As they sped down the road, Dare’s phone rang, the sharp sound slicing through the tense silence. He hit the Bluetooth button to answer.

“Jenson.

”Sheriff, we just got a call from a neighbor near the Johnson place," the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the speaker. "They reported hearing screaming coming from his house. We’re sending units, but you’re closest. You need to get there, now."

The engine roared as Dare pressed down on the accelerator and the cruiser lurched forward. The drive was a blur of lights and speed, and every second that passed felt like an eternity, the fear clawing at Sawyer’s gut.

They screeched to a halt outside Johnson’s house, tires skidding on the gravel. The place was dark, the curtains drawn, but the air was thick with the oppressive silence that spoke of something horribly wrong. Sawyer’s pulse pounded in his ears as he jumped out of the car, his eyes scanning the house for any sign of movement.

“I’ve got the back.” He didn’t wait for a response as he took off around the house. A broken window low to the ground caught his attention, and he cautiously skirted it, pistol aimed at the black space.

He hopped up the two steps that led to the back door, waiting for Dare’s call.

"Johnson!" Dare bellowed, his fist pounding against the wood. "Sheriff’s department! Open up!"

There was no answer. The only sound was the creaking of the porch under their feet and the distant chirping of crickets. Sawyer’s heart raced as a muffled sound lilted on the air.

“Going in,” cam Dare’s voice.

Sawyer tested the doorknob. Locked.

He dropped back, then kicked the door with all the force he could muster. The wood splintered under the impact, the door flying open with a loud crack.

They stormed inside, weapons drawn, the beam of their flashlights cutting through the darkness as they cleared the house. The interior was eerily quiet, the only sound their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. But Sawyer could feel it—the wrongness, the sense of something sinister lurking just beneath the surface.

"Basement," Cam muttered, nodding toward a door at the end of the hallway. There was a faint sound, almost imperceptible, but enough to set their instincts on edge.

Sawyer led the way, his grip tight on his weapon as they descended the narrow staircase. The air grew colder as they went deeper, the scent of damp earth and something metallic filling their nostrils.

As they reached the bottom, the scene that met their eyes was a nightmare made real.

Burt Johnson stood in the middle of the basement, his back to them, his hands still clenched in fists. In front of him, two women lay crumpled on the floor, their bodies bruised and broken. One was Brynlee, her blonde hair matted with blood, her face pale and lifeless. The other was a woman they hadn’t expected to find—Fallon, the missing woman they’d been searching for.

Dare moved with a speed that belied his size, tackling Johnson to the ground before the man could even react. The struggle was brief, Dare’s years of training overpowering Johnson’s deranged strength. Cam snapped the cuffs around the man’s wrists, then they hauled him to his feet as Dare read him his rights, the words barely registering in the chaos.

But Sawyer had eyes only for Brynlee. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking as he checked for a pulse. Relief washed over him when he felt the faint throb beneath her skin, but it was weak—too weak. Her breathing was shallow, each breath a struggle.

"Bryn," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Hang on, okay? Just hang on."

Gently, but with an urgency that bordered on desperation, Sawyer scooped Brynlee into his arms. Her body was limp, her head lolling against his chest as he carried her out of the basement, his heart breaking with every step. She was so light, so fragile—nothing like the vibrant, strong woman he knew.

Behind him, Cam was doing the same with Fallon, his face a mask of grim determination. They had to get them out of here, had to get them to safety before it was too late.

"Medic!" Sawyer shouted as they emerged from the house, his voice carrying across the yard. The wail of sirens grew louder as the ambulance skidded to a stop, EMTs rushing to meet them.

"Over here!" Cam called out, laying Fallon down on a stretcher as the medics took over. Sawyer did the same with Brynlee, his hands lingering on her for a moment longer before he was forced to let go.

"She’s got a pulse, but it’s weak," one of the medics said, checking Brynlee’s vitals. "We need to move, now!"

Sawyer didn’t hesitate, climbing into the back of the ambulance beside her. He couldn’t let her out of his sight, not after everything that had happened. Cam climbed into the other ambulance with Fallon, his expression grim.

As the doors slammed shut and the ambulance sped toward the hospital, Sawyer kept his eyes on Brynlee, praying she would pull through. The ride was a blur of flashing lights and frantic voices, every bump in the road sending a jolt of fear through him. He held her hand, willing her to hold on, to fight.

They reached the hospital in record time, the medics rushing Brynlee and Fallon into the ER as doctors and nurses descended on them. Sawyer was forced to stay behind, pacing the waiting room, every minute that passed feeling like an eternity. Cam joined him, his face ashen, but they didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.

All they could do was wait, and hope that they hadn’t been too late.