25. Twenty-Five

Get up.

I watched Oscar force Dante into the trees with my gun pressed against his temple, but there was nothing I could do about it. My head was scrambled from whatever he'd hit me with. I thought it was Bowie at the door when I answered, but as soon as I opened the front door to ask him what he forgot, Oscar smashed something into my face. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground with twelve hundred volts coursing through me and the kitchen was on fire. I didn't even know how that had happened.

At least Dante is alive, but how long will he stay that way? Not long, probably. Oscar was unhinged, and his dangerous behavior was escalating. If he wasn't stopped soon, he might hurt Dante, or worse.

I pushed up on shaky arms, only to fall back into the dirt. Come on, dammit. Move, soldier!

Gritting my teeth, I curled my fingers in the dirt like claws and pulled myself away from the house. It was only a few centimeters, but it was something. I repeated the motion, ignoring the voice in my head that was shouting I wasn't moving fast enough. Moving was good. I needed to get the blood flowing back to my limbs, needed to ignore the throbbing in my head, to focus on the spot between the trees where they'd disappeared.

Rocks scraped under my forearms when I reached the driveway. I found the rear bumper of Bowie's truck and pulled myself up on shaky arms. My legs wobbled, and my head throbbed. Judging by the nausea, double vision, pain, and spinning, I must've had a concussion from whatever he hit me with, but it didn't matter. Getting to Dante was all that mattered.

I staggered forward, one foot in front of the other, going into the trees. There were broken branches and disturbed underbrush everywhere, leaving a clear trail. Why would he take Dante into the forest? I wasn't even sure I wanted to ponder the possibilities.

I need to focus on following the trail. All the answers are there. I just have to keep going. Left foot, right foot…That's it, soldier. Just keep doing that. You've been through worse, haven't you, old chap? Keep it up. March, now. March like your life depends on it!

My foot hit a branch, and I went down in the underbrush with a curse. Briars scraped at my arms and chest and clung to my clothes.

God dammit! I punched the ground and exhaled. Don't lose it now. Get back up. What else are you going to do? Lie here and do nothing like you did back in Syria?

My fingers curled in the dirt as that helpless feeling returned. Non-existent walls closed in and palpable darkness threatened to crush me. The stink of unwashed bodies and the filth of my cell filled my nostrils while the screams of the long dead rose to haunt me from thousands of miles away. I'd done nothing in that cell, knowing they were beating my fellow soldiers to death right outside my door.

But that wasn't even the worst thing I'd done.

Suddenly, I was half a world away, watching from outside my body as I led my men into that ambush at the Lebanon border. When we were detained, I gave the order to cooperate, believing it was all a mistake, and they'd let us go.

Instead, I had to watch as they took away my men. I had to listen as they were killed. I stood by helplessly while my men—who had depended on me to keep them safe—died because I was too weak to save them.

It was my fault they were dead. I may not have pulled the trigger, but I'd killed them all just the same. And my country called me a bloody hero for it. I swore then that I'd never let the enemy have one of my own again.

Never. Again.

I pushed up and tore free of the thorn bush, forcing myself forward. Wherever Oscar had taken Dante, they were likely long gone, but maybe they'd left some clues. I had to do something , but something didn't feel like enough. One foot after another, I made myself keep going, following a trail of broken and bent branches, hoping it actually was a trail and not my imagination.

When I stumbled into the clearing, I was so surprised I almost fell flat on my face a second time. One minute I was tearing through bushes and vines, and the next, I was standing in the middle of a grassy meadow with the sunset sky above. A pair of tracks cut through the tall grass, just the right size to be tire tracks on a small vehicle, but it couldn't be just any small vehicle. The terrain out there was too rough for a sedan like I'd seen Oscar driving, and they didn't look like truck tires. An ATV, maybe?

As I was examining the tracks, my foot kicked something hard and small, but it wasn't a rock. I frowned when I looked down and spotted one of Dante's shoes. As I bent down to pick it up, black glass glinted in the bushes nearby, and I reached to grab it, bringing up Dante's phone. The screen was cracked in the corner, but I recognized the wallpaper and the model. It was definitely his. Maybe there was something useful on it that would help me find him. At least I could confirm he was there recently.

The bushes rustled behind me, and I spun around, ready to fight whatever was about to come through, despite still being wobbly.

Bowie emerged from the foliage. He paused just inside the clearing, staring at me wide-eyed. "Church? Oh, thank fuck."

"Oscar took Dante," I blurted as he jogged up to me. "I have his phone. There're some tracks here from a golf cart or an ATV or something, so they couldn't have gotten far."

"Slow down." Bowie reached me and tugged on my arm like he was trying to get me to sit.

I pulled away. "There's no time! Didn't you hear me? Oscar kidnapped Dante! We have to go after them!"

"We will," Bowie said, pulling a handkerchief free and pressing it to my head. "But you won't help anyone if you wander off into the woods and pass out. Hold that there and we'll get the bleeding stopped. Wattson and the rest are on their way."

I hadn't even realized I was bleeding until Bowie pointed it out, but that would explain the dizziness. Slowly, begrudgingly, I let Bowie help me sit in the clearing and swiped a hand over the side of my face, which was covered in blood.

The next hour was a blur of worry and planning. Despite my protests, Bowie insisted we go back to the house. Several fire trucks had arrived to put out the fire, followed closely by emergency medical services. The EMTs swarmed around me, ushering me to the back of an ambulance. They wanted to cart me off to the hospital, but that was the last thing I wanted.

"That head injury needs stitches," one EMT warned while the other flashed his light in front of my eyes for the fifth time .

"Then stitch me up and let me be." I shoved the flashlight aside with a wince. "Otherwise, get out of my bloody face with that."

"I'll take it from here, gentlemen."

The EMTs stepped aside to reveal Wattson standing there with his kit. "Who the hell are you?"

"Doctor Connor McCormick." Wattson adjusted his glasses and shouldered his way past. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to see to my patient."

The EMTs grumbled, but moved out of the way.

Wattson laid his case out on the bumper of the ambulance and opened it up. "Boone and Leo are already going over the CCTV footage. Ragnar brought the dogs but, unfortunately, between the fire and the gallons of water they're drowning it in, there won't be anything left that smells like Dante that we can use to track him."

I lifted the shoe I'd been holding onto all this time and held it out to him. "This should work. It was— is —Dante's. I also found his phone, but I don't know how to unlock it."

"Maybe Leo can get into it."

I hissed as he swiped an alcohol wipe across my forehead. "No. The last time we gave Leo a phone to hack, it took him almost twelve hours. We don't have that kind of time here."

"Last time, you didn't have me." Xavier Laskin stepped out from around the side of the ambulance, his hands tucked in the front pocket of his black hoodie.

I fought the urge to shudder at the mere sight of him. He and Leo were close—maybe more than close—but something about the Laskins had always given me the creeps, Xavier especially. People tended to underestimate him because he was young, quiet, and good looking, but I always felt like there was a spider on the back of my neck when he was around. I didn't know what it was about the kid, but something about him made it seem like he was only pretending to be human, and he was very, very good at it.

He held out his hand. "Give me the phone."

I slipped my hand into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the smooth edges of the device. "I don't even know if there's anything useful on it."

"And you have no way to find out without my help," Xavier insisted. "It's just a paperweight in your hands. Give it to me where it can be useful."

I glanced over at Wattson, who nodded once. Handing Dante's phone over to Xavier felt like I was giving him a part of Dante. I didn't like it, but I didn't have a choice. I might know my way around an interrogation and battlefield tactics, but when it came to technology, I was useless.

Xavier took the phone and walked away without another word. Everything in me wanted to follow him, but it would be pointless. I wouldn't be of any help. The best thing I could do for Dante was let Wattson stitch my wounds closed so I'd be ready to go with the search team. I tried to focus on that instead as Wattson spread the numbing gel around the wound so he could clean it.

He was busy stitching the cut on my forehead closed when Boone and Ragnar appeared with the dogs on their leashes. I started to get up to greet them, but Wattson gave me a shove.

"Sit back down, you numbskull," he growled. "You tear these open before I'm done, you'll have to finish the job yourself."

"What did you find?" I asked, ignoring Wattson's griping.

Boone handed Trixie's leash off to Ragnar and held up a machete. "Well, you're lucky he got you with the blunt side when he hit you. Helped that the damn thing's dull as hell, probably from taking out all the tires. Oscar's no Rambo, that's for sure. From the footage, it looks like Dante went along with him voluntarily, so at least the kid is smart enough to cooperate. We've got our friends in the local P.D. scouring his last known location. We finally got a hit back on the partial plate you grabbed the night he tried to take Dante at the bar. Turns out the idiot registered his car at the Sunsetter Motel outside Haydenville."

"He hasn't gone back there," I said, shaking my head. "That little sedan couldn't have made the tracks I found. He's in something else."

"There's an ATV rental place a couple miles up the road," Wattson suggested. "Maybe we'll get lucky and he used his ID there."

"That doesn't help us find Dante," I said with a frustrated sigh. "They're in the woods somewhere, Boone."

Boone sighed and lifted his ball cap to scratch his head, eying the trees. "Are you sure? There's two hundred and fifty thousand acres of federal land out there, Church, and Oscar doesn't seem like the woodsy type."

"Then he's got a cabin, a campsite, or a trailer or something out there. The tracks led off into the woods, going northeast."

"Or they went southeast toward the road," Boone said and bent down to pat the dog's head. "Either way, my girls will pick up his scent and we'll track him down."

Ragnar looked out toward the woods. "Good thing I brought the horse trailer down. You'll be better off tracking on horseback in the dark so long as you're careful."

Boone stood with a grunt. "All right then. Me and Bowie will take the horses out."

"Sir, I…" I moved to get up but stopped when Wattson shot me another glare. "I want to go."

"With a head injury?" Ragnar frowned over at Boone.

Boone crossed his arms. "I don't know. Oscar might spook if he sees you coming. Might be wiser for you to stay out of sight. "

"With all due respect, sir, this isn't your job, and Dante's not your responsibility. He's mine. I want to be the one to bring him home, and I sure as hell want to be there when Oscar gets what's coming to him." I paused and waited for Wattson to finish the last stitch before adding, "Please, Boone. I can't just sit here and do nothing. Not again."

"Well, you are the second best on a horse after Bowie…" Boone scratched his beard, considering a moment before shaking his head. "Ok, but only if Wattson clears you."

I gave Wattson a pleading look, knowing he shouldn't clear me to go, not injured as I was. At best, I'd lost quite a bit of blood before he got there and at worst I had a concussion. He should send me to have my head scanned to make sure there wasn't any serious damage.

Wattson sighed. "I suppose you've survived worse. But no hand-to-hand combat. You hang back and shoot if it comes to it."

Boone nodded to Ragnar. "Ragnar, saddle up three horses."

I frowned. "Three horses?" I'd assumed Bowie would be going since he was the best rider we had, but it wouldn't make sense for all three of us to go. Someone had to stay at the base to command the operation, and if Bowie and I were riding out, that only left Boone. Leo hated riding, and Ragnar was practically a pacifist and refused to carry a weapon.

"The only way you're going out there is if Wattson goes with you," Boone said.

Wattson stood up straighter. "Now wait just a minute. You didn't say that before."

"Unless you don't want to stand by your assessment, doctor?" Boone arched an eyebrow and waited for Wattson to back down.

Instead, Wattson closed up his case and slid it off the bumper. "Fine. I'll go. Someone's got to be there in case the diva gets a hangnail from his ordeal. "

Boone held out his hand, and I passed him Dante's shoe. "You'll take the satellite phone up and check in every hour. If you miss a check in, you'd better be dead. Watch for traps. This kid might not be a survivalist, but he's got the advantage. We don't know how long he's been out there setting all this up, and he's clearly got a plan of some kind. I'm going to stay here and do my damndest to keep any of these fine folk in uniform from leaking what's going on to the press and Dante's management team for as long as I can. See you on the other side, gentlemen."

I stood and did my best not to sway in place, despite still feeling a bit woozy. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."