Page 99 of Iron Shield
“Don’t,” Rome broke in, chest exploding with pain.
Terror ripped through him on the heels of it.
“Knew where…to find us,” Rivers choked out.
Townie hovered over him. “Don’t talk. Save your energy.”
Rivers shook his head again. “Someone on the…inside.”
Monk took off pacing, and Rome jogged over to him.
“I can’t lose her, man.” Monk’s face was white with anguish.
Rome gripped him by the shoulder. “I know. I fuckingknow.”
“We need a plan. Now. We don’t have time to waste.”
The noise of a chopper approaching brought a mix of feelings to Rome. It meant Rivers could get the help he needed to save him.
It meant they could focus on putting together a plan to recover the women.
As they loaded their brother into the craft with Townie as escort, Rome turned to Cannon.
“I’m telling you right now, when we find her—” He stopped. Started again. “I’m not going to be able to let her go.”
Cannon held his gaze for a beat. “Understood.”
Nothing more. No reminder of protocol or a speech about Blackout duty.
They split into teams fast. Cannon assigned Younger with Rome and Rorke.
“O, you’re with me and Monk,” Cannon barked out. “Team one, start with the town. Question everybody. Then take the mountain pass. Team two, we take the logging roads. Roll out!”
The small town had once been booming, but since the fall of the ski resort, not many businesses survived. The gas station was the only thing open at this hour before dawn.
With Rorke on his six, Rome ran inside to question the attendant. The guy was young and blinking groggily, clearly not even fully awake let alone accustomed to two men in tactical gear.
During the painfully endless drive, Rome had formulated questions, and he fired them off at the kid.
“Someone pulled in for gas as soon as we opened,” he said. “Big guy. Black jacket. Paid cash.” He pointed at the camera mounted above the pump. “That will have him.”
Rome grabbed a brochure and a pen off the counter and scribbled a secure email address. “Send everything from the last two hours. Which way did he go?”
The attendant pointed again. “Took a right.”
As Rome whirled to go, Rorke was already a step ahead of him. They shoved through the door and raced to the SUV at a dead run.
Rome jumped in the passenger seat and Rorke slammed the back door.
“Turn right!” Rome ordered Younger. They gunned it out of the lot, tires spinning on the skim of ice.
Rome’s mind did what it always did—gathered scattered pieces and forced them into a pattern.
His chest caught fire. “He’s headed to the mountain pass.” Conviction rang in his tone, and his gut echoed the knowledge. “He’s going to the airstrip.”
Neither man spoke as the weight of it hit.
“He gets to the private airstrip, it’s over. We lose them.”
