Page 58 of No Hope of Rescue

“No surprises.”

Ross joins in. “This is a hell of a surprise.”

Brock wags a finger at me. “I knew there was something off when you came back. We need to contact Dylan Trent immediately.”

“Agreed,” Ross says.

Trent left his card on the table and another with Codie in case she remembered anything else.

Brock looks worried. “What does this mean for Codie? She lied to an FBI agent.” He turns to me. “And you hid evidence.”

Ross clears his throat. “I don’t think it will really matter. There’s a direct threat to your family.”

“Jesus.” Brock looks at the phone again. “And you’re certain it hasn’t rang?”

“It’s been over twenty-four hours since we pulled her out of there. What are they waiting for?” Ross glances to me and then Brock.

I shrug. “All I know is that no calls have come through.”

Brock checks the front windows. “I bet they’re lining up a flight out of Denver. A plane and a pilot.” He rubs his face thoughtfully. “It’ll take time.”

“That, or they do have someone on the ground and they’re watching the house.”

My own phone vibrates, and despite myself, I jump. “Shit.” It’s Jace. A text.

Didn’t win the grant.

“What is it?” Brock peers at my screen.

I hold out the phone so he can read it.

“Well. That’s that. And not really the problem right now.”

But it is and translates to a huge problem. You can’t have an SAR crew and no flight capability. But I get it—what we’re facing right now is immediate.

Ross flicks the curtain again to peer out. “I can’t believe they could have someone on the ground so quickly. Watching us. Watching the house.”

“With that kind of money at stake? I bet they do.” Brock sits down heavily on the sofa. “I have to get this to Trent. This needs to be in his hands before we get roped into something.”

But it’s too late.

The knock on the door is soft, but Ross and Brock immediately move in front of me.

Brock raises his voice. “Yeah—who is it?”

There’s a pause, and then from the porch is a voice I never thought I’d have to hear again.

“It’s Crystal. I heard what happened, Brock. I just wanted to see you.”

Chapter Seventeen

Brock Weston

I’ve worked hard at chipping away at walls, and in the last week they’ve been crumbling. Every time Ross said nothing in the helicopter while I gripped the handle, a bit fell.

When I thought Codie was dead, the race to find her, holding her head while we helicoptered in—then Codie, all teary trying to explain why she’d hid the phone—more came away.

When Dylan Trent slapped his hand on my shoulder, it was enough to make me wince, but his private comment to me was a promise. “We’ll keep that a secret between us.” A very Canadian thing to say. He also let me know that though he may be young, he didn’t miss much. He knew I’d been winged. Some more fell.