Page 62 of No Hope of Rescue

“Why?”

Ross doesn’t seem like someone who cares much about what people think.

“There’s something there. It comes up every once in a while.”

“Believe me, it’s nothing. It’s not you. It’s his own thing.”

“He does his keep cards pretty close to his chest.”

This makes me laugh, though having Crystal so near Brock turns it into a nervous twitter that embarrasses me. “No kidding.”

He keeps me talking about inane subjects until I realize what he’s doing: he’s making me forget that Crystal is next door with Brock, in his home, talking, maybe working some things out.

Sweet guy. Just as I’m ready to let him know I’m onto him, the door opens and Jace comes in looking wide-eyed.

“Crystal’s next door,” Jace blurts.

“We know,” Ross says, sparing me an admission I don’t want to make.

Ryan and Crystal appear right behind him, and she looks bewildered, embarrassed, and slightly unmoored.

“Here to help,” she says and glances at me. “Hi again, Riley.”

There wasn’t a first time.

As I open my mouth, my phone vibrates, and I see Ross glance down to his on the table.

Without looking, we both know it’s Brock. We grab coats and head out, but the pit in my stomach drops further.

I don’t know where I stand. All I know is that with the truth that I love him is the truth I can be devastated.

΅

As we step into the kitchen, a voice muffled and thin, rises from the burner phone on the table. Then there’s Brock’s voice, deep, serious. “Yes. I understand.” A pause. “Yes.”

Ross moves past me, and then we both freeze in response to Brock’s raised hand. He’s immobile, one hand on the kitchen table, one raised toward us, his face in profile, drawn, broad shoulders tense. I can see him breathing quickly, shallow breaths that make his open collar quiver.

There’s the sound of the disconnect, and then he stares at the phone before straightening. Still in profile, he starts with a list, and it takes a moment to realize he’s moved beyond SAR orders—he’s in military mode.

“Riley, I will send a text when to contact Dylan Trent. If I’m not back in four hours, contact him then,” he says, pulling out his wallet and setting a business card onto the table. He doesn’t look at me.

“Ross, you have your weapon?”

I shiver.

“Affirmative, boss.”

“Boss” makes Brock look up.

“You plant yourself next door and get Carter to join you immediately. Tell him to bring his handgun and a rifle.”

“Is there a weapon at the house?”

There’s an awkward silence. I know for a fact that Brock removed weapons from both houses when he returned from the military.

“No,” he says with no explanation. “Riley, you go with him. I want everyone, all of you, in one place. No one should leave. Not even Crystal, until you hear from Trent or me.”

“What just happened?”