Page 63 of No Hope of Rescue

“They want a helicopter up there now.”

“Now?” I want to touch him, hold him, but I don’t dare. Apprehension, in all forms, is everywhere. “We should contact Agent Trent. That guy knows a lot more than he lets on.”

“No.” Brock shakes his head, staring at the table. “They knew Agent Trent was here.”

The hair on the back of my neck rises.

“Are you sure they didn’t just make a good guess?” Ross starts toward the kitchen window, but Brock holds him back.

“They saw Crystal, Ryan, and Jace. He described their coats. How many came and went.”

My hands are instantly clammy.

“So someone is watching the house.” Ross clears his throat. “And communicating with them.”

Brock nods. “A sniper.” He waits a moment to let this sink in. “We’re all hostage at this point. I need to do what they say, and you two need to stay put. I told him you would both go next door as directed. But we have to move now. We’re going to load the copter and fly to Denver. That’s the plan.”

Ross stops Brock as he starts to move toward the coat rack. “What are you doing? I should go.”

Brock shakes his head. “No way. This isn’t your problem.”

“It’s not yours either,” Ross says, a statement with more than one meaning. Whatever the cause of Brock’s PTSD, it’s not his fault, and he can’t just turn it off.

“I got this,” he says simply, slipping first one arm into his parka and then the other.

Ross tries one more time. “Brock.”

Brock is firm. “They took my sister. Now they’ve rigged this get away and threatened my family. And—both of you too? Fuck them.”

Ross stands back. “How do you know Denver isn’t a red herring?”

“I don’t. And I bet it is. There are other airports they could fly out of well within range.”

“So what do we do? What is Agent Trent supposed to do when you text Riley?”

“His job” is all Brock says, grabbing a black knit hat and some lined gloves.

Other than my two orders, Brock has yet to look at me, touch me, offer something I can hang on to. Adjusting his collar, he scans the table quickly before shoving the burner phone back into a pocket, turning, and pulling open the door.

Before I can say anything more, he’s gone. I’m so frozen to the spot where I’m standing that I can’t even move to the window to watch him leave.

I don’t know how much time elapses before I realize Ross is speaking to me. “You need to tell me what happened in Afghanistan.”

“What?”

“He can’t fly the Bell.”

“Did he really go?”

“Yes,” Ross says. “He went out, waved back and forth to signal he was leaving, and climbed inside the truck.”

I sink into a kitchen chair.

“Riley. Look at me. He’s a danger to himself and others. He clearly can’t fly. He flashbacked twice during the extraction.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t like this plan,” he says. “Just waiting to hear from him? Fuck that.”

I find my voice and my focus. “I don’t either.”

“I don’t like being told what to do. It’s why I left the military.”