“We’ve got you covered. Chat's on your six,” Ren added.
Andrew Dunlap moved into position, his dark skin and bald head masked by the night. The guys on his SEAL squad called him “Chat,” a facetious nod to the fact that he was a man of few words. His instincts, however, were razor-sharp—when he did speak, they listened.
“Right behind you, Cam,” Chat spoke into the comm. “Looks like Asshole Number Two is going outside to use the facilities, and by ‘facilities,’ I mean tree.”
“Neutralize and move in. Nathan wants to avoid a body count on this one. The local sheriff is a friendly, but he hates paperwork,” Tox instructed, referring to their boss, Nathan Bishop.
A minute passed, the silence cut by the drunken man's crunching footsteps in the snow, and then by Chat's neutral words, “Asshole Number Two is hogtied and napping.”
Steady whispered, “Chat and Cam, take the back. Welcome Wagon is coming in through the front door.” Cam watched Steady, with Ren at his back, make a low run to the entrance.
“Copy that,” Cam acknowledged. Then, with practiced movements, he and Chat darted to the unlocked rear door.
If a mini-fridge, a hot plate, and a card table qualified as a kitchen, then the kitchen is where Cam spotted Asshole Number Three standing with a slice of pizza in each hand and a look of confusion on his face. Cam dropped him with one punch. Chat restrained the unconscious man with zip ties, and they continued into the cabin. By the time Chat and Cam got to the main room, Steady and Ren had taken down Asshole Number One.
A dingy back hall led to opposing bedrooms and either a very narrow staircase or a very wide ladder that went to a loft above the front room. Cam took point. The step-rungs groaned their protest as he climbed. When his head cleared the second floor, he immediately spotted the girl. Appearing unharmed, she was sitting on the side of the bed shivering in jeans and a T-shirt. When she looked up at him, he recognized Amy Rafferty from the photo her parents had provided. The picture… That's when he remembered. They also had a photo of the perp. None of the assholes downstairs matched the description of their suspect, Alfred Winston Bell.
When Cam looked at Amy again, she was indicating frantically with just her eyes that someone was behind her. He reached for his sidearm, but not before the man himself, Alfred Winston Bell, popped up from the far side of the bed on his knees, pump-action shotgun pointed directly at Cam's head.
Cam was torn between cursing himself for the rookie mistake and trying to recall some sort of Catholic invocation from his childhood when he heard the tinkling shatter of glass. Alfred Winston Bell fell forward onto the bed. The back of his head did not follow. Amy released a pent-up scream and raced to her rescuer. Cam moved her against the wall, cleared the room, and crossed to the window where he spotted Herc in the tree, sighting Cam through the scope of his Remington. Herc lifted his head and gave a thumbs up. Cam nodded his thanks and turned his attention to Amy just as Chat, with Steady on his heels, leapt up into the loft.
“Amy Rafferty?” Cam held her upper arms gently as she nodded confirmation.
“You’re safe now,” he reassured her.
She took in their tactical gear and face paint. “What are you guys? Commandos or something?”
Cam explained, “We’re security specialists hired to get you out.”
Amy started to shake. Chat threw an emergency blanket around her shoulders and spoke softly. “Your parents are nearby waiting to bring you home. Ready to go home?”
She gripped the edges of the silver blanket and nodded again through her shivers.
Ren called up from the bottom of the stairs. “Local law enforcement is en route with an ambulance. Tox is going to sort it out. Her parents are meeting us at the hospital in Stowe.”
Twenty minutes later, Cam stood in front of the cabin and watched the commotion. Tox was shooting the shit with the sheriff while two deputies loaded the three assholes into the back of a police cruiser and a body bag into the coroner's van. Chat climbed into the ambulance with Amy. Steady and Ren flanked Cam and clocked Herc as he swung down from the tree, long gun in its soft case over his back. He joined the group with fist bumps for the team.
Steady pointed to Cam. “You may not be the new guy anymore, but you’re still buying the beers.”
Cam smacked Herc on the shoulder, and they turned as a group to head to the van. “Yeah, sure. I guess you clowns have earned a free beer.”
Cam joked and trash-talked with the guys as they left, but in the back of his mind, that phone call to his old CIA cell phone continued to plague his thoughts.