Chris tucked the sat phone away. This little wrinkle meant that after they secured the hostages and identified an extraction point, they’d have to use a landline to call in the helicopter. And they’d have to find their teammates to coordinate without revealing themselves to the trainer/tangos.
The degree of difficulty had gone up exponentially.
Odds were they were going to need that preset oh-four-hundred meet point.
That’s it. Rivera wasn’t invited to the divorce party. Cohen was out too.
Any hope they’d complete the first task and start the second phase of the training in a matter of hours was shot to hell. It was going to be a long cold-ass night.
Usually, he lived for this shit. He’d be pumped, full of adrenaline, ready to take on the world, but today, he just wanted to get it over with so he could go home, confront his wife, and begin divorce proceedings.
At least for a few minutes, Pam had slipped from his mind. He ruthlessly shoved her to the dark space at the back. He needed to take this training seriously, as if it were the real deal. Anything less could put him and others at risk of injury and get him kicked off this team, which, thanks to her, was all he had left.
Audrey was going to be sick. She buried her face against Xavier’s tactical vest, trying to hold herself together. Everything was surreal. Grotesque. This couldn’t be her park. Her lodge. Her life.
She’d felt ownership of these mountains and this forest since she was a kid. The park belonged to everyone, but the eleven-year-old girl who’d just moved to Forks had desperately needed to belong somewhere, to feel something was hers. She’d adopted the park, which had, in the form of ONP Archaeologist Roy Heller, adopted her right back.
The park was a haven, her escape from classmates who’d rejected the awkward new girl, and also from her hostile mother, who’d resented the move to Forks even more than Audrey had.
But this, right now, was straight out of a horror movie, and ONP and Lake Olympus Lodge didn’t belong in this reality.
This was all a bad dream. It was probably three a.m. this morning, and she was deep asleep in her home in Port Angeles. Today hadn’t happened yet. Her subconscious had served up Xavier because they had massive unfinished business, and George was a concern in sleep because she was worried about him weathering the predicted storm. Perhaps she’d eaten something to trigger the stomach upset that led to this nightmare.
Scrooge’s words in A Christmas Carol came to mind: “You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”
Like Scrooge, she needed to look to her other senses for the truth in the moment. Xavier’s arms that held her tight to his chest. The scent of damp woods, the feel of cold rain filtering through the branches. The tapping of raindrops on evergreens increasing in tempo as the storm gathered and settled in.
This was her park. Her forest. Her lodge. She wasn’t dreaming, and no matter how much she wished to, she wouldn’t wake from this living nightmare.
The only way out of this situation was to face it head-on. She lifted her head and tried to see Xavier, but could only make out his outline in the dark woods. Full darkness had settled like a cold, wet blanket. “Was that…one of your men?”
“No.” His voice was gruff. “I was going to ask if it was George.”
She shook her head, then realized he probably couldn’t see the motion. She swallowed and found her voice again. “No. George is smaller, wiry.” From her limited glimpse, the dead man had been large, with thick shoulders. Classic mountain man physique.
“I need to go back,” he said. “Check on the body. Enter the yurt. But first, I need to get you somewhere safe.”
The idea of being in these woods without Xavier scared the hell out of her. “Nowhere is safe.”
“True. But checking the body will be dangerous. I’ll be exposed.”
“Don’t leave me. Please.”
He paused, then said, “Fine. One of us will have the gun, the other will examine the body. See if he’s alive. We should take pictures too. Which job do you want?”
Now was not the time to be squeamish. Her stomach was first-trimester sensitive, but she’d do her best to keep her lunch down. Xavier was more skilled with weapons, and she knew how to look for a pulse. “I’ll check the body.”
She squared her shoulders and stepped back from Xavier’s embrace. The wind picked up and a chill ran through her body, but she figured the blast of cold had more to do with leaving his warmth than from the wind. It was damn cold out here, and it would only get worse as the storm strengthened.
As if to punctuate her thoughts, the rain increased from steady patter to faster staccato. And this was still only the front edge of the squall. She followed Xavier through the trees to the body she’d have to search. Her gag reflex had been triggered, but she held it down.
He covered her as she stood over the body. She snapped a picture with her cell phone before turning him over. If TV and books had taught her anything, it was that she was messing with forensic evidence, but she didn’t have the luxury of worrying about that now. Rain would wash evidence away even if she did nothing, and if there was even a miniscule chance this person was alive, that overrode evidence preservation.
She grabbed a thick shoulder to turn him, and the body slid from its perch on the meter box and slumped to the ground. She gasped and jumped back, unable to control her reaction as she took in the man’s face. She snapped another picture. The camera lit the gruesome scene in a bright white light.
“Holy shit,” Xavier said.
Her hands shook as she checked the photo on her phone. “They must’ve used an axe to cut his throat. Just like they cut the power line to the cameras. His head is attached, but barely.”