Page 36 of Comforted By The Mountain Man
"Three. Two motorcycles and a black sedan," West answers. "Could be anywhere from three to eight men, depending on how they traveled."
"Assume the worst," Grayson says. "Plan for eight, hope for three."
Beckett moves closer, his weathered face grim. "Ash, I need you to listen to me. Really listen."
I turn to face my oldest brother, the man who's been our unofficial leader since our parents died. "I'm listening."
"You're not thinking straight right now. None of us would be. But if you go charging in there without a plan, you're going to get yourself killed. And more importantly, you're going to get Ryder killed."
His warning annoys me but I know he's right. The rage burning in my chest, the need to tear those bastards apart with my bare hands, it's not going to help Ryder. It's going to get him hurt.
"What do you need me to do?" I ask.
"Follow orders. Stay with your assigned partner. Don't break formation unless the situation goes to complete hell." Grayson's voice is pure military command now. "This isn't the time for heroics, Asher. This is the time for precision."
I nod, swallowing my pride and my fury. "Understood."
"Good." Grayson hands each of us a tactical radio. "Three teams. Beckett, you're with Asher on the east approach. I know he's family but right now, you're his commanding officer. Don't let him do anything stupid."
Beckett nods grimly. "Copy that."
"Nash and Ezra, you take the west side. Move slow, check every corner. These aren't weekend warriors we're dealing with. They're criminals who've killed before and won't hesitate to kill again."
"What about Holden and me?" West asks.
"You're with me on the south entrance. We go in hard and fast, make noise, draw their attention. That should give the other teams a chance to flank them and locate Ryder."
I check my watch. The GPS tracker in Ryder's toy still shows him stationary at this location but that doesn't mean he'll stay here. Every minute we spend planning is another minute they could be moving him.
"Time limit?" I ask.
"We move in ten minutes. In and out in thirty. If we're not clear by then, local law enforcement is going to start asking questions we don't want to answer."
The next ten minutes pass like hours. We check weapons, test radio communications, and review the approach routes one more time. My hands are steady, my breathing controlled, but inside I'm screaming.
Ryder called me Daddy Asher this morning. Jumped off the counter into my arms like he's done dozens of times before, trusting completely that I'd catch him. And I did. I always do.
Now he's in there, probably wondering where I am. Why I haven't come for him yet.
"Positions," Grayson's voice crackles through the radio.
Beckett and I move through the tree line toward the east side of the warehouse. The building looms against the darkening sky, all broken windows and rusted metal siding. It looks like it's been abandoned for years, which makes it perfect for this kind of operation.
Too perfect.This feels like a trap.
"East team in position," Beckett whispers into his radio.
"West team ready," Nash reports.
"South team moving to breach," Grayson says. "On my mark. Three... two... one... go."
The east entrance is a loading dock with a partially open roll up door. Beckett tests it carefully, checking for alarms or tripwires. Nothing. We slip underneath, weapons drawn, moving into the dark interior.
The warehouse is bigger than it looked from outside. Massive concrete pillars support a ceiling that disappears into shadows. Old machinery sits covered in dust and cobwebs, creating a maze of potential hiding spots and ambush points.
"Clear on the east side," Beckett whispers into his radio. "Moving toward center."
"West side clear so far," Nash reports. "Found some recent tire tracks near the office section."
