Page 77 of Tactical Revival

“I am. And I don’t see any movement either,” he replies, his voice coming through clear in my ear.

Normally, it’s me who would be at a distance with a rifle, watching over my team on the ground. It’s what I did in the Marines. What I’m best at. But given how personal this is, I need to be on the ground. Right there in the middle of whatever goes down.

So Silas is watching over us from a vantage point that will hopefully grant him a clear shot should anything go down. We could be walking right into a trap. Or we could find nothing.

“Good. Everyone else agree with going in prior to a warrant?” Lance asks.

“There are benefits to not being a cop, boss man,” Michael says as he withdraws his firearm. “I say we go in.”

“I got something,” Elijah says.

My stomach lurches, and we shift our attention to the monitor in his hands.

“What is that?” Michael asks.

The light catches a glint of metal hanging on an old nail on the side of the barn. Elijah moves the drone in close enough that we can see it’s a necklace. Cherry blossom. “That’s Lanetti’s.” I withdraw my weapon. “She was wearing it outside the diner right before she first got taken. She’s in there.” Hope floods my system, mixing with the adrenaline and a heavy dose of fear.

What if we’re too late?

Images of Lanetti’s body, swollen from the water, assault my mind, and I have to actively force them out in order to refocus.

We’re not too late.

We will find her.

God, please let us find her in time.

“I texted the sheriff, let him know we have a sign that she’s in there and we’re going in.” Lance levels his gaze on me. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He holds his weapon at the ready. “Then let’s go get her.”

My heart hammers as we make our way down the embankment, with Lance leading us, me right behind him. I don’t have to look back to know that Elijah is behind me and Michael’s following him.

We move like a single unit, nearly silent—our years of training working like muscle memory. The wall of the barn is hard beneath my back, despite the aged wood. I follow Lance’s lead, taking slow, careful steps forward.

We reach the rusted nail where the psycho hung Lanetti’s necklace. I eye it furiously as we pass.

If anything happened to her?—

Lance moves quickly to the other side of the door, then nods to me. I come around and slam my boot into the front, weapon raised as we rush inside. It doesn’t take but a few seconds to realize that it’s empty. Decades of the tide have brought in sand from the shoreline, and as I walk, what’s left of the floorboards creak beneath my boots.

“Where is she?” I demand, turning to Lance. “Her necklace was right outside. I saw it. I know it’s hers.” I’m spiraling, as I spin in a circle. I was so sure. I felt it. She has to be—something scrapes, and we all whirl to face the far corner.

It’s empty, but the scraping sound fills our ears again.

As carefully as I would be if I were defusing a bomb, I inch forward, keeping my firearm raised. Lance, Michael, and Elijah all flank me, and when we reach the corner, I peer down into a small crack in the floorboards.

And meet a pair of terrified eyes.

“Got her!” I yell, then quickly holster my weapon and drop to my knees. Gripping the floorboard in my gloved hands, I yank the board free and toss it to the side. Lanetti’s eyes are wide and afraid, tears streaking down her cheeks.

There’s duct tape over her mouth and the water from the rising tide has nearly filled the worn space beneath the barn.

Another half hour and she would have drowned.

“I got you,” I say as I reach in, and with Lance’s help, we pull her up to the surface.

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