Page 47 of Don't Let Go

Once parked, Patch took over any local cameras, looped their feeds, then did a full scan. We were the only trailer parked here and a pair of cars that had been there when we arrived, left shortly thereafter. With the all clear, we opened the ramp and I drove the SUV down. We’d parked the vehicle aboard as soon as we caught up

Locke slid into the passenger seat as McQuade closed up behind us. I didn’t wait for Locke to buckle his seatbelt before I hit the accelerator.

Our first identified target was a little over an hour away, where the desert met the mountains. My comm hummed to life.

“Comm check,” Patch said, her voice soothing in my ear. The past three days had seen her come back to life. She’d been healing before, but she thrived now. The work, the hunt, the search—it was all doing her a world of good.

“Copy,” I said easily.

“We’re all clear here,” Locke added. “Try to get some rest while we get into place?”

“I will after I finish my follow-up searches.” The hint of impudence in her tone reminded me that she was retaking control of her daily choices. We could coax, but she didn’t follow orders. Something, I suspected, the others enjoyed as much as I did.

“Let us know if there are any changes,” I said before Locke could scold her. She had to put up with McQuade while we were gone. He would be far more likely to pick her up and dump her into her bed. To keep her there, he would pull the power supplies to her equipment and refuse to give them back until she slept.

“Will do. Be safe.” Laughter edged the biting note beneath her words. I’d bailed Locke out and she let me do it. A soft click indicated the line was still there, but it would remain quiet unless we or she activated it.

“She isn’t sleeping enough,” Locke muttered.

“She won’t while she has so much on her mind.” Or while nightmares continued to plague her. Not that she’d said anything about that beingwhyshe preferred to be up, almost round the clock, on her computers. “You know as well as I do that she will not let go of this until she’s solved the whole puzzle.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

No. It didn’t. I couldn’t say I much cared for it either. However… “This is her life,” I reminded him. “Her battle. She has been in this particular fight far longer than either of us. She needs to do this and we need to let her.”

“Just like that?” Locke shot me a look of intense dislike. Whether it was for my statements or me didn’t really matter right now. It all came from the same place—the desire to protect her.

“No,” I said, keeping my tone even.

One thing my training had taught me was to reserve my anger and passion for when they were necessary. At the moment, it wasn’t necessary. His frustration wasn’t even withhermuch less me. It was the whole situation.

“Not just like that. You have to know she will do what she needs to do. We can fight her, which will only make it more difficult for her to achieve her goals, or we can support her by eliminating the threats she uncovers.”

Locke said nothing for the next few miles. If I read him right, he was chewing my statements up and trying to find a counter for them. His lengthy sigh was an answer all of its own.

“I kind of hate you right now,” he said without an ounce of real heat.

“Go right ahead.” I shrugged. “We have another forty-some odd minutes for you to deal with your feelings, then you need to pack them away for work.”

“Thanks,” he scraped the word out in a dry tone. “I appreciate it.”

I hadn’t missed the sarcasm underlining the words. Still, I grinned, and said, “You’re welcome.”

His snort was the only response.

An hour later, I eyed our target. It was an obscenely large wood cabin style mansion. They might label it a house, but it sprawled over the side of the mountain and fit against the trees as if it had been grown there. That took considerable effort and funds.

In addition to the home itself, there were a pair of generators hidden from view on the far side, as well as a garage to house the vehicles. The home was likely as self-sustaining as they could make it. A good bolthole.

Not good enough.

Flat against the earth, I studied the visible egresses. Two main doors on the first floor. The plans Patch had dug up said there were two more in the back.

One was into the garage itself, the other onto a deck where you could slip off to the side. Being tucked to the mountain made all elevations accessible to the ground depending on where you were.

Locke had begun his path around the house to the rear. Even out here, most people kept lighter security on their back doors than their front. It was like they assumed even intruders would prefer to come in the front doors.

A soft beep in my ear told me Locke was in place. I tapped my comm twice.

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