Page 91 of Matthew
Bennett’s voice came from the backseat and over the comms they were now hooked into. “We’ve got Carter digging for infoon the other Hutchins. Mac and Briggs are already coordinating with Gabe.”
“ETA?” Caspian asked.
“Three minutes behind us,” Bennett replied.
Matthew’s attention was still locked on the screen. Callie hadn’t moved, but the camera angle made it impossible to see if she was stalling or preparing something.
She looked so damn calm.
And that scared the hell out of him more than anything.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” he murmured to the screen. “We’re coming.”
The SUV barely screeched to a halt near the greenhouse and Matthew was out, weapon drawn, sprinting through the heat toward the glass structure. He vaguely registered the slamming of doors behind him as Caspian and Bennett flanked him, their footsteps pounding in sync. Gabe’s cruiser rolled in behind them, gravel crunching.
Matthew didn’t wait.
The greenhouse loomed ahead, its curved panels clouded with condensation, turning everything inside into a vague blur of shapes and shadows. No clear line of sight, only the faint suggestion of movement beyond the glass.
Matthew’s boots hit the gravel with barely a sound. His breath was tight in his chest, adrenaline narrowing his focus to the warped outline of Callie’s silhouette.
She was in there. Trapped.
And they were almost out of time.
“Side approach,” Matthew ordered, voice low. “Caspian take the rear. Bennett, front. I’ve got the side. On me.”
They moved as one. Silent. Precise.
Matthew reached the side door in seconds, heart pounding in his damn throat. He paused outside, reading every sound inside, the low murmur of a voice, Callie’s voice, steady but thin.
“—don’t have to do this, Les. You know that. You can still walk away.”
Then a harsher voice. “You think they’ll just let us? You really think we’re the ones in charge here?”
The brother.
Matthew’s earpiece crackled. “Mac and Briggs are a minute out,” Carter relayed.
He wasn’t waiting.
“Going in on two,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Roger,” Caspian and Bennett replied in unison.
“One…Two!” On Matthew’s signal, they entered. The side door stuck, but he yanked hard and gained access. Heat hit like a wall.
So did the tension.
In a split-second assessment, he noted that Callie stood near the potting bench across from him, body still, her jaw tight, a pouch clutched in one hand. Les was three feet in front of her. The second man had stepped in behind her, effectively boxing her in.
“Drop the gun!” Matthew barked, rushing in, placing himself between her and the threat.
The brother flinched, turning slightly, but before he could react, Caspian was already behind him. In one swift, fluid motion, Caspian yanked the man’s arm back, dislodging the weapon. The gun clattered to the floor as the man cursed, twisting in vain.
“Hands where I can see them,” Bennett commanded Les, his weapon trained on the employee.
Les hesitated, then raised his hands slowly. “Don’t shoot. I—I didn’t—” He looked at Callie. “I didn’t want it to go this far.”
