Page 109 of Stolen Omega

This is just where they dumped the fucking van.

Archer puts the phone to his ear as Harris walks over.

“Shit,” he murmurs. “I didn’t even know someone had bought this place.”

“Seth,” Archer says, walking a few steps away from us. “I know it’s been a crazy night already and it’s not even six a.m., but I need one more favor …”

I look at Harris. “Those lights in the dirt, though, that’s a runway for a private plane, right?”

He nods slowly. “Sorry, but that is what it looks like. I took a peek in the barn and I’m pretty sure someone was storing a Cessna 172 in there.”

“That’s pretty specific.”

“Not really. It’s the most popular light aircraft. It’s just an educated guess.”

I can’t hear what Archer’s saying anymore. He’s pacing back and forth a few feet away from us, having a conversation with Seth the Psychopath (who also happens to be a hacker). Meanwhile, I’m standing around with Harris, who has a Helicopter, freaking out about where Zelena could be now that we know she’s been taken on a private plane.

How long ago did that happen?

She’s been gone for so fucking long she could be halfway across the world by now.

“Are you okay?” Harris asks. “Because you really don’t look like you’re okay.”

“I …” I can’t even say it. I’m not fine, and I won’t be fine until I know Zelena’s okay.

I shake my head and lean back against the van.

Archer hangs up from his call and comes walking back to us.

“We’ve got a name,” he announces.

“If you’ve got a name, I can get a flight path,” Harris says.

“Zane Morris. He bought this place a few years back.”

“Holy shit,” Harris murmurs, before he grabs his phone and makes a call.

Archer walks me slowly back to the helicopter, while Harris talks to someone about the kidnapper’s flight path. It feels like we’re so damn close to finding her.

“Tell me this is it,” I ask, looking to my Alpha for reassurance.

“It is,” he says. “I feel it.”

“Alpha instinct?”

“What else?”

Harris comes toward us, a smile on his face. “I’ve got a destination, and we’ve got enough fuel to get there. Who’s ready to get back in the air?”

“How close are they?” Archer asks.

“It’s just under a two-hour flight.”

“How far would that make the drive?” Archer asks, glancing at me in concern.

“Driving’s not possible. Sorry, Russ. They flew to a private island.”

“Then I guess we’re lucky we’re with you,” I tell him, not feeling very lucky right now.

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