“I can’t,” she sobs softly.
“Climb into your bed and pretend to be asleep. You need to act as if everything’s normal.” I’m still glaring at Cruise. I don’t shift my eyes from his. I need Cruise, more than I’ve ever needed him in my life, and he’s here, beside me, about to be the only person I can count on to do the right thing—to go find my wife.
Detective West
A convoy of flashing lights fills my rear-vision mirror. I don’t say a word, and neither does Roland. I’m focused on the white lines dotted along the bitumen in front of me.
Before long, I’m indicating to turn onto the main highway, and as trees flash by in a blur under the shine of our headlights, I’m thankful for the cloak of darkness we travel within. The roads are empty, and we’re gaining momentum without disruption.
I rotate my head to the right, completing a shoulder check as we speed towards double lanes. A tug on the steering wheel has the lane change complete.
An hour and a half—that’s how long we race along the bitumen before radio silence is no more.
“This is team red. We’re taking our allocated turn-off. We’ll be in contact once we achieve our positions.”
“Team yellow. We’re maintaining visual on the cabin. No movement. We're awaiting instruction to approach.”
“Sirens off,” I say, twisting my neck in another shoulder check to my left. I coast over the white lines dotting the centre of the road and hold my position in the left lane.
Another ten kilometres pass.
“Team green. We have visual on a white off-roader approaching the cabin. A white four-by is approaching the property.”
“Shit,” Roland mutters.
“Hold your position. Do not approach,” I command.
“Team green, holding our positions.”
“Team yellow, holding our positions.”
“Team red, heading into the bushland now.”
I flick my eyes to Roland.
“Looks like Winston might have returned,” he says.
I take a deep breath, staring down the white lines. “We just have to get there.”
“Team green, we have a male, approximately one hundred and ninety centimetres tall, exiting the vehicle.”
“Get eyes on him. Give me a positive identification.” I’m calm. Focused. I hope this is Winston.
Minutes pass.
“Team yellow. We have visual. White male, match is positive to the description given and photograph supplied for our prime suspect.”
“Hold your position. Do not approach," I say.
“Team yellow, holding our positions.”
“Team green, holding our positions.”
I take another deep breath. “We’ll come in on foot. I repeat, we will come in on foot. Expect a fifteen-minute delay on our expected ETA. I want to take this prick down myself. Nobody approach.”
“Team green, your instruction has been received.”
“Team yellow, your instruction has been received.”
“Team red. We’re now approaching through bushland on foot.”
“Slow and steady. No sudden moves, team red,” I instruct.
“Team red, your instruction has been received. We’re slowing our pace.”
Another ten kilometres pass before I shift the indicator to the left and slow until I’ve come to a dead stop on the shoulder of the highway. The vehicles trailing me follow suit, parking in a straight line behind my car like well-placed dominos. The headlights dim until they disappear completely, then beams of light from torches replace them.
“Hold your positions. This is team blue. We're now approaching on foot. Hold your positions.” I speak softly.
“Team yellow, holding our positions.”
“Team green, holding our positions.”
“Team red, still approaching with caution.”
Opening the car door, I leap out. I take the strap at the bottom of my bulletproof vest and reef the Velcro back, pulling it tighter around my lower stomach until it becomes firm. I fasten the belt back into place.
I twist on my heel and face the twenty officers who form team blue. They're geared up and watching me, eyes alert.
“Ready?” I look to Gleaton, who nods in response. “Turn off your torches. Move out,” I yell loud enough for the team to hear, but not loud enough that my voice will project too far.
We’re shielded by the cover of darkness.
My firearm is gripped in my hand as I walk down a dirt track off the highway.
Gleaton holds the radio to his mouth. “Team blue now approaching. I repeat, team blue now approaching.”
“Team yellow, holding our position.”
“Team green, holding our position.”
“Team red. Shit. We have a problem.”
“Fuck,” I growl before taking my radio from my holster and holding it by my mouth. “Team red, what’s the problem?” I hold my tension between my teeth.
“We’ve hit a lake. Boss, this wasn’t on the map.”
“Team red, hold your position. Do not cross the water.”
“Team red, holding our position.” There’s a pause. “Sorry. Astin.”
“Halt all radio contact. We’re going in,” I say quietly.
“Team red, radio contact disabled.”
“Team yellow, radio contact disabled.”
“Team green, radio contact disabled.”
I slip the portable back into my holster and catch a glimpse of Roland as I turn my gaze to the high grass in front of us. His eyes roam our surroundings. His weapon is held out in front of him, and I do the same. He's ready to fire. I’m ready to fire. We take no chances.
We move one foot in front of the other. I keep my eyes forward. I don’t blink. We’re going to take down Winston Sampson, and then we’re going to bring Morgan home.
To serve and protect above all else. I took an oath.
I will protect Morgan.
Reid
Shirley did what I asked after some further convincing, and when I look towards Cruise after she walks out the back door, he drops his chin low to his chest.
“Do you trust me?” I take a sharp inhale, hopeful Cruise will see that what we need to do far outweighs any possible need for him to go running through the house and alerting Max as to what’s unfolded. Cruise might play the hero on screen, but in reality, he’s far more analytical, and law abiding.
He nods.
“You said you’d help me bring Morgan home. Help me, brother.”
He doesn’t answer.
“John. John knew. He …” I stop speaking as I try to control my racing thoughts and bury the betrayal from a man I’d considered to be a second father to me. “If John can do this to us, then the police can’t be trusted either. Hell, I know someone on the force is involved. Dusty, that guy Linda’s seeing, he told me not to trust the police. He had intel, Cruise. Those pigs haven’t told us all they know, just bits and pieces. They can’t help us. Max is the only one I trust, but he’s only one officer, and he’s not even high ranking. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Cruise doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even bat an eyelid. He just stares.
“I’m going to get Morgan, and you’re coming with me.”
Cruise's lips part, but I give him no time to speak.
“You need to get the biggest butcher’s knife from the kitchen, and grab Ronald’s car keys. They’re next to my wallet on the bench. Cruise, do it quietly. I know where the cabin is. I know where to go.”
He shakes his head.
“You will get the knife and the keys.” My tone is strained. “I’m going to write a message for Max and tape it to the back of the front door.”
“Reid, no. Let the police handle this. The kids, they —”
“They will be safe. I know they will be okay.”
“No. They’re not. Morgan would want you to go to them.”
“Morgan needs me. Max will get the kids out safely. Trust me. Cruise, please be here for me.”
“I am,” he mumbles.
I reach out my hand, placing it on his arm. “This is my wife, and I know if Natalie was out there you’d —”
“I’d move hell and high water to get to her.”
I grind my teeth together as I nod.
“Okay.” He places his hand on top of mine. “Okay, I’ll help you.”