Of course. The Clays had had their hunting cabin in the Siskiyou Mountains for decades. The mayor had been a big trophy hunter back in the day.
“That sounds like a serial killer’s wet dream,” Zooey said. “What do you think, boss? Do we call in the cavalry?”
“I have an idea,” Paul said. “But it’s risky.”
“I eat risky for breakfast,” Abby said. “Tell me.”
For a second, all he could see was her. For a moment, all he could think was you’re mine and I think I love you and this is the biggest mess I’ve ever been in and I’m so damn grateful I’m there with you.
He took a deep breath. And then he told her.
Chapter 23
“Who is this guy we’re going to see again?” Abby asked, as Paul navigated her truck up the narrow dirt road, the thick pine forest looming on either side. Zooey was squished between them, her computer open on her lap. Abby had no idea how she wasn’t carsick.
“Cyrus Rooke,” Paul said. “He’s a search and rescue specialist. And guide.”
“What kind of guide?” Abby asked as they climbed farther up the mountain. He’d driven them out to the middle of nowhere and she was starting to get skeptical over this plan of his.
“Wilderness. Mountain. Desert. Jungle. You name a terrain, he can bring you through it. I met him when he was working for the military, but he retired a few years ago. Gave me a call when he settled in the Siskiyous. Told me to look him up if I ever got home again.”
“You think he can find Ryan?” Abby asked.
Paul shrugged. “That’s not really what we’re here for,” he said mysteriously, coming to a stop in front of a giant wooden gate. There were spikes—wooden ones, carved out of what looked like tree trunks—rising from the top of the gate and a sign that said: Trespassers will be shot.
“Oh, this is going to be pleasant,” Zooey declared, as Paul honked his horn, three short bursts.
After a long moment when the camera affixed to one of the fence beams just blinked at them, with a scraping sound, the gate swung open to reveal a man.
He was pretty much what you’d expect a search and rescue specialist and all-terrain expert to be. Massive and well-muscled, he wore a flannel shirt and faded jeans. His curly black hair was pulled back at the base of his neck, a few strands left to dip into his dark, penetrating eyes. He pointed down the road, and Paul drove down it. Abby turned around in her seat, watching the man follow them.
They stopped at a log cabin, one he’d likely built himself—set in the little clearing carved out of the thick forest. There was smoke chugging out of the river rock chimney, and Abby could see a chicken coop and a garden beyond it.
Abby got out of the truck, and Zooey scooted across the bench seat to follow her. Paul strode up to Cyrus Rooke, holding out his hand.
But Cyrus, a veritable bear of a man, swept him up in a hug, clapping him hard on the back. “Harrison!” he boomed, his voice so deep it was almost a growl. “How are you, old dog?”
Old dog? Zooey mouthed at Abby, who shot her an equally puzzled look.
“Cy, it’s great to see you.” Paul grinned.
“We’ll catch up later,” Cyrus said. He looked over to Abby and Zooey, nodding at them. “Ma’am. Ma’am.”
“This is Abby. She brought the case to me. And this is Zooey. She works with me in DC. She’s head of my forensics team.”
“Nice to meet both of you,” Cyrus said. “Come inside. We’ll get to work.”
Cyrus’s cabin may have looked rustic on the outside, but the inside was another story. Half of the living room was filled with a computer setup that made Zooey look like cartoon hearts were about to pop out of her eyes.
“I’ve pulled up the sat feed on the coordinates you gave me,” Cy said to Paul, leading the three of them over to the computer monitor, where a fuzzy black-and-white image of what looked like a cabin’s roof in the middle of the woods was on the screen. “There’s been movement in the last two hours.”
“So he’s there,” Paul said.
“Most likely,” Cy said.
“How did you even get access to these feeds?” Zooey asked.
“I’ve got my ways,” Cy said with a wink. “So, if we zoom out—” he clicked a few things, and the image changed, giving them a better view of the forest “—we can see there’s a back road right here.” He drew his finger along the narrow line of gray snaking through the trees behind the Clays’ hunting cabin. “This is where I’ll park. Zooey will stay in the truck with the radio. Harrison, you’ll come down from the north, I’ll come up from the south, and Abby? You know how to use a gun?”
Abby nodded. She was starting to realize Paul’s friend, the “wilderness guide,” was more of an off-grid badass—the guy you send in during a hostage crisis.
“You come in from the east. Then, Harrison, it’s your show.”
Paul nodded. “Let’s see . . . Abby, you’ll be coming right up where his truck is,” he explained, pointing to the east area on the screen. “So take it out. Really simple, just slash the tires so he can’t escape that way. Cy? You and I flank the cabin and throw flash-bangs through each of the windows. They go off, we go in, subdue, and cuff him. Then we’ll call the sheriff so we can bring him down to the station for interrogation.”
“Classic,” Cyrus said. “We just gotta make sure he doesn’t bolt for the woods through the west side.”
“He does that, he’ll come right up against me.” Zooey pointed to the spot where Cyrus had indicated the truck would be parked.
Cyrus looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. “You a good shot?”
“No, she isn’t,” Paul said, looking like there was a story behind that as Zooey pursed her lips.
“I’ve taken a lot of classes with Agent Walker since then!” she protested.
“You almost shot yourself in the foot,” he said. “Absolutely not. You get a beanbag gun.”
“You can’t hold that one little mistake against me forever.” Zooey pouted, while Abby tried to hide her smile. Their dynamic, it turned out, was very much like disapproving but loving father and precocious child, which Abby guessed made sense, considering Paul had been the one to usher Zooey out of a life of crime and into the FBI.
“I can hold any action I want against you when your well-being’s at risk,” he said. “I’m the team leader. If you shoot yourself with the beanbag gun, at least you’re not gonna blow off a foot or a hand. You’ll just break it. And then I’ll have less paperwork to file.”
“Like you do your own paperwork,” Zooey sneered. “You totally bribe Rhonda with those butter cookies so she’ll do it for you.”
“Wow, it’s like watching a dad and his teenager,” Cyrus remarked to Abby, who had to laugh at their synchronicity. “Just, you know, FBI-style.”
“They’re a trip,” she agreed. She looked up at him, her smile warming. “I really appreciate you doing this,” she said as Paul and Zooey continued to argue.
“Harrison’s a good guy,” Cyrus said. “I kinda owe him. He got me out of a tough spot a few years back.”
Of course he had. For someone who loved the rules so much, Paul apparently had a lot of friends who seemed to skate past them with ease. There was no way the sat feeds Cyrus was accessing were a legal tap.
“Fine,” Zooey huffed. “I’ll take the damn beanbag gun.”
“Glad to hear it,” Paul said. “Cy, you got vests for us?”
Cyrus nodded. “Stuff’s in the back shed. Come on, we’ll go get it. Ladies, there’s a trunk in the back room there that’s full of clothes suited for an op like this.”
“Find whatever’s comfortable, not too loose, and make sure it’s dark,” Paul directed. “Change into it. We’ll be hitting the hunting cabin as soon as the sun sets.”
The two men left the cabin, and for a second, Abby and Zooey just looked at each other.
“You nervous?’ Abby asked, as they walked over to the back room and the chest in question.