Must be the concussion.
No matter the reason, it was out there now, and he couldn’t take it back. Funny, he didn’t even want to.
“Then don’t you care about what’s happening to her?” The guy challenged. “To both of them? For Christ’s sake, Jess is only fifteen.” His voice cracked. “Who knows what they’re doing to my baby girl.”
Tears filled the poor man’s eyes, and Garrett’s chest tightened with sympathy. “Look, man. I get it. And I can promise you, I care very much about what happens to both your daughter and Avery. But sitting on our asses won’t do either of them any good.”
“Neither will getting ourselves killed.” The man began pacing the small space.
He was right. Now wasn’t the time for emotions.
If he had any chance of getting to Avery in time, he needed to start thinking like the operator he was, and not some heartsick boyfriend ready to tear down the walls to find his woman.
Think, damn it. Think!
“How long was I out?” Garrett began gathering as much information as he could.
The dad stopped and looked at him. “I don’t know. Couple hours, maybe? They took our watches and jewelry before they split us into these rooms.”
Glancing at his wrist, he realized the man was right.
He had no idea if his alert went through. And since the son of a bitch who’d struck him had stolen his watch, he couldn’t try to send it again.
Come on, Shadow. Tell me you got the signal.
Moving on, he went back to the timeline, again. If the father was right, they’d been here two hours. Add that to the two hours it had taken them to drive here, and four hours had passed in all since the group had first been ambushed, and he’d sent the alert.
From past experience, Garrett knew a flight from Charlotte to the DR took approximately three hours. Shadow and his boss would’ve needed an hour or more to gather intel, wrangle the rest of the team together, and put a plan into place before heading this way.
So, if his math was correct, his team should be on sight within the hour. Maybe less.
But that was onlyifhis alert had gone through. And he couldn’t—hewouldn’t—risk Avery’s life on an if.
“You said rooms.” Garrett addressed the middle-aged man again. “As in plural?”
The man nodded.
“How many?”
“Six. Maybe eight.” The guy shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of time to count. Those jerks just grabbed people and pushed them inside as they came to each door. A few here, a few there. Didn’t seem to be any specific rhyme or reason to who they put where, either.”
Ignoring the skull-splitting headache still pounding away inside his brain, Garrett turned in a slow circle, studying the dark, dank room again.
They were in an old warehouse of sorts. From what he’d seen when they first arrived, it was one level, about six thousand square feet, and surrounded by that huge ass concrete wall.
As far as schematics went, it wasn’t nearly as detailed as he would’ve liked. But it was enough to maneuver his way around.
These HTs, however…those bastards were a different story.
Before every op, he and his teammates gathered as much intel on the hostage takers as they could, so they knew exactly who they were dealing with.
All Garrett knew about the assholes who’d ambushed them was that they were local, and they were ruthless. And, just like every other HT, they believed they were owed something.
On top of all the unknowns, this op was different than most on multiple levels.
Not only washeone of the hostages—a fact that burned his ass on principle, alone—but the woman he’d come to love was also being held against her will.
If they’ve hurt her, so help me God…