And he’d burn it down before he let her go alone.
Noah’s voice came sharp over the line, the hiss of the connection pulling tight around every word. “Get to headquarters. Now. I’ll get Isla and whoever else I can here for an op. Don’t move on the ridge until we know what we’ve got.”
Avery’s fingers were still working the last straps of her vest. She looked at Jackson like she’d carved the plan into bone. “If Mick did this,” she reminded him, “he saw Isla in the van. He’ll know the ploy. He’ll expect someone to use her to get us out.”
Noah didn’t hesitate. “I heard that. Could be Mick. Could be Darian. Could be Warren. Or it could be somebody else altogether. Doesn’t matter which until we have eyes. You come to HQ. You wait for me. We’ll move with a plan, not with our guts.”
Jackson watched the way Avery’s jaw set. He could see the blood under her knuckles where she’d tightened her fist. He wanted to grab her and shove her into a cruiser and brute-force his way to the ridge himself, but he’d seen what rushing in had done before. It had gotten people killed.
“Noah’s right,” he said finally, the words thick with everything he wasn’t saying. “We go to HQ. We bring Isla in. We do this with all of us in the loop.” He kept his voice level because if he didn’t, it would be panic—raw and contagious—and there was no room for that.
Avery’s eyes locked on his. For a second she looked eighteen again, reckless and certain. “They gave an ultimatum,” she said. “They want me. I can’t just—” Her voice broke and she swallowed. “I can’t stand by.”
“You don’t have to stand by,” Jackson assured her. “You don’t have to go alone either.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was only for her. “We’ll go together. But we do it Noah’s way. We don’t hand them what they want on a silver platter.”
Noah’s tone over the phone hardened. “Come now.” The line crackled, and he added, his voice softer, “We’ll get Riley and Megan back. Just get your asses to HQ now.”
Jackson killed the call, the silence after it dropping down like a hood. He reached for his keys, the metal cold in his palm, and felt the weight of every choice closing in at the edges. Avery’s willingness to sacrifice, Mick’s disappearance, the voice of a terrified hostage reading lines into a phone.
He moved to her, thumb brushing the strap at her throat. An instinct to tether her to him, to the mission, to the team. But he couldn’t keep her under lock and key.
Couldn’t keep her safe.
So he had to do his damndest to keep her alive.
After Jackson finished gearing up, they hurried out to his SUV and got in. Rain slicked the windshield, each drop catching the glare of the security lights as Jackson drove and then turned into the Crossfire Ops lot. The wipers beat a steady rhythm against the growing storm. Avery sat beside him, silent, the weight of her vest heavy against the seatbelt. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to say.
Headquarters loomed through the drizzle, lights blazing, every shadow sharp. The second Jackson rolled to a stop, Noah was already outside, rain dripping from his jacket collar, his expression carved out of pure tension.
Jackson and Avery climbed out, boots splashing through puddles. Inside the bay, Isla stood in front of a mirror, pulling her hair into a rough braid, smearing dirt along her jawline. Someone had tossed her a field jacket that was the same cut, same color as Avery’s. It was uncanny how close she looked in the dim light.
“Not bad,” Noah said, eyeing her. “Close enough in the dark and from a distance. If they’re watching the approach, it’ll buy us a few seconds.”
Cal and Garrett were checking weapons beside one of the unmarked vans, the matte black paint glistening with a sheen of moisture.
Jackson frowned. “This isn’t the recon van.”
“Nope,” Noah said. “Undercover fleet. No tags, no trackers, no visible comms. If this goes south, nobody knows it’s ours.”
He said it like a precaution, but Jackson heard the subtext. If they died out there, Crossfire Ops wouldn’t leave fingerprints.
Noah nodded toward the van. “Load up. Isla drives. Cal, Garrett, take the back corners. Jackson, Avery—front seats. Keep your heads low until we’re past the outer fence.”
Jackson opened the side door, letting Avery climb in first. The interior smelled of oil and rain and adrenaline. His gut churned. Every part of this felt wrong. Too clean, too deliberate.
Noah climbed in last, slamming the door behind him. That didn’t surprise Jackson that Noah was coming along. Not with his niece out there in the hands of some sick bastard willing to kill her.
“You really coming with us?” Jackson asked.
Rain hammered harder against the roof, the sound merging with the low rumble of the engine. Isla pulled her hood up and glanced back at them, her eyes wide but steady. “You all ready?”
Jackson met Avery’s gaze across the dim van. The tension between them was a live wire—fear, anger, resolve all knotted together.
“Ready,” he said.
Noah’s voice cut through the sound of the storm. “Then let’s move. Nobody acts until I say.”
The van rolled out of the bay and into the rain-slick darkness, its tires whispering over wet asphalt. Isla gripped the steering wheel, hood pulled low, her knuckles white. The storm blurred the world into streaks of gray, headlights cutting small, fragile cones through the curtain of drizzle.