by Wylder Stone
“Owen, I need to get him,” Trista cried.
“Don’t worry. It’s Little Riders Club at the stable, so the place is crawling with the volunteer cops and Rangers who run it, not to mention a few of my brothers. He’s safe.”
Moving to the front of Lalapalooza, Trista checked the locks on the front door, noticing the officer assigned to her standing at his post. “Okay. I’m closing up right now. I’ll meet you out back.”
Trista hung up her phone and went to shut off the primary lights and switched to security lights, then moved to the back to close up her office. The sound of her cell phone had her quickening her pace, but the minute Trista saw the name on the screen, she fell to her seat. No.
“Leslie, what is it? What’s wrong?” Leslie was a cop and part of the Young Rangers and helped run the Little Riders Club Mason was attending. She wouldn’t be calling unless there was a problem.
“I want you to stay calm, okay? We’re all over this. Jackson and Derek are already here. Owen is talking to Tayler as we speak.” Leslie’s voice was calm and to the point, but she didn’t say a damn thing, just a bunch of meaningless words.
“Owen? I just hung up with him.” Trista answered, unsure why that seemed important. Perhaps it was because she was avoiding the inevitable. The truth she knew was waiting for her.
“He has him. He has my son, doesn’t he?” It was odd how panic could course through a person, driving their adrenaline to painful levels and to the point where it paralyzes them. Trista wanted to scream into the phone and run from where she sat to go search for her son, but she sat, powerless. Reeling in pain.
“We don’t know that. We have this place covered and haven’t seen a single trace of Mark Thomas. He’s on everyone’s radar,” Leslie tried to reassure her. Nobody saw him, so it must not be him? Bullshit. It was him.
“But Mason is gone? Leslie, is my son gone?”
“We’re looking. A couple of the boys went to the bathroom, and we caught them playing hide-and-seek in the stalls. Mason could be playing and still hiding.”
“No. He wouldn’t do that. Mason would come out if you called him. He found a way in, Leslie! Mark found a way in that none of us thought of, and he took Mason! I’m coming! I’m on my way!”
“Stay where you are, Trista. Wait for Owen. Do not leave by yourself, especially now!” Leslie warned.
Trista didn’t say another word before she hung up her phone. Her son was missing, and she would not stay where she was. Fumbling for her keys, Trista called Owen, who answered on the first ring.
“I’m almost there. We’ll find him. Mark isn’t there. James has been scouring video, and he hasn’t been there.”
“Then where is Mason?” Trista’s voice was frantic, and she began to yell. “Where is my son?”
A sudden calm washed over her, her mind made up. “I’m headed there now. I’m going to find my son.”
“Trista, wait, dammit. Wait for me. I’m almost there, and we’ll go together!” Owen yelled.
“I can’t. It’s my son,” she said, running out the rear door, frantic. Trista suddenly stopped at an unexpected sight as she cleared the exit. “I… He’s here. Owen, he’s…”
Then Trista screamed, followed by the sound of her phone hitting the ground with the sounds of her fighting someone off in the background.
“Trista?” Owen yelled, driving faster, maneuvering through the small town and all the tourists as quickly as he could.
He could hear flesh hitting flesh, and her assailant wasn’t expecting it. Trista was tough. Owen needed her to keep fighting because he was almost there.
When the line went silent, and he could no longer hear the scuffle, Owen yelled her name once more as if it would be heard. “Trista! Are you there?”
He got his answer when the phone filled with the sound of a starting car, followed by squealing tires.
Hitting his steering wheel repeatedly, Owen spat through gritted teeth, “Dammit!”
Only moments passed, and Owen was pulling into the parking lot behind Lalapalooza and came to a screeching halt when he saw what was left behind. The source of Trista’s initial startle laid just feet from where Owen found Trista’s dropped phone. Matt Brewster, the officer assigned to Trista for the day, lay in a puddle of his own blood from a gaping wound on the back of his head. Brewster had a pulse, albeit faint. Owen’s first call was for an ambulance. His second call was to James.
“Tell me you’re still at Trista’s house,” Owen said to his brother.
“Yeah, it’s just Troy and me. Why, what do you have?” James asked.
“He has Tris. Get everyone there. I’ll be there as soon as the ambulance gets here.”
“Ambulance? What the hell happened?”
“Son of a bitch took out Tayler’s guy. The one posted behind her shop. He did it to get to her,” Owen shared.
“Oh, shit,” James replied, stunned that Mark Thomas once again had the upper hand, and now Mason and Trista were both missing. “We’re going to get her, man. The kid too. We’re already working.”
Owen could hear Troy in the background, rounding up the group while James could be heard working his hands over his keyboard.
“Start looking for her car,” Owen said, scanning the lot, watching for the ambulance he could hear in the distance. “He took her in her car.”
“Wait, what?” James questioned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Mark do that? He has to know we have her car lo-jacked. Even if he can disable or jam her GPS, he’ll never find the jack.”
“It’s because Mark wants us to find him.”
16
Trista’s house was swarming in the short amount of time it took Owen to get there. Tayler met him with an update before he could get out of his car.
“James is tracking the car now. We’ll get them back. They’ll be okay,” Tayler assured.
“He’s dead. I’m going to fucking kill him.” Owen moved to the trunk of his car and pulled out a flak jacket and gun case.
“I get it, man. But you need to keep it together, or I’m not letting you go out there. This is just another mission, no emotions. Can you do that?” Tayler asked point-blank.
“That mission is my life. They are everything to me.” A long, aching pause stood before them while Owen pulled himself together, his own words hitting him like he was hearing them for the first time. “And now they’re gone. Mark has them and nothing to lose. I have everything to lose.”
Owen’s head dropped, and his hands went to his hips in an expression of defeat. Tayler looked on, giving Owen a minute to feel whatever he was feeling and regain his composure. When Owen tossed his vest over his shoulder and grabbed his gun case, it was a sign that his moment of feeling defeated or vulnerable, or whatever it was, had passed, and he was ready to do whatever needed to be done.
Landing a supportive hand on Owen’s shoulder, Tayler said, “Let’s go get your family back, man.”
Walking up the driveway, Owen let Tayler’s words wash over him. Family. In his line of work, Owen never thought that possible. His job was his first love, and his team was his family. A real family was dangerous, irresponsible, selfish even for the very trial they were currently facing. Family became targets. A means to an end. A means for vengeance. They would always be in harm’s way, constant marks for whoever sought revenge.
In that kind of business, he went after the worst of the worst – lowlife, soulless thugs with zero consciences. Psychopaths, sociopaths, and murderous savages. Owen spent nearly two years cleaning up every potential threat because of the game changer. Trista. Mason. A life beyond the job.
Months of messy cleanup, clearing his name from any crime boss ledger or from any drug lord’s mouth. Owen made his world safe, so Trista and Mason could live in it. Mark was the loose end Owen hadn’t anticipated. He went away for good, or so Owen thought. It was time to reclaim his freedom, get Trista and Mason back, and take out what was left of the obstacles between him and the rest of his life while
he was at it.
Trista’s house had become another mobile command center. Men who Owen didn’t even know were gearing up, ready to join the search and rescue effort. They were Tayler’s team. A team that wasn’t employed by Bear Springs. These were men who’d come from nowhere and would disappear just the same when all was said and done. A piece of Tayler’s past he didn’t talk about, but Owen was well aware of.
James called Owen over to where he was set up, his eyes never leaving the half dozen screens they were dancing among. Troy was behind him, laying out large maps, swapping them out with each bit of information James called out.
“I’ve got her car, but it doesn’t make sense,” James said with a puzzled look.
Owen looked closer. “What doesn’t make sense?”
“Location. Hold on, this can’t be right,” James said, clicking away at his keyboard, the information on his screens changing constantly. “I’m linking to the satellite. I want an actual image of this before I send anyone into a trap.”
Troy watched over his shoulder, swapping yet another map out and marking up another with a large red circle.
“Okay, I have a visual,” James said with a hint of bewilderment. “You aren’t going to believe this, but it’s parked on an old service road. There’s nothing around them. And that’s not even the crazy part.”
“Are those coordinates right?” Troy asked, looking at the screen from where he stood, then confirming his findings with the marks on his maps. “That puts them no more than a mile, mile and a half from here?”
Jackson stepped forward, looking at what James showed on his screens, then Troy and his paper maps. “Why? What’s around here? Where would Mark go on foot? And why so close. Why right under our noses?”
“The old, dilapidated building in the woods,” Owen spelled out, looking at Tayler. “He’s taking her to the old place in the middle of the brush. Those old roads aren’t maintained, so her car wouldn’t make it all the way in. That’s why they left it.”
Dragging his hand over his face in disbelief, Tayler indicated the significance of the dilapidated building in the woods. “Where Cesar was holed up. Just into the woods is an old forest service station. That’s where all this started, and Cesar ended.”
“What the hell? Why would Mark go back there?” Derek questioned, concerned that perhaps they were missing something big. “Cesar was killed there, and he was caught there. What is this? Some sick role play he’s conjured up? Does he want a do-over? A different ending? I don’t like it. This is even a little off for him.”
“Here it is on the map,” Troy pinpointed. “James, check the power grid. We haven’t searched that far in yet because it’s too close and doesn’t make sense. See if he’s been there.”
“Bingo!” James declared. “We have a few weeks of on and off activity, then for the past three days, it’s doubled. It appears someone’s living there based on utility usage.”
Troy clapped his hands together, ready to take out their fugitive. “Let’s go!”
“Hold on.” Owen stopped them because they were being hasty in their quick call to action. “Something doesn’t add up. How did he grab Mason and Trista within minutes of each other? Mark had to have hit Trista’s on foot, no vehicle left behind, and he took off in hers. We’re missing a piece to the puzzle.”
“Going in eyes wide, boys. We may be getting a two-for-one deal,” Derek alleged, finally making sense of the ordeal. “Our boy has an accomplice.”
Owen nodded, feeling like they were finally on the same level with this guy. They figured it out. He had to have an accomplice, and they didn’t need to know who to be on an equal playing field and declared a victor. “Let’s go.”
The team moved out, foraging through the woods, breaking up into smaller groups, each taking different directions as they went. One team went for the car first to clear it of any missed leads, or God forbid, Trista was still in it. The rest moved on to surround their target and secure the area with every step they took. Mark knew they were coming. He planned it that way by bringing Trista and Mason just a mile from them rather than running.
A voice came through the earpiece they each wore so they could communicate, despite being so spread out. “Alpha team has landed – no tango. Vehicle is clear. Repeat, vehicle is clear.”
“Copy. Move in, Alpha team.”
All teams were in place and had a visual on the beach house. The lights were on, and smoke flowed from the chimney, giving away his location. Another mistake…or did Mark want to be found?
Owen relayed his assumption to the teams supporting them through the radio. They needed to know what Mark did. “He knows better than to light a fire and send a fucking smoke signal. He knows we’re here. Eyes wide and ears to the ground because we may be walking into a trap. This has all been too easy. He’s led us in every step of the way for a reason.”
The team crept in stealthily, even if expected. They didn’t have the element of surprise, but they had numbers, and they didn’t want to tip off just how outnumbered Mark was.
Genevieve pulled up to Old Cannery Road exactly as planned. Armed and ready for anything, she parked and walked the rest of the way, just around a bend where the trees thinned, and the old abandoned cannery came into view.
“I’m here. Hello?” With her gun drawn and aimed at the ground just out of sight behind her back, Genevieve shouted for the person she was there to meet.
She could hear footsteps crunching in the semi-frozen gravel before they came into view. A smile crossed her face, and relief flowed through her.
“Mason…” She took to one knee as he ran right into her open embrace.
“Vivi! You’re here!” he said with a giggle.
“I am, buddy! You doing good?” Mason was in good spirits, and Genevieve didn’t want to disrupt that with hard questions or those that would suggest something was wrong.
“Yep! We’re playing hide-and-seek!” the boy said.
“Good. That’s good. You ready to go with me? I have a really good hiding place,” Vivi offered, generating more excitement.
He giggled and clapped his hands. “Yep!”
Vivi stood and looked at the person before her, unsure if she should be disgusted or grateful. What they were doing was wrong, so very wrong, but Vivi knew her role, made a deal, and would stick to it until the very end.
“Thank you for coming, Genevieve.”
“Did I have much choice?” Genevieve’s tone was unfamiliar, even to herself. It was one of anger and utter disdain. Judging.
“There is always a choice, Genevieve. I’m glad you saw fit to make the right one.”
Genevieve’s brow rose, and her tone flipped to something like sarcasm. “Well, time will tell if I made the right choice.”
“You know what to do with him. I’ll trust you to follow through.”
Vivi nodded, and her caller turned around and walked off, disappearing to wherever she came from.
“Let’s go, buddy. We need to hurry,” Genevieve said to Mason.
She buckled him in and took off, watching her mirrors as she did to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Genevieve went through town, made a few extra turns, then backtracked to her destination just as she had been taught by her friends and employer, the Forces. Guilt tried to take over, but she pushed it down deep where she wouldn’t have to face it until she was ready. She just hoped, when all was said and done, they could forgive her.
Owen’s team moved in, taking the front of the house, making their presence known. The rest stayed hidden, holding position, keeping their visual on the run-down building.
“Mark? We’re here, so let’s get this over with,” Owen yelled.
Mark walked out quickly as if they’d been waiting at the door for the invitation to exit. He was using Trista as a shield with his gun aimed at her shoulder. Interesting choice of shot that wasn’t lost on any of them. Something was wrong, very wrong, as his actions weren’t matching the profile they’d established to this po
int. Owen was relieved to see the weapon trained on Trista’s shoulder, a non-fatal wound, but a desperate man with nowhere left to run typically did desperate things when seeking revenge and calling in grudges.
“Took you long enough, Force. About froze my ass off out here!” Mark taunted.
Meeting her eyes, Owen took a monotone voice – no emotions – and asked, “Trista, are you okay?”
She nodded, tears staining her face and blood coming from somewhere on her head.
Mustering courage, Trista shouted, “Owen, he isn’t here. Mason isn’t here!”
Mark rolled his head, clearly annoyed with her. “Quiet. You’re only going to make things worse.”
“It’s okay,” Owen said, trying to reassure her. “Just do what he says. We’re getting you out of this mess.”
Turning his attention back to Mark with a nasty scowl, he demanded, “Where is the boy, Mark?”
Dropping his shoulders in frustration, Mark asked, “What are you talking about? She keeps saying the same thing.”
“Mason, Mark. Where is he?”
With more confusion and a furrowed brow, Mark shot back, “How the hell should I know?”
“Stop fucking around, Mark. We know you have him. You have Trista. You were in Santa Monica, attacked Trista, killed that kid up in the tower. We know what you’ve been doing. The fires, messing with people's brakes…everything. So give it up. We know you took him.”
“What? Owen. No, no, no, that wasn’t me, man. You know I’d never mess with no kids.”
“I also thought you wouldn’t kill your whole team, your brothers, but you fucking did.”
“Jesus!” Suddenly, Mark seemed stressed and nervous. “That’s why I’m here. To fix all that.”
“Fix it? Why? Because you forgot one? Still need to take care of me?” Owen laid it all out. He wasn’t letting Mark off easy.
“What? No! You have it all wrong. I’m here to help, to redeem myself, Owen.”
