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ONE
—
D E N V E R
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to find her.”
Roger Castle is the perfect picture of a distraught father—the red eyes, the fidgeting hands, the shoulders hunched under his tailored Brioni suit.
The man seated next to Castle in the gleaming study of the expansive waterfront mansion is Grayson Castle, Roger’s son. No tears from junior. Just a cold, set, somewhat disdainful expression on his long face. They’re both Alphas, and clearly both used to being in command.
I take them in with calculating eyes. Reviewing every word, every blinked back tear in my head.
I know what a cold-hearted bastard I am, analyzing a father afraid for his missing daughter. Questioning everyone’s true intentions. But it’s my job. Nobody hires a mercenary for his bedside manner. Especially not a real estate tycoon like Roger Castle.
He recruited me personally through the agent who connects me to most of my jobs. I don’t know what made Castle pick me—I’ve got military experience, sure, but there are plenty of vets out there. The agent made it seem like a big deal that Castle asked for me personally.
Weird as it was, I didn’t ask too many questions. As a missing persons case, it wasn’t my usual gig, but pretty straightforward. I’d already reviewed the file, memorized the photo of Brooklyn Castle tucked inside. I didn’t need a meeting with the client before I got to work. But Castle insisted we speak in person before we set out. I supposed since this was ground zero, it did make logical sense for us to start at her last known location.
Us being me and the two other guys who got recruited. The three of us sit at the conference table in Castle’s study, listening to him prattle on. I wonder if they’re as impatient as I am to get moving. Daylight’s wasting away while this guy waxes poetic about a girl who’s very likely nothing more than a corpse now. And everything he’s saying is information that was already contained in the damn file.
“My daughter went missing over a year ago,” Castle goes on. “It’s been awful. Like a piece of us is missing. I don’t know how my son and I have managed to keep ourselves together. If her mother were still alive, she’d be?—”
Roger Castle clears his throat of the emotion caught there and coughs, muttering an apology. He takes his son’s hand and squeezes it. The son lets go quickly. Apparently, he’s not big on parental comfort.
“It’s okay, Dad,” the son offers, his cool blue eyes sliding to meet mine with an intensity I didn’t think him capable of. “They’re going to find her.”
And the way he says it—like just because he commanded it we have to follow through—makes me bite my tongue.
“The security footage from this house showed her leaving the perimeter on foot,” Castle explains after nodding gratefully to his son. “She was headed in the direction of Olympic National Park. It’s a short walk from the estate, and she hikes sometimes as a hobby. We believe she got lost, somewhere in the park there.”
It’s not a bad theory. Getting lost in Olympic National Park would be easy. It’s massive, over 900,000 acres of mountains, rivers, and winding trails. One wrong turn or stumble off the marked trail, and suddenly you’ve completely lost your sense of direction.
And if Brooklyn didn’t go for the main entrance, wandering in from the side instead, it would be even easier for her to lose track of her path. “The authorities say they’ve done everything they can, but I’m not willing to sit back and accept that anymore. So I put together a team of the best men I could find. I need you to go in there and bring my daughter home.”
My team, if you could call us that. Across the table from me sit two other Alphas. I turn the same calculating gaze on them. Castle told me their names, but frankly, I’m shit with names. So until I get a chance to jog my memory, they’re just the Tracker and the Survivor.
The Tracker is one quiet motherfucker. He hasn’t said one word since we sat down. A big game tracker-hunter, apparently, and an expert in following his nose to his prey. Castle says he’s hunted everything from moose to mountain lions. When we all left our packs at the door, I saw a massive crossbow strapped to the top of his, and I’m sure he saw the sniper rifle strapped to mine. I don’t plan on using it for this mission, but I don’t like being caught unprepared.
The Survivor’s more relaxed, quick to smile, looking at me and the Tracker like he thinks we’re going to be best friends. It took me a minute to recognize him; last time I saw him, his five o’clock shadow had grown to a full, bushy beard. Of course, that was after he’d spent six weeks in the Alaskan wilderness, surviving off rabbits and birch bark. The Survivor won one of those reality shows where they drop you in the middle of nowhere with a pocketknife and a roll of duct tape. I’m not ashamed to say I binge watched three seasons in a row a couple months back. It’s entertaining shit.
I don’t know how the three of us will work together. But frankly, I don’t care. I’ve worked with people I don’t like before. In my military days, I didn’t get to choose my bunkmates. As long as they don’t get in the way of me getting the job done, we’ll be fine.
“Any sign of foul play?” I ask. “No ransom?”
Castle shakes his head. “None. I almost wish it were that. I’d pay anything for her safe return. But I’ve exhausted all the other avenues. You three are our last hope.”
“Does she have any experience hiking?” the Survivor pipes up. Obviously he didn’t read every letter of the case file three times.
“Nothing extensive,” I answer before Castle can. “Her mother would take her into the park to hike a lot in her youth. But no backpacking, no lengthy trips in any sort of wilderness alone.”
I looked to Castle, giving him an opening to interject or correct me. He only nods, adding, “I don’t even think we have a tent in the house.”
No surprise there. The Castles don’t exactly seem like the type of family that considers roasting marshmallows over a campfire a great vacation. They’re more the type that jet off to the Maldives, then enjoy their separate activities and save the quality time for the flight back home.
Castle slides a photograph onto the table. The same picture I was sent when I accepted the job.
A girl with dark hair, glancing away from the camera. Elusive, even while sitting still. A full pouty mouth set against a sharp jaw. Thin, too thin even here, her collarbone a distinct line under her black sweater.
