Page 37 of Stolen

Chapter 18

Gunn watched from the passenger seat of the helicopter as Rex circled the airfield at Outlaw Ridge, and then came in for a landing.

No one came out of the hangar to see who was arriving, which was a bad sign. There was always at least one armed guard at the airfield—there were usually millions of dollars worth of aircraft here.

On the other hand, no one came out and tried to shoot them down, which meant the cartel hadn’t taken it over, either.

Something to put in the plus column. Gunn had the feeling there weren’t going to be a lot of those, today.

Rex set the helo down, and Gunn and Dobe, his other team member, exited one by one. Weapons at the ready, scanning the area and scenting the air.

Still no one.

They were on an artificially graded plateau above Outlaw Ridge, with two asphalt runways bordered by dirt and weeds, three helicopter landing pads, and an enormous hangar, painted to blend in with the landscape. There was a roofed parking area that held several military Jeeps.

Gunn tried calling the house yet again. Sugar still wasn’t answering, which was completely unprecedented in Gunn’s experience. Then he tried Gregor, Mateo, and even Sanchez, which showed how desperate he was.

No one wanted to talk to Sanchez.

They all went immediately to voice mail—as if the calls weren’t even getting through. Gunn left call-me messages—except for Sanchez, whose voice mail just said “Fuck you,” and cut off.

Rex started to say something, and Gunn held up his hand to quiet him. There was something… He closed his eyes, listening, and sniffed the air. It wasn’t a scent, or even a sound. A feeling. Very faint, like an echo vibrating through the remnants of the bond he’d once shared with this pack.

Anger, confusion, longing. Fear. The clash of dominance.

Definitely not the united feeling of a pack on the hunt.

Far off, a wolf howled. Then another, and another.

All three of them looked at each other.

Rex frowned. “Something is not right here.”

Gunn nodded. “They’re all over the mountain, not headed for town. If they were, I’d feel the pull of the hunt, the sense of purpose. All I get is chaos.”

Dobe asked, “Don’t they know a South American drug lord is about to take out the town? What the fuck are they doing?”

Gunn shook his head. “No clue, but it’s not good. Come on. Let’s grab a vehicle and drive down. Weapons ready.”

He sensed Rex and Dobe didn’t like that last order. They didn’t know the Outlaw Ridge pack well—he’d recruited them from outside—but taking up arms against other wolves they’d worked missions with was not what they were about.

Gunn hated it even worse, but they were all experienced enough to realize that they had to be prepared for anything.

They took the first Jeep that had keys. Rex drove, with Gunn riding shotgun and Dobe in the back, covering their rear.

As they dropped off the plateau where the airfield stood, the rutted dirt road passed into the woods. Gunn kept thinking he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked at it straight on, nothing was there.

Neither of the others seemed to see it. He began to wish he’d picked a closed vehicle, that offered more cover from attacks.

They were about halfway down the track when a wolf stumbled out of the underbrush right into their path. He was bleeding heavily from a wound in his chest.

It was Gregor.

Rex slammed on the brakes and they slid to a stop. Gunn jumped out of the vehicle and ran over to the wolf, who was swaying on his feet.

“Shit, Gregor, what happened?” he murmured, reaching out to the old wolf.

As soon as he touched Gregor’s wolf, images pummeled his mind. It was like a whirling kaleidoscope—the town, trucks, someone getting hit with a rifle butt. Then an old-fashioned settlement, women and kids. Then present-day, a woman with long dark hair, standing alone looking sorrowful, and then being roughly manhandled.