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A blast of music cut Foster off, and he removed his cell, frowning. “It’s Mac on a video chat.”
Zain was at his side a heartbeat later. “No way they got all the way to Cascade Head and back in forty-five minutes. Which means this isn’t good news.”
Foster drew a deep breath, then hit the button. “Mac? Sweetheart is everything…”
Dead.
That’s how he felt. Standing there, staring into Striker’s wild eyes as he smirked into the camera.
Voss laughed. “I guess that depends on your perspective, Beckett. I’d say your buddy and your girlfriend have had better days.”
“Where are they?”
Voss angled the camera. Thompson had Mackenzie beside him, his gun jabbed in her ribs. Kash was braced against the side of the chopper, blood trickling down the side of his face with more matted in his hair. What was obviously a brutal head injury. “Do I have your attention, now?”
Foster clenched his jaw. “If you wanted to talk to me, Striker, all you had to do was knock on my door.”
“I prefer a more incentivized method. Since you know who I am, you know what I want.”
He held up the bottle. “You mean this?”
Striker’s eyes widened, and Foster swore the man actually licked his lips. “And the research?”
“It’s here, too.”
“Then, it looks like we can make a deal. The drugs and research for your friends.” He distorted the view for a moment then Foster’s phone pinged. “I just shared your girlfriend’s location. You’ve got one hour to get here. I’d suggest you fly, but I have the only chopper in town. And rumor has it, you’re not that man, anymore. You might want to consider a boat, seeing as it would take nearly double that to drive. And that doesn’t count all the hiking you’d have to do.”
“There’s an inbound storm cell, and I’m not a boat captain.”
“Then, I suggest you find someone who is. There’s a rough trail up the cliff. You might make it without falling. You can bring the medic, but that’s it.”
Foster’s stomach dropped. “Is Kash that bad?”
“Not yet. But I’m getting the sense you’re not fully committed, so…”
Striker turned, raised his gun and fired, hitting Mac in the upper left shoulder. She jerked out of Thompson’s grasp, landing on the ground with a resounding thud.
“No!” Foster hit the screen, wanting to punch right through it — save her. But all he could do was watch. Just like that night with Sean. No other recourse but to play along. Pray he reached her in time.
“You fucking son of a bitch.” Foster fisted his hand. “I swear to god if they’re not still breathing when I arrive, there won’t be a rock on this earth you’ll be able to hide under that I won’t find you.”
Striker merely grinned. “Now, you’re motivated. One hour, Beckett. Because I really don’t think she’ll last much longer than that.”
He ended the call, leaving Foster standing there. Frozen. His heart more like a dead weight inside his chest.
He closed his eyes, shoving down all the fear and uncertainty until all that was left was stone cold determination. Then, he was moving. Yelling at Chase and Zain to pack everything up then get all their gear and meet him at his truck. He detoured to his room, grabbing two rifles, his vest and all the ammo and gear he could carry before hoofing it down the stairs. He tossed it all in the back of his truck then jumped behind the wheel.
He grabbed Saylor’s business card from the day before, tapping in her number as his buddies rounded the building, arms loaded with more supplies.
Saylor answered on the third ring. “Raven’s Nest, but we’re not?—”
“It’s Beckett. Please tell me you’re at your loft at the marina.”
“Yeah, but… Are you okay?”
“Not even close. I’ll explain everything once I’m there, but I need a boat and a captain, and I needed it five minutes ago. And Saylor…” He swallowed the roil of fear bubbling in his stomach. “This is going to be ugly.”
Saylor breathed heavily into the phone before she huffed. “I’ll share my location. I’ll have everything ready in five. This had better be life and death, Beckett.”