Page 89 of Jessica's Hero

Less than thirty seconds later, we all pile out of the car. Shoving procedure to the side, I run to the empty car and yank open the unlocked door, then trigger the trunk release. Then I practically lunge around the car and towards the trunk with my heart in my throat, praying for the best and fearing the worst.

But the trunk is empty. And much to my relief, there’s no visible blood.

“It looks like he went this way,” Cole says as he gestures towards the woods. To Leo, he asks, “Is this the way to the silo?”

“It is,” Leo affirms. “About five hundred yards in.”

“Okay.” In silent agreement, we gather into a small huddle. Even though I hate to wait even an extra second, I know this needs to be done right. Not with me racing into the woods on my own without any backup. Not when we don’t know what we’re coming up against.

After a brief conference, we set off again, with Leo at the front and me right behind him. Cole has my back, and Zane’s at the rear. All of us have our guns at low ready, prepared to fire if necessary.

We follow the path of footsteps, the only sounds the faint crunch of snow and the faraway call of birds. My breath billows out in silvery clouds, but I can’t feel the sub-freezing temperature. Not when my adrenaline is running this hot.

Just as Leo claimed, after about five hundred yards, we come upon a small structure—concrete, stained brown with water and dead moss—with a door sitting slightly ajar at the center of it.

And leading up to the door, the footsteps.

Amid the suffocating fear, an inferno of rage erupts.

He took Jesshere.

Fuck. How terrified must she have been?

Leo edges through the door cautiously, his Sig raised and ready to fire. Then he turns back and says, “The room is clear. Just ahead we have stairs heading down. They’re metal, so it’ll be hard to get down them silently.”

“Just be careful,” I reply tightly.

Cole claps my shoulder. “We will.”

Then, one after another, we creep down the stairs.

Down one flight. Then another. And another.

The further we go, the damper the air. The more rotten it smells. The colder it gets.

I remember reading about how most of the missile silos were intentionally flooded, and I can’t help wondering if this one’s the same. If Jess is?—

Fuck. No. Don’t think it.

“One more flight,” Leo murmurs. “Get ready.”

My fingers tighten on my gun. My jaw sets. All the anger, the fear, the panic coalesce into single-minded determination.

Get to Jess. Kill this fucking asshole and get Jess out of here. Do whatever it takes to fix what he did. Long hospital stays. Counseling. Retreats. Anything.

When we hit the bottom of the stairs, we pause for a quick assessment. There’s a circular walkway with a rickety metal railing surrounding a large pit in the middle. Water from below moves in an odd, creepy, echoing rhythm, but there’s no sign of voices. No sign of anyone up here at all.

Then I spot it. Rope. At the edge of the walkway. Just a short length of it, but it doesn’t look old. It looks like it was recently left here.

From below, I hear the water moving again.

Could she?

Did he dump her in there?

I race to the edge, flinging myself flat on the metal walkway and peering down into the gaping dark. Throat squeezing from fear, I call out, “Jess? Sweetheart. Are you down there?”

At first, there’s nothing.