Page 12

Jaxson

A crater-sized pothole appeared out of nowhere. With no time to brake, I stomped the gas. My Jeep launched through the divot like a wounded bull, and my skull cracked against the roof hard enough to see stars.

"Jesus! You okay, girl?"

Onyx's ears twitched, and her chocolate eyes found mine with that unnerving intelligence that made her the best partner I'd ever had. Any other day, I would have taken the tracks slower and saved the suspension. But not today. Not with Tory's plane down somewhere in this mess of coastline.

"We'll find her, girl. I know we will."

Two hours had passed since Tory's plane had vanished off radar.

Two hours of my heart trying to sledgehammer through my ribs while we searched for anything .

. . wreckage, smoke, a miracle. The coastline fought us at every turn.

Pandanus palms and thick banksia created shadow-filled corridors between the dunes, turning the search grid into a green maze.

Any other time, I would call it a "logistical challenge.

" Professional terminology for a professional K9 handler.

But with Tory out there somewhere, every wall of vegetation felt like another fortress standing between us and her .

Between finding her alive and finding her too late. But I would find her.

The last thing we needed was another Charlotte. Twenty years of wondering, searching, hoping. It wouldn’t be like that with Tory.

She’s alive. I know it.

Onyx pressed her nose out the window, nostrils flaring.

Good girl. Keep scanning.

We'd already combed three sections of shoreline, but each empty stretch of coast was another reminder of how badly the odds were stacked against us.

The K9 handler in me wanted to calculate search grids, plot probable trajectories of the plane crash, and factor in wind patterns.

But cold statistics meant jack shit right now.

I'd pulled survivors from worse places than this.

People who'd defied every survival stat in the book by crawling out of situations that should have killed them ten times over.

The memory of their faces all battered and dehydrated, but thankfully alive, was the only thing keeping me from screaming into the wind right now.

I didn’t know Tory personally, but I wish I’d had the balls to talk to her at the Christmas party. A pang of regret tightened in my chest. Another chance I’d let slip away as I’d convinced myself that someone as carefree as her didn’t need my kind of complications.

I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

"She's alive, Onyx. We’ll find her. That's all there is to it."

The track crested, and the Pacific Ocean stretched ahead through breaks in the coastal scrub in a perfect azure landscape. Tourist brochures loved spouting about this "untamed paradise." What they didn't mention was how this stretch of Queensland's coast served as a smuggler's highway.

Getting shipwrecked around here was a special kind of hell.

If the bull sharks or saltwater crocodiles didn't find you first, you had eastern brown snakes and funnel-web spiders waiting in the scrub.

And if by some miracle you dodged that lineup and managed to find enough water to stay alive until rescue, then you still had to contend with clouds of mosquitoes that could drain a horse.

Or worse . . . the kind of people who'd put a bullet in you just for stumbling too close to their drop point .

Only two types of people came this way: bastards running their operations, and poor souls who got lost.

Today, I just needed to find one gorgeous pilot who had to be alive. Had to be.

But I was running out of daylight too fucking fast.

The parallel ruts in the sand barely qualified as a track, but my old Jeep muscled through like she always did, eating dirt and distance. Low-hanging branches whipped the hood or screamed against the painted sides. In the passenger seat, Onyx twitched her ears like a radar, tracking every sound.

"Easy, girl." I brushed her head, and she leaned into my touch, but her muscles were coiled tight. She knew what kind of mission this was.

Dead or?—

No. Tory's alive. Had to be.

The track vanished, and the Jeep fishtailed, throwing dirt. My heart stopped as the front wheels found empty air and a ten-foot drop to the rocks below. Onyx yelped as I threw us into reverse.

"Yeah." I wiped sweat from my face. "That was too fucking close."

As I scanned the shoreline ahead, my heart launched to my throat. A yellow smudge was visible below the water about forty feet from the shore.

"Holy shit, we found her plane." I shoved open my door. "Onyx, come!"

As my boots hit the dirt, Onyx jumped out the window on the other side.

She stayed close to me as we half-tumbled, half-slid down the jagged cliff with loose rocks clattering into the void below.

At the bottom, the mangroves loomed like a fortress of twisted limbs clawing at the sky, and as I barreled through, my heart hammered like it wanted out of my chest.

Onyx moved like a liquid shadow, weaving through the roots with ease while I fought for every step. The black mud clung to my boots, sucking at them, trying to drag me down.

Jesus, did Tory make it through this? Did she get out of the plane?

My gaze locked on the yellow wreckage submerged beneath the shimmering water. It took a few beats for my brain to catch up to what my eyes were seeing . . . the floats pointing skyward.

Oh, fuck. It’s upside down.

My breath hitched. Had she gotten out? The thought slammed into me like a fist, knocking the air from my lungs. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind. Was she trapped inside?

Christ, please don’t let her be trapped inside.

I tore my shirt off as I ran, and my elbow smashed against a twisted mangrove branch.

Pain flared up my arm, but I didn’t stop.

My boot snagged in the knotted roots, and I pitched forward, barely catching myself.

Cursing under my breath, I scanned the twisted maze of roots, desperate for any sign of Tory; a footprint, a scrap of fabric, blood.

But the tide was coming in, creeping steadily through the mangroves, washing away whatever trail she might have left. If she’d left one at all.

Onyx barked ahead, sharp and urgent. The sound cut through the chaos in my head, grounding me for a split second. It was like she was telling me to fucking focus.

She was right.

Squatting down, I undid my laces. "Going for a swim, girl. You need to stay."

Her chocolate irises caught the sunlight, glinting with a sharp intelligence that always seemed to outmatch her already incredible instincts.

“That’s it, girl. Right here. Stay.” I pointed at a massive mangrove root that was bent like a broken elbow.

Onyx sniffed the air, her nose twitching, and then it hit me. The smell. A rancid, sickly-sweet stench that clawed at the back of my throat. I gagged, turning toward the mangled roots as I searched for the source: a half-eaten mullet rotting in the mud, its flesh stripped clean on one side.

Classic bull shark feeding pattern.

My gut tightened like a vise.

Somewhere in this hellish maze, Tory needed me.

I yanked off my boots and socks, setting them onto the mud with my shirt. The thick mud sucked at my feet as my heart hammered at the thought of what could be lurking beneath the dark, rippling waters around me. Crocodiles. Bull sharks.

Christ, we’re in the middle of their hunting ground .

Unbuckling my holster, I set my Glock onto a dry mangrove branch with a twisted root that formed a natural perch.

I glanced down at Onyx. “Stay. I mean it.”

She whined and her ears flattened as she took a tentative step forward. Dammit. One of her favorite playtimes was splashing in the ocean, but this was nothing like her beloved sandy beach with crashing waves. I straightened, locking eyes with her.

“No!” My voice was sharp. “You’ll be dinner in seconds.”

Her eyes glistened with defiance. She was still young, still rebellious at times, and I didn’t have room for disobedience. Not here.

“Stay,” I commanded again, pointing firmly at the gnarled root. Her tail drooped, and she reluctantly backed up a step.

The mud squelched between my toes as I stepped into the dark water, the warm muck sucking at my feet like it wanted to pull me under. Waist-deep and wading through the tangled mangroves, I glanced back over my shoulder one last time, raising a finger at Onyx. “Stay,\.”

A scream, raw and terrified, sliced through the salt-thick air like a blade. The sound ripped at my chest.

Tory .

Onyx exploded into furious barking, her body stiffening as she spun toward the noise, hackles spiked. Her bark, sharp and guttural, reverberated off the mangroves like cannon fire.

“Quiet!” I hissed at Onyx, and I dragged myself through the muck, trying to reach her as fast as I could.

Gunfire cracked in the distance in sharp, staccato bursts. Three shots. Then two more. The echoes collided with the scream, which rose again, raw and relentless, shredding the humid air.

Onyx’s barks grew louder, ricocheting through the mangroves like a war drum.

“Onyx!” I dropped to one knee and grabbed her collar, yanking her muzzle toward me. “Lock it down. Now.” My voice was low but razor-edged, barely masking the panic building in my chest.

Her barking faltered into a whimper, but her entire body trembled beneath my grip, muscles taut with primal energy as she vibrated with the instinct to protect.

“Quiet,” I commanded again, locking eyes with her .

Onyx held my gaze with wide-eyed defiance and distress, but after a tense beat, her ears flattened, and her head dipped.

“Good girl,” I whispered, brushing a hand over her head. I clicked my fingers sharply. “Heel.”

I snatched my Glock from my holster and with no time for my boots, I scrambled barefoot through the mangroves. The twisted roots clawed at my feet and the muck sucked at my flesh, making every step a fucking battle.

Onyx stayed with me, her snarl was low and feral, rumbling with barely contained tension. Without her lead, this was going to be a huge test of her obedience. I prayed her training would hold and that she remembered every damn command I'd drilled into her head.

The screams grew sharper, closer, ripping through the wild vegetation like a chainsaw. Another burst of gunfire rang out; wild and erratic.

“Tory!” Her name burned in my throat, and my chest tightened as I pushed harder, trying to make my feet move faster.

The screams cut off, swallowed by a silence more terrifying than the chaos before.

Fuck! Tory!

Please! Please be alive.