Page 79 of Waiting For A Girl Like You (Haven House #4)
A nnabeth gnawed at her fingernails while Rowan watched both his semi-live satellite streams, one eye on the map, the other tracking the cell signals of their people.
Liam’s phone was long gone—tossed or dumped, and the GPS in the car he’d stolen had been disabled not long after he parked it close to the little Haven House estate.
Rowan would eventually trace it, but right now, all that mattered was the raid.
Will and Ben wove constantly through the crowd of feds and local cops.
Holden did the same, but often went off on his own, hiking as far as he could through the dense forest until he reached the far edge of the property.
He would stay there for a few minutes, hanging back in the line of trees at the rear end of the fence, directly next to a body of water.
Rowan fired off a text to Holden. Anything?
His phone rang immediately.
“It’s too quiet,” Holden said.
The satellite feed showed the same thing. One car had come and gone this morning, followed by a second one not long after. The first car had been Eugene Gilbert, and the cops had hung back, wanting him to cross state lines so the feds could take over.
The second car held Taylor and Parker. There was a debate when she entered the property. A massive one where Benjamin Fairweather nearly lost his shit on Dr. Cohen when he directed the feds and the cops to stand down and not approach.
Not yet .
The number of men and women preparing to raid the property they now knew belonged to Michael Sinclair was staggering, but everything was in place and ready to begin.
Rowan watched Holden’s tracker dot on the movie screen as he navigated the forest. “What do you mean, it’s too quiet?”
“Earlier, there were people everywhere, but once Eugene left, the traffic outside tapered off into nothing.”
“They could have gotten wind of what’s about to happen and are in there preparing.”
Holden’s breathing picked up as he started to jog, his tracking dot heading back to the staging zone. “And no Liam.”
Rowan pushed away from the desk, forcing his expression to stay neutral for the sake of the room.
Bernie and Simone sat on the sofa in the corner, hunched together as they talked.
Simone hadn’t stayed at the hospital for long, too concerned about what was happening with Jamison.
She and Bernie wanted to go to Arkansas, but Will and Ben had told them no.
None of them knew what was going to happen in the coming hours, and they didn’t want the women stuck in the middle of the insanity.
Rowan slipped into the hall and kept his voice low. “Holden, this isn’t good. If Liam made it inside and we’ve heard nothing—”
He couldn’t finish. He knew better than to think with a defeatist attitude. It wasn’t his style because when you did, you never got out of your head to find a solution. But even as he gave himself internal pep talks, there was no way he could shake the unease.
“Liam Cohen is one of the most capable men I know,” Holden huffed as he ran. “If he made it in, I guarantee you, he’s talked circles around everyone until they figured out what to do with him.”
Rowan leaned his forehead against the cool plaster wall. “I should’ve gone. I need to get on a plane.”
“Has anyone told Samuel?”
“Simone thought it was best if Selah was the one who handled him.”
“And?”
“Samuel isn’t telling Evie, but she’s been asking for her sister. He lied and said Jamison caught the stomach flu. ”
Holden’s breathing slowed. “I get it. I’ve learned there’s nothing more important to Samuel than keeping his girls happy and safe… Whoa, whoa, whoa —stand down!”
There was rustling on the other end and a loud thud, as if Holden had dropped the phone.
“Who the fuck are you?” Holden snarled. “Hell, no. I’m not taking shit from you. Drop the paper and put your hands where I can see them.”
An unfamiliar voice responded, “My name is Marco Smith. But you can call me Smitty. I have a message from Beetlejuice.”
Rowan hurried back into the media room to see where Holden was on the satellite view. With the delay, it didn’t do him much good, but then, as if out of nowhere, two men approached Holden in the woods.
Marco Smith. Marco. Smith.
Rowan knew that name. “Annabeth, grab the file with Sinclair’s people. The one with all the men who followed him after he left the military.”
Hearing the urgency in his voice, Annabeth snatched up the folder and ran it over. “What’s happening?”
Rowan dug through the file and found Marco Smith almost immediately. “Shit.”
Placing the call on speaker, everyone listened as Holden spoke. “Let me hear it. And don’t come any closer unless you want to lose part of your face.”
“Hold on the raid. The place is about to blow,” the voice of Marco Smith replied. “By this point, you’ve probably got less than twenty minutes.”
“Are they alive?” Holden snapped. “The Fairweathers? Liam Cohen?”
“They were a few minutes ago, and if they make it out, they’ll probably be coming from the far western side of the property.” Marco Smith paused. “If you can get a car there fast enough, you should be able to get to them in time.”
“I can do that,” Holden replied, his voice growing louder, like he had picked up his phone again. “How far is the blast zone?”
“The last bend in the road is the safety point. If they make it there, they’ll live.”