Page 96 of Zero Divergence
Snap.
The sound came from just on the other side of his hiding spot. Royce surged upward, swinging the stick in an arc. Franco had been looking beyond his hiding spot, so he was late turning the gun in Royce’s direction, allowing Royce to bring the stick down over the arm holding the gun. Royce heard the bones in Humphries’s wrist break seconds before the man started screaming in agony as the gun fell from his slack hand. Taking full advantage of the situation, Royce bull rushed the man, pitching them forward in a somersault down the slope of the gulley. His body found every sharp rock embedded in the ground, cutting his face, jabbing him in the knees and shoulders as he barreled faster and faster until he crash-landed into the stank runoff at the bottom. He heard more bones breaking and waited for pain to flood his body, but it didn’t. The impact briefly knocked the wind out of him, and he lay there gasping for air like a fish out of water as he gathered his wits.
Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.
The helicopter was closer, sounding like it was just about on top of them. Something warm trickled down the left side of Royce’s face, reducing his vision to only his right eye. He knew without looking it was blood because he could smell the tangy metallic scent. Royce’s head throbbed from where a rock gouged a cut above his left eye. Beside him, Humphries moaned in severe pain and it didn’t take Royce long to figure out why. The man had multiple compound fractures in his leg.
“Help me,” he whispered.
Royce saw red and it had nothing to do with the blood running down his face. “Like you helped those women when they begged for their lives?” Even if they’d been drugged or gagged, Abby, Tara, Harper, and Christi would’ve been aware at some point that they were in grave danger. They might not have been able to verbalize their plea, but it would’ve been in their eyes, and this sick son of a bitch killed them without remorse.
Royce rolled to his knees and crawled the few feet that separated them. He was banged to hell, but with a broken wrist and broken leg, Franco wasn’t in any condition to fight him off. Royce easily rolled Humphries over on his stomach, gripped his hair, and shoved his face into the water gathered in the gulch. It was shallower here than the area Bonita drove his precious car through, but it didn’t take much water to drown a person.
It turned out that a man who didn’t value the lives of others really prized his own. Humphries started thrashing. Royce realized he might not be as different from his father as he believed, because he brought his knee up and pressed it between the struggling man’s shoulder blades, using his weight to hold Franco down. Victory surged through Royce as he realized he was seconds away from getting vengeance for the ladies.
Sawyer’s face appeared in his mind followed by images of the future he so badly wanted with him. If he killed Franco Humphries, he’d ruin any chance of having that life. Even if Royce skirted formal charges,he’dknow he was a cold-blooded killer and no different than the man he hated with a passion. He wouldn’t be worthy of Sawyer’s love, and there was nothing he wanted more.
The women and their mothers deserved justice and it wouldn’t be served if Humphries died right now. Stripping away his polished veneer so the world could see the monster beneath is what he’d earned. A life in a small cell without all the luxuries he was accustomed to was where he belonged. Existing as someone’s prison bitch instead of thriving on his students’ and fellow professors’ adoration was the fate he’d merited.
Royce roared, but lifted his knee off Humphries, then dragged him out of the water by his hair. Rolling Humphries over onto his back. Royce smiled down at the man who gasped and wheezed for air. “Fuck you, Humphries. I win.”
The helicopter circled above again, urging Royce to get going. Humphries was in no condition to drag his ass back up the hill to fetch his gun, and even if he did, Royce would be long gone.
Sawyer’s face reappeared in his mind, prodding him to climb the hill, even though there wasn’t a place on his body unaffected by the tumble. Sawyer would kiss his bruises though. Luckily, the hill on the opposite side of the ravine wasn’t as steep, so it was easier to scale. His knees gave out when he was within a few feet of the top.
Almost there. Keep moving.
Royce crawled the remaining few feet until he reached the top of the hill and pulled himself up and over to safety.
Chief Mendoza had started the rescue mission by phoning Commissioner Rigby, and between the two of them, they called in some favors owed to them. Mendoza’s friendship with Bryan County Sheriff Abe Beecham went back to their police academy days. Beecham was more than ready to assist them. By the time they made the thirty-five-minute drive, Beecham had already had his Specialized Response Team assembled, which was the equivalent of SPD’s SWAT division Mendoza had led before being promoted to chief.
Rigby wasn’t about to be outdone by the boys and flexed her muscles, getting them eyes in the sky. Georgia Department of Natural Resources had an aviation unit in the area looking for illegal marijuana crops.
All of these arrangements were set in motion while they were on the road, so by the time their SUVs reached the rendezvous point at an old logging road off of Route 119, the guys in SRT had already unloaded their ATVs and had even brought two extras. The chopper had already started buzzing over the forest.
Mendoza and Beecham hugged quickly after Sawyer and the chief exited their SUV. They were opposites in nearly every way. Abe Beecham with his blond hair, green eyes, and golden skin was built like an Abrams tank, while Mendoza was whipcord lean with a swarthy complexion, dark eyes, and black hair.
“Thanks for your help, Abe,” Mendoza said affectionately.
“Good to see you too, Lio. It’s been too long,” Beecham said. “Let’s get your guy back, then we can catch up over a few beers.” He gestured for them to follow him to the SRT’s bearcat where they had an enlarged aerial map spread out.
The area was mostly forest, but there were a few clearings in the vegetation, and in one of them sat a small structure Sheriff Beecham or someone in the unit had circled. “This is the property where we think your suspect is holding Detective Locke hostage.”Hostage.Then he showed them the best route up to the cabin. “DNR’s helicopter gives us eyes above, and it also helps cover the noise from the ATVs approaching the cabin.” Beecham went through the rescue mission and circled places on the map where he wanted officers on the perimeter providing cover and making sure the suspects didn’t escape. They would ride the ATVs only so far before closing in on foot. “Mendoza and Key are with me, Baxter, Miller, and Moses,” Beecham said.
Nearly every member of their major crimes unit made the trip, and they paired off with Bryan County Sheriff’s deputies to move into position on the perimeter Beecham had designated on the map.
“We heard a few shots fired when we first pulled up but nothing since then,” Beecham said. Sawyer’s steps faltered and Mendoza fisted his tactical vest to steady him. Beecham continued, “As you saw from the map, it’s a very rural area, so those gunshots could belong to someone out hunting or target practicing. Stay alert.”
“Can I trust you to keep your head, Key?” Mendoza asked firmly.
“Yes, sir,” Sawyer said, forcing his fear aside to focus on the mission.
Dressed in full tactical gear since the ATVs wouldn’t exactly sneak up on anyone, Sawyer and Mendoza climbed onto their four-wheelers and followed the four men from SRT into the woods.
“This is DNR Officer Reynolds,” said a husky voice over the comms in Sawyer’s helmet. “We’re flying over the old homestead again. It looks like there’s a downed person near the abandoned cabin.” Fuck. Oh fuck. Were they too late? No way. “The infrared camera didn’t detect heat signals inside the structure. We’re passing over the surrounding property now. The dense trees hamper visibility, but our thermal equipment will still find them.”
Sawyer leaned forward as they raced up the logging trail. Royce couldn’t be dead. He refused to believe it.
“We’ve got two heat signals in the woods,” Reynolds said excitedly. “The first one appears to be down in Adam’s Gulch, which is on the west side of the property. The second signal is on the other side and isn’t too far from a clearing.”