Colorado Abduction - By Cassie Miles & Marie Ferrarella Page 0,57
us Circle M clues.”
Though he nodded, he didn’t look convinced. It seemed like a lot of shuffling around. “Another alternative is that Butch and Richter took off with her. That would explain the second ransom call. They’re trying to work their own angle.”
She frowned. “If Nicole isn’t at the Circle M, why would she give these clues and why wouldn’t Logan let us search?”
“Because the place is loaded with illegal weapons and drugs. He can’t allow an FBI search.”
Carolyn wasn’t sure if she preferred thinking of Nicole being with Logan or with his men. From what Sunny had told them, Pete Richter was mean.
“Tonight,” Burke said, “we’re going to excavate the grave site Sunny told us about. Chopper surveillance found a mound of earth near the pines.”
This time, Carolyn didn’t ask if she could come along. Digging up the remains of Barbara Ayers wasn’t a mission she wanted to be part of. “Be careful, Burke.”
Chapter Nineteen
The wind blew colder tonight. Heavy clouds scrolled across the face of the moon. Burke moved into position at the open field across from the pine trees where they’d met Sunny. He had a small army—Agent Smith and four other men called in for tactical support. Fully equipped, they were dressed like a SWAT team with weapons, full body armor and infrared goggles.
Their goal was to excavate Barbara Ayers’s grave and recover her body. Her remains would be transported to the FBI medical examiner’s office in Denver where a top-notch forensic team would read the evidence left behind in death—evidence that would lay the murder of this young, pregnant woman at the doorstep of Sam Logan and the SOF.
Furthermore, tonight was a practice run for tomorrow. Burke’s men had studied the maps of the compound, but there was nothing like firsthand experience to get the lay of the land.
Tomorrow, while most of the SOF men were gone—dealing with their shipment on the Indian Trail—Burke and his force would penetrate the compound and extract the fourteen women and children. When these hostages were safe, he’d search for Nicole.
That rescue—less than twenty-four hours from right now—would take place at the same time Logan’s men were meeting their contacts on the Indian Trail. At that location, he expected immediate surrender to a far superior force. There was nothing like a half dozen armed FBI agents and a chopper bearing down like a fierce, prehistoric beast to make a guy throw down his gun and beg for mercy.
At his signal, his men moved across the open field. The heat-sensing camera showed no guards in this area outside the barbed wire surrounding the compound.
They found the mound of earth that had been spotted by the chopper easily. Burke and Smith stood watch while the others dug. In less than five minutes, they had uncovered the remains of a small woman wrapped in a sheet.
They zipped her into a body bag, and spent another five minutes replacing the dirt.
They retreated across the field to the waiting vans.
The operation went off without a single hitch. Apparently, Logan had more to worry about than guarding the grave of a woman who had been under his care.
CAROLYN PACED IN HER BEDROOM, waiting for Burke to return. It was only ten o’clock but felt much later. After being cooped up in the house all afternoon, she yearned for action. But she had promised not to take any risks, which included standing at her bedroom window with the light behind her back, going onto the well-lit porch or—Heaven forbid!—going to the barn for a chat with Elvis.
She touched the injury on her chest as a reminder that she was a target. Her bruise had turned a dark, aching purple and her arm was sore, but otherwise she was fine.
Her pacing stopped in front of the trophy case, filled with dozens of blue ribbons and gold statuettes that she’d started collecting when she was eight. Life had been simple then. All she had to do was go to school, finish her chores and ride.
Perhaps it was childish to keep the glass-and-wood trophy case in her room, but her father had built it with his own hands and presented it to her on her sixteenth birthday. He’d told her that she was a winner, and she’d worked her hardest to prove him right. She hadn’t displayed any of her second-or third-place awards because she needed to be number one—to make her father proud. The ultimate daddy’s girl. But what choice did I have after Mom left?