Dusk (Dangerous Web #1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,21

elevator and back to me, keeping his voice low. “Mason is a good guy. He loves you.”

I nodded and took a step toward the apartment I’d shared with my brother.

Reid held on to my hand. When I looked up again, he whispered, “And so do I.”

I squeezed his hand, unable to respond. I also couldn’t watch as Reid walked toward the elevator. Instead, I stepped into Mason’s apartment and shut the door behind me. The storm of emotions was overwhelming.

As I leaned against the closed door to the common area, I didn’t see the interior of my brother’s apartment. I heard the thunder of Mr. Sparrow’s voice, the bolts of lightning in my brother’s eyes, the calming winds of Patrick’s words, and the hope for a future in Reid’s declaration of love.

Holding my midsection, I slid downward until I hugged my knees, sitting upon the entryway floor in the nicest place my brother and I had ever lived.

Reid

Present day

Mason led me down a long a hallway, the walls lined with framed enlarged photographs. On another visit, I’d stopped and examined their beauty. Each one was of something or someplace on the ranch. Whether it was a photograph of a babbling brook, a close-up of a rain-soaked flower, or the panoramic view of a snowcapped mountain with a stunning backdrop of sky filled with pink and purple, the photographs showcased the best of what this terrain had to offer. We were almost to the office door when one of the pictures caught my attention.

“Who took this photo?” I asked, pointing at the black and white aerial view of the ranch.

Mason stopped. “Laurel did...from my plane.”

I examined what I could see of the ranch from the height the plane must have been flying. “Is this all of your land?”

“Mostly. Why?”

“Where did they take them?” I turned to Mason. “Do you think they could be on your land?”

Mason’s expression fell. “Man, I’m not trying to be negative, but a typical helicopter, if that is what we are dealing with, flies at about 135 knots and can travel three hundred to three hundred and fifty miles before it needs to refuel.”

“That makes our circle roughly one hundred and fifty to one hundred and seventy-five miles,” I said, “assuming they flew here and back on one tank.”

Mason took a step back and raked his fingers through his long hair. “If we’re dealing with a typical chopper that would be the case. If my gut is correct, the Order’s resources aren’t typical. The Lockheed AH-56A Cheyenne can fly twelve hundred miles and go higher.” Mason lifted his chin toward the living room. “Some of those mountains out there are as high as thirteen thousand feet.”

I thought about what he was saying, unwilling to get distracted. “All right, we have some fucking land to survey. I’ll go through your security. Get Sparrow and Patrick on calls with contacts around the country to find out what is happening in their outfits. I need you to create a topographical map with the range of different helicopters. I need coordinates to utilize satellites and get their data.”

Mason nodded. “Can you get back data?”

“I’m not sure. Real time is more easily accessible. In Chicago I have everything stored. I can start doing that here, but it won’t help for the past. Once I have the security figured out, I’ll know what time frame we’re talking about and go from there.”

“Once we have that data,” he replied, “we’ll have a better idea of where to send the capos. This fucking land is too open to send them knocking down doors.”

My lips came together in a straight line as I considered all that we needed to learn before we could begin to search.

“Let’s get started,” Mason said.

We stopped at the doorway to the office. It wasn’t secure as I’d expected. The door was open, a metal door that slid into the wall, smaller but similar to our floor 2. We both peered inside.

Mason’s neck straightened. “This is why we don’t let the ladies on 2.”

I couldn’t stop my grin. Inside the office was a long table that had obviously been taken over by Laurel. There were multiple screens and a keyboard. There were also several laptops, notebooks stacked four to ten high in multiple piles, and glasses of half-empty drinks. From the distance, I identified iced tea, water, and lemonade.

“Wait,” I said, “didn’t Garrett say Laurel thought it was the lemonade that they believed was drugged?”

Mason’s gaze went from the glasses to me.