Saving Amber - Zoe Dawson Page 0,63
black eye and was favoring his arm. Said he walked into a door, but he could have been worked over. If he covered something up from the autopsies…I don’t like this at all.”
Chris’s voice came back on the line. “Sit tight, Master Sergeant. We’re heading out there now.”
“Thank God. Hurry.”
Tristan went back to his town house, but he couldn’t sit still and finally he couldn’t stand the inaction. He had to find her, and the only clue he had was that damn list of members from Sportsmen Unlimited. He brought up the website and went through the list. As he got close to the end, despair settled in until…dammit. The name jumped out at him like a snake out of a bush.
Scott Werner, MWTC’s chief of police.
He called the police department, but Chief Werner wasn’t there. Tristan indicated it was an emergency and they patched him through to his wife. She explained he was off the grid as cell phone reception up in the mountains was spotty.
That’s when Tristan felt a glimmer of hope. “Mountains? What is he doing in the mountains?”
“Hunting this weekend with his friends at my brother-in-law’s cabin. It’s quite a ways up into the Sierra Nevada.”
“Can I get the address, Mrs. Werner? I must speak with him now. It’s urgent.”
“Oh, dear. Of course.”
As she rattled it off, Tristan typed it into his phone and hit the navigation button. He ran upstairs to his room and stripped out of his clothes. He donned long johns then his Gore-Tex mountaineering pants, both items designed to handle moisture, along with a long john undershirt, cotton pullover and Gore-Tex shell. Downstairs, he grabbed his heavy parka and stamped his feet into two layers of boots.
Stuffing his heavy-duty gloves into his pockets, he zipped the parka and pulled out his cap. He set it over his head and ears. Then, he opened a desk drawer, pulled out his gun case and opened it. Checking the clip and the safety, he tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans, grabbed his keys and slipped out the door.
He called Special Agent Vargas, but they must have been in-flight, because there was no answer. He disconnected the call and decided to try him later after he’d had a chance to talk to the chief, who could hopefully shed some light on where Garza might have taken Amber.
Tristan drove way too fast, but it still took him thirty minutes to get to the base of the road that wound up into the mountains. He had to slow down to handle the switchbacks.
As he got close, he noticed a lot of tire tracks and, for whatever reason, a sense that he had developed over many combat tours tingled. Not one to ignore his instinctive sense for danger, Tristan drove his car off to the side of the road behind one of the parked vehicles.
He slipped out of the car and closed it as silently as possible. By this time the sun was starting to dip into the horizon, the day spinning into twilight as he crouched and ghosted through the trees. He heard voices and approached, using all his training to stay not only hidden but silent.
He saw the cabin ahead of him. More parked vehicles, and two men standing outside smoking. There were lights on in the cabin, casting a yellow glow on the snow. Tristan used trees for cover as he ran from one trunk to another on the hard-packed snow, luckily not leaving any tracks.
He was close to the window when he heard a familiar voice and his blood ran cold. He made it to the window, and he crouched, lifting his head just enough to peer inside. Relief rushed through him. He saw Amber, her long blonde hair spilling across the floor, her hands cuffed behind her back, her face pale, eyes closed, her cheek scraped, an obvious bruise forming on her delicate skin.
The door opened and Garza strode in with Werner right behind him. He approached Amber and went to one knee, grabbing her by the hair, dragging her up.
Her eyes popped open and he could see that she was hurt, dazed, but her eyes blazed defiance. She was magnificent. Garza said something to her, and her face froze in shock and horror, then she snarled and kicked him hard in the chest with both feet. He flew backward and Werner helped him up.
Garza’s face was a red mask of hatred and threat as he shrugged off the chief’s hands.
Trying