Chapter 485 Chapter 485
Tripp rolled the chute up and dropped it on the ground. Never again. He was never getting on a plane of any sort ever again. He’d thought for a few minutes he was going to lose the internal battle with his cat and shift inside that tin can with wings. That would have ended badly for everyone. He’d fast roped from choppers before but jumping out of a fucking moving plane—not happening ever again. He dropped down and sat on the chute and took the backpack off his front. He’d honestly thought the pilot was joking when he asked him if he’d ever parachuted before until he held one out to him and told him there was nothing to it.
Nothing to it, my ass. The ground was coming upon him so fast he’d almost froze and not pulled the damn cord. He was sure he looked nothing like the pros that landed gracefully and hit the ground running. Not him, no, he’d dropped like a wet fish and then got rolled up in the lines from the chute and ended up looking like a big burrito with strings of cheese hanging out.
His cat rolled through him. He blew out a breath, “yeah, I know, if I’d had more warning, we wouldn’t have had a full stomach.”
Pulling off the black beanie, he ran his hands through his hair. The cool air on his head felt good. Getting up, he stuffed the hat into his pocket and then pulled the elastic off his wrist. Pulling his hair back into his ‘man bun’, as the guys liked to tease him, he looked around. The trees were sparse here, and he was glad of it because dropping was one thing, there’s no way he could have steered that thing. “If I was meant to fly, I’d shift into something with wings.” He mumbled to himself as he adjusted his run pack that was bunched under his arm beneath his jacket.
Taking out the map and compass, he squatted down to figure out where exactly he was. Turns out his parachuting wasn’t all bad, he was only a mile off target. He looked around again and then back to the map, if he shifted, he could make up that time fast. A shiver moved over his skin; his cat was all for a run. Folding up the map, he looked at the backpack, betting his animal wouldn’t be so eager when he found out they’d be carrying the full pack. Which his cat hated.
Tripp chuckled, hopefully, there were no hikers around, seeing a two-hundred-pound mountain lion wearing a large gear bag would not be good for their mental health. He started stripping down and jamming the bulkier items into the bag. His cat caught on fast and let his displeasure be known. “There’s a female out there, probably scared out of her mind, and bad guys to educate.” That did it for the creature, now he was all paws in. He would pick up a better scent in his animal form.
Adjusting his run pack so it would sit on his side, he went bent down to extend the straps to the spots marked on his bag. It had to fit tight and not shift around or he could get hung up on a branch and throw off his cat. It had taken many hours of running with this thing on his back to find balance while wearing it. He got down on his hands and knees, like a noob shifter, to get into the straps. Whoever had designed the bags to do this, was a genius, it helped his team, and probably others, get places fast with all their gear. Unfortunately, it added a solid fifty pounds to his back, but his animal loved a good workout. “Hold on, princess, we’re in the game now.” He whispered into the wind and then shifted.
He didn’t need to have a map out, his cat let him know the van was through the trees up ahead. He could smell it. Pausing, he checked the ground around them, there were no tracks or scents that didn’t belong out here, so no one came this way. He moved with slow steps, so he could get eyes on the van and assess the situation before he burst through the trees. He wasn’t picking up any sound that would indicate that there was anyone with the vehicle.
Hunkering down, belly to the ground, Tripp made sure to stay in the shadow of the growth while he took a quick look. When he got a clear line of sight, he huffed out a breath, the van was slid sideways down the steep ditch, the front end of it embedded on a large boulder. The doors he could see were sitting wide open. That confirmed for him that she hadn’t just hitched a ride with someone. However she’d left, it wasn’t on her own accord.
He circled around, so he wasn’t trampling any tracks and then shifted. Climbing out of the straps, he pulled his cargo pants and weapon pack out of the bag. He didn’t plan on being here long enough to get completely dressed. If he left barefoot prints, there would be no way to confuse them with any booted ones.
Wrapping his hand around the grip of his 9 mil, he walked slowly toward the van, scenting the air as he went. His cat was alert and would let him know if there was anyone nearby, wild, or otherwise.
Tripp approached the driver’s side first, the door was open, and the window was down. Laying on the ground beside the door was a red-tipped dart. He looked at the door again, she’d been tranq’d through the open window while driving? He nodded his head slowly, that was a precision shot. Leaning in the door, he inhaled slowly. Blood. It was dried but still stood out like a beacon to him. Examining the inside of the door, the steering wheel, and the seat, he found traces of it on all of them, but thankfully not enough to be life-threatening injuries.
He climbed in through that door, not wanting to disturb any tracks on the other side. The snow hadn’t arrived yet, so any tracks would still be there. The gear was still in the van, nothing had been gone through. It wasn’t tucked under seats now, having slid around from the force of the sudden stop, but it was all closed. Shit. He was going to have to get the cleanup team here to remove all of it.
Squatting down, he grabbed her run pack and then saw a worn backpack and picked it up too. When he found the princess, and he would, she’d be more settled if she had some of her own stuff. He opened it and glanced inside. Pulling out the material on the top, he confirmed it was a shirt and there was denim right beneath it. Setting the backpack and run pack beside the door, he leaned out and looked at the ground outside it. There was an impression in the snow that pissed him off, it was from where they put her on the ground unconscious after they pulled her out. A few spots of blood were in the melting snow. Nothing that alarmed him, so this was good. He tilted his head and studied the boot prints, two sets of them if he wasn’t mistaken, but he’d confirm that once he was following them.
Hopping out, he made sure he stood only on the spot where they had laid her down. First, he needed a direction and then he’d look for a scent to give his cat. There were so many prints, it looked like they did a dance in this area. The tracks thinned out and went into the trees on the left. Okay, the direction is confirmed. Tucking his gun into the waist of his pants, he turned around and looked at the van.
Phone. Where was her phone? He walked to the front of the van and opened the already unlatched hood. The wiring was ripped out in a hasty way. This vehicle wouldn’t be running for a while. Reaching in, he lifted the bundle and saw that the clip that should be carefully hidden among them was gone. Tracker one down. He bent down and looked under the front; it lay there crushed into pieces. How the hell did they know where to find it?
Standing back up, he looked around for her phone. They wouldn’t leave it on her, no one was that stupid. Going to the passenger door, he was about to open it and then paused. Someone had to go in through this one to get her out the side or moved to the side for the other one. Leaning down, he held his nose close to the door handle and took a slow sniff of it. His cat perked up, bingo, they hadn’t been wearing gloves. “What do you think? Bear of some flavor?” He sneered, he hated going head-to-head with the bear clan, they were like God damned tanks with teeth and feet. Opening the door, he looked down. Found the phone, the many pieces of it. “Fucking bears and they’re braggart strength.”
Closing the door, he went back to the side one and looked at the handle, hoping this one hadn’t worn gloves either. Moving closer to it, he took a slow breath and paused to filter the smell of metal from it. Opening his eyes, he cocked his head to the side, “and you’re a mystery flavor.”
He grabbed her packs and closed the door. He needed his bag, so he could leave a chip behind for the clean-up team to come to erase the evidence of this sloppy abduction. Setting hers down, he jogged to where he’d left his own.
Placing the chip under the driver’s seat, he got out his phone and brought up the number for Kaid Rivera, the leader of the clean-up team. He punched in the code for the tracker he’d just used, typed van, and then hit send. Kaid would have the tech team trace it and send someone.
He paused and looked at the signal strength on his phone. It wasn’t great. Glancing in the direction the tracks led, he blew out a breath, it was probably going to get much worse. Tapping Kenzo’s number he typed in, Vehicle found. Evidence of minor injuries. Two idiots. Following trail. Cleanup notified. Then hit send.
Stuffing her run pack into her backpack, he strapped it onto his and then looked down at it. If he had to hike any of this on paws, it was going to be a balancing act. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he read the reply. Will notify Jesse. Bring her back.
Shrugging, he sent back a thumbs-up emoji. Kenzo hated when they used emojis, but it summed up what he needed to say.
He pulled out his boots, shirt, and jacket and quickly put them on. Tripp learned a few years back that keeping his run pack under his shirt and jacket made for faster shifts. Next, he checked the map of the area. If they were still on foot, this was going to be short and sweet. If they’d stashed a vehicle somewhere in all this wilderness, he’d still be able to track them, but it gave them a big lead on him. Tucking the map in his run pack, he checked the time on his phone before he sealed it in a waterproof bag. If they had driven at some point, he wasn’t going to catch up until dusk, maybe later. Dusk worked for him—he could see without being seen then. Zipping the pack up, he hefted his bag onto his back. “Hang tight, princess, we’re on the way.”