Storm Surge (A Mason Sharpe Thriller Book 6) by Logan Ryles

Author:Logan Ryles [Ryles, Logan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2024-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

27

Autumn jumped as though she’d been electrocuted, head snapping back toward me with wide blue eyes locking onto mine. Terror and panic faltered into instantaneous confusion and deadlock, that moment when a brain identifies a familiar object far outside its typical context and subsequently descends into confusion.

But only for a split second, because Autumn Mercer was a child genius.

“Mason?”

Her voice rasped, turning shrill with excitement. I grinned but held a finger to my lips, motioning for her to lie still.

“Stay quiet,” I whispered. “Are you hurt?”

Autumn winced. “My legs. I can’t walk.”

I hesitated a beat, caught off guard. Then a sudden grin broke across Autumn’s girlish face, as bright as the sunrise.

“Gotcha.” She chuckled.

I shook my head. “I hate you.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I surveyed the door for any change in the pattern of light that spilled through the reinforced glass. There was none, but I thought I heard chairs scraping across the tile floor outside. Maybe one of Randy’s chums, headed to piss down the stairwell.

Or maybe Randy himself, headed to check on his kidnapped child prodigy.

“Time to go,” I said. “Your mama is worried sick.”

My mention of Jessica brought a sudden gleam to Autumn’s eyes, the grin melting into a deeper smile. I twisted on the floor, easing my hips toward the bedside and scooping my arms into cradles.

“Come on, kid. Piggyback.”

Autumn pulled herself out of the sleeping bag with her arms, dragging limp legs across the bed and pushing them to either side of my sweaty torso. Then those same strong arms encircled my neck, and her skinny little body pulled close against my spine. I cradled her legs and stood, barely noticing her sixty-pound bulk on my back. She was lighter than the average Army rucksack.

“We gotta sneak, now,” I said. “Whatever you do, don’t make any noise, okay? Just hang on.”

Autumn tucked her chin over my shoulder, arms wrapped around my neck. I started toward the door, but her voice stopped me.

“Mason?”

“Huh?”

“My…my teddy…”

I hesitated, the footfalls from outside the ward growing louder as additional rednecks scraped their chairs back. There was discussion of more beer. Questions about snacks. Somebody was fiddling with the music, and a lot of people were moving.

But I remembered Autumn’s teddy, that stuffed animal I never saw her without. It was a complete contrast to the adult-level conversations she practiced with ease—a reminder that she was still a kid.

“Where?” I asked.

“In the bed.”

I turned back and leaned down, dropping one of her legs to scoop through the sleeping bag. I thought I felt the toy buried beneath a layer of goose-down camping insulation. I squatted and dug a little deeper, wrapping my fingers around the soft fabric of a well-loved companion.

And then the door opened. I didn’t see it—I heard it. The stereo had switched to nineties Brooks and Dunn. They saw the light the same moment as I saw Randy Mercer appear over my shoulder, dressed in his customary torn blue jeans and sweaty wifebeater. He stopped in the doorframe,

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