Griffin came around the Jeep and knelt beside Ray, asking, “Whatcha got?”

“Boot prints. Couple sets of ’em. Recent. One big set, one smaller set.”

“Tate and Grundy, maybe? Did she go off course? Maybe he followed her by accident?” Griffin asked.

“Let’s see where the tracks go. We’re almost two klicks from the checkpoint. This pit of Grundy’s has to be close.” Peevy took off jogging, and Griffin fell in behind him.

The tracks led about two hundred feet off the main trail and into a narrow arroyo. Peevy stopped, looking back. “Somebody cleaned off a trail. Made it look like this was where the tadpoles were supposed to go. See how those rocks are moved back and the gravel’s been scraped off the ground?”

Griffin was a decent tracker, but nothing like Ray. However, now that Ray pointed it out, he could see where someone had gone to pains to convince exhausted SEAL trainees this was the direction they were supposed to be running.

Peevy reached for his ankle knife, and Griffin slammed into full combat mode. If Ray thought there was some sort of threat, Griffin believed him without question. The guy’s instincts were legendary for a reason. Griffin eased out his own Ka-Bar knife, and they moved forward cautiously. What the hell had Sherri gotten herself tangled up in?

Griffin admonished himself to clear his mind. Be one hundred percent in the present moment. He listened to the night sounds of the desert around him. Felt a light, cool breeze on his skin.

Peevy held up a fist to stop.

Ray eased forward a few more feet and then crouched in the shadow of a tumbleweed. “Perfect spot for an ambush,” he breathed into Griffin’s ear.

True. But who would spring an ambush out here for a couple of SEAL trainees? It made no sense whatsoever. Peevy hand-signaled for Griffin to swing to the right, climb the canyon face, and parallel the arroyo, while Ray did the same to the left.

It was a classic SEAL tactic. Ambush the ambusher.

Griffin moved off silently to the right. At first glance, the roughly fifty-foot-tall cliff face looked vertical. But on closer inspection, he spied plentiful handholds and toeholds. He climbed to the top of the rock face quickly. Staying low to avoid presenting a profile to anyone else out here, he made his way along the canyon rim.

From this angle, the pit was clearly visible when he drew level with it. What in the hell was going on out here? He moved over to the edge of the cliff to climb down and hopefully find Sherri unharmed in the bottom of that black hole, but then he spotted something that made his blood run cold.

A discarded orange pylon.