His gaze returned to the bullet holes in the gas tank. No one—not even the trainers—had real guns with real bullets on this exercise. That was the National Park Service’s first stipulation, and the Navy had agreed. It was standard practice for all trainings in Washington state parks as well.

And it couldn’t have been a hunter’s rifle. Hunting wasn’t allowed in Olympic National Park, and they were miles from state forest or Department of Natural Resources lands.

“That wasn’t Simunition,” Huang confirmed in a whisper. “Who the hell is firing real bullets out here?”

They retreated deeper into the woods. They needed better cover if they were going to figure out what Rivera and Cohen had cooked up to FUBAR this operation.

Xavier managed to pop his shoulder into place before doubling back toward the cabin. The joint throbbed, but training kicked in, and he focused on his next step and every sound in the stormy forest. Nothing would stop him from getting back to Audrey.

Even though he’d taken a circuitous route, it went a lot faster with night vision. He’d almost reached his goal when he saw the first sign that someone else had cut through these woods. Footprints in the soft mud—fresh given the amount of rain filling the treads. In another two minutes, the prints would dissolve altogether.

SEALs knew better than to leave prints, even ephemeral ones. These prints made an unmistakable statement: two mercs were headed straight for the Jamison cabin.

The urge to run and storm the place was difficult to fight, but exposing himself before he knew the situation would only put her in more danger.

He moved through the woods like a wraith until he met the blackberries they’d cut through earlier. He parted the thick, thorny vines with gloved hands and worked his way forward until he could just see through the last layer of vegetation. The west wall of the cabin was ten feet away. This was the wood-chopping area, with a sturdy lean-to that covered a cord of wood stacked high. A bolt rested like a table in the middle of the three-walled shelter, ready for the next round of splitting.

A few feet from the lean-to was a woodbox at the side of the cabin. With plenty of wood stored in the sloped-roof shelter, why did they need a woodbox?

All at once, he remembered the box inside the cabin next to the woodstove, and glanced up to see the chimney protruding from the corner closest to the outer storage box. He’d bet the outer box lined up with the inner one, and there was a gap in the thick log wall.

Movement caught his eye, and he adjusted the zoom on the night vision. Holy shit. The lid of the woodbox had lifted, and a finger poked through the narrow gap.

Audrey was in the woodbox?