Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“I’ll talk to Petrov again tomorrow morning,” he said. “I can bring up the war and all the affiliates ending up dead and offer a safehouse for Gomez and Gajero to hide Shay, Blake, and Marisa. I can’t make a single promise about it working,” he was quick to add warningly, “but I’ll do my best.”
I exhaled around a mouthful of food. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I should’ve thought about that sooner.” He was a little ticked off about it.
“Dude, there’s a lot we should’ve done sooner. My head is forever fucked from this op.” Which reminded me—because there was always something. “Did you send the encryption keys to Willow?”
“I dropped them in the digital mailbox,” he confirmed. “My friend has reached out to her, and she will grab them from there.”
Okay, that was also good news.
Goddamn, I was gonna sleep for a week when this was over.
“And you just happen to have two agents who were available to blow up a drug lord’s estate in Mexicali?” I threw that out there too, while I was at it.
He chewed his food, and his eyes flashed with amusement. “I never said agents. Sometimes it’s better to call in favors with people you know in the private sector.”
Oh. He’d called in a fucking PMC?
“Is it by any chance the friend you and Willow have in common?” I asked.
“Could be, could be.” He wiped his fingers on his napkin. “Twenty years in the FBI—you make some connections in that time. And the Hillcroft Group is one of the most prominent agencies in DC.”
Yeah, I needed a nap.
I missed the old days when I just took orders and executed them.
CHAPTER 8
Willow Quinn
“Emerson,” I whispered to myself. “It’s you.” I wheeled my chair over to the next screen and pulled up the chat so I could message Darius.
“Mama! Dada!”
“Coming, baby!” I called out. “Hold on, Mommy’s just doing God’s work!”
Screw God. I was better than him.
Crew Finlay
“Goddammit.” I huffed and threw off the covers, then left the bed and put on a pair of sweats. This time when I went to search for Adrien—or wake him up—I brought my note. If he could lay all his cards on the table, so could I.
I had it all written down.
No, this talk couldn’t wait till morning.
I’d just find a way to forget it again.
I ran a hand through my hair and stalked down the corridor until I got to Adrien’s room.
I knocked three times, then eyed the note with my reminders. The text Adrien had sent, the note I had left for Ryan, the guy River and Reese had found who’d given Rafael Delgado’s name, and…Vincente’s funding.
I knocked again. “Adrien?”
It was three in the morning. How many places could he be?
Did he leave?
Oh God.
A cold chill ran down my spine, and I instinctively shoved the door open. The light was on, and his clothes were still here. You have to be here somewhere. His bed was unmade. Kitchen? Maybe he was struggling to sleep too?
I jogged toward the kitchen, only to come to a halt when I heard a splash from above. The midship common area was right past the kitchen, so I rushed up the stairs and was smacked by a wall of relief as soon as I spotted Adrien in the pool.
Fucking hell, he’d scared me.
Bastard!
It looked like he’d just gotten in—with a glass of whiskey or something—and he saw me stepping out of the shadows. About a third of the lights were on at this hour.
“Can’t sleep either?” he asked.
I shook my head, still a bit rattled.
He’d redressed his wounds across his shoulder.
I took a calming breath and decided to get right to it. So I held up my note and read the first reminder. “Right after the attack at Elliott’s place, two of our guys managed to track down a Carillo affiliate,” I said. “That dude gave us Delgado’s name. Why?”
Adrien frowned and set his drink in one of the cupholders. “You mean they questioned one of Carillo’s guys, who said what, that Delgado had sent them to attack Jones?”
I half nodded. “Basically, we wanted to know who was involved. This was before we knew it was Carillo.”
“I see.” The furrow between his brows deepened a little. “Delgado’s a known affiliate. You’ll find my cover attached to many acts I didn’t commit—it’s how we’ve built up my identity. Unsolved murder cases, a prison sentence, speeding tickets, two divorces, you name it. If the guy your friends interrogated wanted to save his own ass and still protect Carillo…? Go for the guy you know your boss has worked with in the past. I don’t know.”
I’d spent about an hour tonight theorizing in those terms while I’d turned and twisted in bed. And I did remember something about a prison sentence.
“I swear to you, Crew—I wasn’t reinstated until after Carillo escaped,” he said seriously. “We had to scramble and put together a task force in less than a day, and I didn’t have much of a choice but to go back undercover.”