41
Brandon
Bythetimeweblended in with city traffic, I felt comfortable we were out of immediate danger.
Shep drove in silence, his ever-vigilant eyes scanning our surrounds and the rearview mirror.
Sage leaned against my shoulder with her eyes closed. Her slow breaths told me she’d fallen asleep five minutes ago. I kissed the top of her head, and she didn’t stir.
Holding her against me was a balm to my frayed nerves. I’d never experienced such debilitating fear as when I’d found her buried beneath chunks of concrete and the Russian monster. Luckily, his massive body had protected Sage from the brunt of the blast. Not sure she’d thank him for it even if she could.
For a moment, I understood what Sage had gone through three years ago. I’d thought my decision to use explosives had killed her. The gut-wrenching agony had been worse than any bullet wound. Even though Kieran’s death had never been her fault, Sage still carried that pain. I wished I could take it for her. It didn’t work that way, but I could ease her suffering by doing my best to make her happy. And on her bad days, I’d be her rock. I’d hold her close and remind her she was never to blame, and that those responsible were dead or behind bars.
Since I had time to kill on the way back to the hotel, I turned my attention to the protected data on the hard drive. The encryption was sophisticated, but not beyond my abilities, so it didn’t take long to decode it and gain access. It contained money transfers, shipping routes, quantities of drugs sold, and sales forecasts. It even had a black book full of key contacts listing everyone from industrial cleanup crews to a well-known Bolivian drug lord. I couldn’t wait to show Sage what I’d found, but I didn’t have the heart to wake her.
I opened another spreadsheet. There were only two columns of information. The first was labeledTrackerand contained what looked like twelve-digit serial numbers. The second readOwnerand was a list of initials. That one word,owner, forced an uncomfortable sensation to crawl across my skin.
Each serial number was highlighted with a hyperlink. I swallowed and clicked on one. A map opened on my screen showing Sinaloa, Mexico, and an ominous red dot in the middle of the jungle. I zoomed in on the satellite image of a large property with a home so sprawling it rivaled Dante’s.
I scrolled down the two hundred thirty-three rows. “Fuck,” I said, and Shep’s eyes met mine in the mirror.
“We good?” he asked.
“No trouble here, but I think I’ve found something important.” I clicked on more hyperlinks. Some didn’t work. I shuddered to think what that meant. A tracker malfunction was unlikely unless it had been destroyed. How many of the stolen women were still alive?
Each of the functioning trackers showed red dots on maps from all around the world. Moscow, Lagos, Warsaw, Dubai, Sao Paulo.
Cannes.
So close to San Tropez.
Every muscle in my body tensed. Luckily, it didn’t wake Sage.
I closed the laptop. “I’m putting a team together,” I said to Shep. “International work. Since you’re out of a job, would you be interested?” I could use the hitman’s skills. Or any of the Team Zulu guys’.
“I have unfinished business locally. After that, maybe?”
“What about Kane? I haven’t heard from him in over a year.” An elite sniper was always an asset. The ex–Navy SEAL was still kicking around San Diego, fixing up his motor yacht.
Shep shook his head. “He’s busy doing a job for me. Can’t say how long for.”
“Vaughn?”
“Decker? Last I heard he was drinking and screwing his way through Mexico.”
“Then it’s about time he dried his dick off and sobered up.”
I pulled out my cell phone to make the call. The sooner we started, the better. Nothing would bring Janie back, but if we could save other women from the same fate and get them home to their loved ones, it’d be worth it.
Having Vaughn Decker, the ex–Team Zulu pilot, on board would be useful as long as he got his shit together. He picked up on the fifth ring. “What?” he snapped.
“That’s no way to talk to the man who saved your ass countless times.”
“If I recall correctly, I saved yours just as often.”
“Touché.”
“I’m a little busy here, Landers,” Decker said above the distinct high-pitched whir of aircraft propellers winding up. “What do you want?”