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M onday night, Jordan found himself dragged to the bar where the team was holding an impromptu celebration following the end of another fraught op. Though desperate for answers in an investigation that was moving at a snail’s pace, he needed this release.

While everyone in Gold Team sang along badly to Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up , a quiet sliver of joy slipped through the cracks of his misery. It was good to see the guys happy for a change. He hoped they could find Montana alive soon and really see them smile.

Abruptly the music stopped, and he craned his neck around JJ Hersh’s large form to see what had startled the group. His hand immediately went to his sidearm.

Through the crowd he saw Daisy Montana standing there looking cold and out of breath. He rose to his feet. What the hell? Where was Blue Team? Where was her security?

She caught his gaze through the crowd.

“Ah, hmm.” She began to speak, and Jordan started to push through the crowd toward her. “Sorry to interrupt. My name is Daisy Montana, and I know many of you worked with my dad.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“The thing is.”

Don’t say it. Please God, don’t say it.

“I don’t think he’s dead. I think he’s still alive.”

Shit .

He reached her and swept her into a fireman’s carry and rushed her outside before she could say another word that might jeopardize their investigation and her father’s life.

“Let me go!”

He spun around, looking for Blue Team. “How did you get here? Where’s your protection detail?”

She kicked at him and raked her nails over his back. “My prison guards, more like. I walked!”

The parking lot was empty of people, but as he headed to his car, he felt the surge of operators following in his wake. He set Daisy on her feet but held onto her arm. Opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

Her eyes glowed with molten fire. “No.”

“Get in the damned car, Daisy.” Anger seeped through. And desperation.

“What is going on?” asked Cas Demarco.

Jordan pressed the magic button on his key fob. “I can’t tell you.” His voice cracked and he thought he was going to choke on the need to share everything. “You know I can’t tell you.”

Gold Team were lined up shoulder to shoulder, staring at him like they could see the shadows on his soul.

Shane Livingstone crossed his arms. “But she can. Why do you think your dad’s still alive, Daisy?”

She opened her mouth but shut it again when Jordan sent her a glare.

“I know the plane crash wasn’t an accident,” Aaron Nash stated quietly. “They found Semtex residue on some of the damaged parts. ”

“Semtex?”

“A bomb brought that plane down?” Angry words permeated the group.

Jordan’s gaze flashed to Nash. At least he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

But they’d already said too much. Enough to get Kurt killed if someone overheard and he wasn’t already dead. He looked at each of the men in his team, men he loved like brothers. Made a decision that would probably get him fired and possibly imprisoned, but at least he could live with himself.

“Don’t talk about this at all . Not one word,” he warned. “Meet me at my place. Gold Team only.”

With TacOps monitoring his home, it was as secure as anywhere, especially for a group of armed and highly talented professionals.

With a wary look, Daisy finally got in the damned car.

He went around and climbed into the driver’s seat, pulled out of the parking lot.

Cowboy’s truck was immediately in his rearview, full of the guys.

A hell of a lot better sight than the black one that had tried to ram him off the road the other week.

He called Armstrong and interrupted his panic. “I have her. Tell Blue Team they failed the assignment. Gold Team is taking over. And I’m going to tell her and the guys what we know so far.”

“It’s too dangerous?—”

“I don’t have a choice,” he snapped. “They suspect something is off. They won’t say anything. I’ll make sure they understand the stakes. You know it’s only a matter of time until we update them anyway. Daisy already told them she thinks her dad is alive.”

He flicked a glance in her direction and saw the hurt cross her features. Damn.

“They aren’t stupid. One of them already knows about the bomb.”

“If any of this leaks… ”

“They’ll appreciate the stakes better than anyone.

” He hung up, and he and Daisy stared silently out the front windshield.

Finally, he released a breath and with it, most of the anger.

He tried to get a grip on what he was feeling.

Mostly relief. It certainly wasn’t this woman he was angry with.

More with himself. “I’m sorry. I should have handled this whole thing a lot better than I have. ”

She pressed her hands between her knees and looked at him. “Is Dad alive?”

“We don’t know if your father is alive, but we do know he didn’t get on board the aircraft that crashed.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and he reached for her hand and squeezed. She held on tight, sobbing. “I knew it. I knew it.” She released him. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t lie to anyone. I’ve only suspected myself for about a week, and we only had news of a positive sighting Saturday.”

“When? When was he sighted?”

“Back on January fourteenth.”

Those familiar blue eyes went wide. “That’s only two days after the crash, and he’s been missing for more than a month now.”

“I know, which is just one of the reasons we didn’t say anything.”

“Because he could still be dead.” Her eyes looked haunted in the reflection in the glass as she stared out the window.

“We had a report from an eyewitness that he was taken by an armed gang in Beira, Mozambique. We haven’t had a sighting since.”

“The photos that he sent me…”

“And the SIM card. Mailed from Zimbabwe prior to that. Contained a lot of information the analysts are still combing through. It’s given us suspects?—”

“Hurek.”

His eyes shot to hers in surprise.

“I keep an eye on the Most Wanted lists, and I recognized him in the photo Dad sent even though he was a lot younger. He’s who the two of you were looking for in Africa.”

He nodded. “This is classified, so if you leak it, not only will it get me thrown out of the FBI, it might also get your dad killed.”

“If he’s not already dead.”

Jordan jerked his chin. “If he’s not already dead.”

He reached his driveway and pulled up. He led the way inside in case of any nasty surprises, but there weren’t any.

He had the feeling whoever had been watching him, trying to kill him, had given up.

Perhaps they realized the FBI was onto them or had decided Jordan didn’t know enough to be worth the trouble.

Or they knew the FBI had the evidence at its labs.

He turned on all the lights, revealing the case board he’d been working on that covered almost an entire wall.

The drapes were securely closed against prying eyes.

He placed the scrambling device on the coffee table in the center of the room to prevent any electronic snooping.

TacOps were monitoring this place constantly, and the perimeter was secure.

Regan was probably salivating, wanting to know what the hell was going on right now as most of Gold Team rolled up.

Jordan waited until everyone was inside, even the guys who hadn’t been in the bar.

The phone tree was alive and well in HRT.

The only person missing was Novak. He was in DC.

Daisy sat on the couch, and the guys gave her plenty of space. Instead, they stared at the evidence he’d mapped out on the wall.

Ryan Sullivan turned to face him. “This is why you’ve been looking like a sleep-deprived, heroin addict the past few weeks? You’ve been investigating the crash?”

He nodded, flinching at the baldness of the statement and wondering why he even cared.

“You don’t think he’s dead either, do you?” Ryan narrowed his gaze at him.

“All I know for sure is he didn’t die in that air crash.” He raised his hand to cut through the uproar as everyone spoke at once. “We don’t know if he’s alive.” He explained about Marianne’s sighting of Kurt and Rowena in Mozambique and what had happened next.

Aaron pointed to a printout of the photos Kurt had sent Daisy along with the note and envelope. “That’s a young Darmawan Hurek and Nolan Gilder.”

“The billionaire?” Livingstone shouldered his way closer.

Jordan nodded.

“Who are the others?”

Jordan had only had confirmation of the identities yesterday.

“Leo Spartan, the Zimbabwean UN Ambassador”—which had helped explain who was pulling the strings regarding the plane crash and the Anders’ murder investigation— “and a Scottish guy called Dougie Cavanagh, who died in the DRC nearly thirty years ago. They all attended St. Andrews University together and graduated the same year. This photo was probably taken a few years after they graduated. Apparently, they went into business together.”

“The implications that a tech billionaire, who owns half the satellites in space and has defense contracts up the wazoo, is best buddies with one of the Most Wanted terrorists in the world is concerning to say the least. Especially when he didn’t mention it to anybody.

” Aaron peered closer at the grainy image of Rowena Smith. Pointed. “Who is she?”

Jordan outlined what they knew so far about Miss Smith.

“You went to England? When?” asked Grady Steel.

“While you were otherwise engaged in Maine.”

The man nodded thoughtfully. He still carried a bit of a limp from a recent gunshot wound.