Page 68 of Fatal Intent

“You got it.” Andre left the living for a minute, then returned with his laptop and Grant’s. “Here. Two of us creating a list will help ensure we don’t miss anyone.”

“There are many people involved in every mission.”

“But only a handful directly involved. Those are the ones we need to focus on, not the peripheral people in Washington, D.C. who didn’t leave their desks.”

“What can I do to help?” Rayne asked. Riley would do most of the heavy lifting on this task, but any lead chased by the rest of the team was one less for the computer whiz to tackle.

“The mission is still classified,” Grant said. “Otherwise, I’d ask you to get your computer as well.”

“You need to make a list. I can make the list of names for you while you and Andre scour the file.”

“That would work. Thanks.”

After returning to the living room with her own laptop, Rayne dropped onto the couch next to Grant and clicked on the word processing program Fortress installed on all laptops for their employees. She brought up a blank document. “Ready.”

Fifteen minutes into the task, someone knocked on the suite door.

“I’ve got it.” Andre set aside his computer, checked the peephole, then opened the door.

A bellhop stood in the hall with a cloth-draped serving cart. A large carafe of coffee sat on the flat surface of the cart along with four tall glasses designed for ice cream floats.

“I’ll take it from here.” Andre tipped the bellhop, then pushed the cart into the suite. He gave Riley the chocolate protein shake. “Take a break and drink this.”

She frowned. “I can work and guzzle a shake at the same time.”

“Step back for a few minutes. Give your brain time to rest while you refuel your body,” he insisted. “If you don’t take care of yourself, you could miss something vital.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

He laughed. “I’m marking this down on my calendar. I don’t remember the last time someone told me I was right about anything.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Riley said.

“No worries. I’m sure you’ll take me down a notch or two if I get out of line.”

“Count on it.”

He winked. “Always knew you liked me.”

Riley rolled her eyes, but her lips curved.

After drinking the protein shakes, the operatives resumed their tasks with coffee in hand. Andre and Grant continued scouring the Red Dawn file for people involved in their mission. As they worked through the lengthy document, Rayne wrote the names they found. Later, she and the others would help Riley run the names. From the looks of the list, this endeavor would be large and tedious.

A few minutes after two in the morning, Grant closed the lid of his laptop. “We’ve reached the end of the file. How many names do we have, Rayne?”

“If I count the people sitting in Washington, D.C. pushing buttons and sending memos during the mission, too many to name.”

“Focus on people who have a direct role, including military personnel involved.”

“And their families,” added Andre.

Rayne frowned. “Why should we investigate the families?”

“We lost good men because of bad intel.”

She gasped. Bad intelligence? In her experience with Fortress, the tech and research employees used every tool in their arsenal to mine for information. In fact, Maddox had stepped in and aborted two missions assigned to Artemis because the information provided wasn’t detailed enough for his satisfaction. His reasoning? The risk to the operatives was too great. For the military to do this to their own personnel was unbelievable. “You’re kidding.”

A shrug. “It happens. We did the best we could with the information we were given. We went on many missions that would have failed if not for the excellent men and women assigned with us. That time, though, our skill and professionalism weren’t enough to make the difference.”