Page 27

Kelly

“I’ll be right back.” Hunt drives his Ford to the walkway and shoves the Iranian into the back seat.

Lifting my prisoner’s wrists to the grab handle, he zip-ties them securely in place. Once we’re on the road, I turn in my chair while the driver flicks his eyes to the rearview mirror.

“We know about the ricin, Ahmad. If you talk now, you might avoid Guantanamo Bay.”

Sweat beads on the chemist’s forehead as he trembles. His frantic gaze darts to mine, pleading. “I have family back home. They will be killed if I say anything. Do what you will. You will learn nothing from me. Soon, it will not matter.”

Oh God, we’re out of time. I sense my heart rate rising. “Tell us.”

“You will find out.” A spark of amusement enters his eyes as a slow, reptilian smile spreads across his lips.

“Many will die, including us.” Lowering his chin, the would-be martyr hangs his head.

“Dammit.” Flesh slaps against leather as the Fed bangs his palm on the outside edge of the steering wheel.

Exhaling, he says into the air. “Phone Slate.”

I dig for my cell, only to realize he’s not talking to me. Instead, Bluetooth picks up and makes the call.

“Talk.” Seconds later, a baritone voice shoots to my spine, delivering shivers throughout my nervous system.

Scott matches the man’s fast pace. “Iranian chemists in the US. Ricin. Huge cluster-fuck.”

Deeper and more dangerous, Slate’s speech slows as it crackles through the speaker. “Iran’s president is in Washington—being treated like royalty.”

“That’s why I’m calling you instead of the friggin’ FBI.” Eyes on the road, my G-man’s Adam’s apple bobs.

Wow, Hunter trusts this shadow network more than his own? How deep does this rot go?

While my heart races, the commander on the other side of the line remains impassive. “I’ve got a team standing by. Say the word, and we’ll be there.”

“Babe?” Scott raises his brows at me.

Once I nod, he says, “Do it.”

After they hang up, my mind buzzes with implications. It takes a moment for me to form a coherent question. “Who’s footing the bill for all this?”

“If I had to guess, the billionaire, Grayson Patten, the security firm’s owner.” His dark eyes flick to me, shadowed with something I can’t quite name—guilt? Regret? “Sorry I got you into this mess.”

Biting my lower lip, I place my hand on his muscled thigh. “If I hadn’t stuck my head in the sand, we wouldn’t be on the cusp of a mass casualty event.”

We drive for a couple of miles. Then, I remember. I need to call Gina. We have another prisoner for her.

After a quick explanation, she curses. “Keep this up, and there won’t be any space for the local drunks.”

“Guess they’ll have to dry up on their own couches this week. Bye. See you in a few.” I hang up to the beat of ricin, ricin, ricin. The poison could be used in so many ways. How can a few individuals possibly stop it?

All of a sudden, my chest tightens as if clamped inside a human-sized vice. Oh my God—my daughter.

My brother answers his phone halfway through the first ring. “Wazzup, sis?”

“We think the Iranians have amassed a huge quantity of ricin. You and Mack need to get someplace safe.” After I say it, I realize how it’s asking the impossible.

His breath hitches, sharp and unsteady. “How soon?”

“I don’t know.” As a sob escapes me, he hisses.

“Where?” The raw edge in my sibling’s voice spikes my blood pressure.

“I don’t know that either.”

“Put me on speaker.” He gives me a few seconds before asking, “Fed, are you there?”

“Yup.” Tone firm, Hunt’s hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes.

“Fix this.”

Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Kade sound so furious.

“Working on it. We’ll keep in touch.” Thank heaven, Wildlife takes no offense but me? I’m mortified.

Ending the call, I watch the double yellow lines curve this way and that before putting words to my thoughts. “Why the hell can’t we find a judge and ask for a warrant?”

Hunt frowns, letting the silence stretch. “Do you think we have enough evidence?”

I shake my head. “No—If only I could talk to Dante. He’s the key to all of this.”

“Right. So, tell me where he is.” His narrowed gaze strips away my last excuses. I’ve dodged his question for too long. My mentor values his privacy, but this is something way more important. Without the border chief’s input, people could die.

“He has a shack in the middle of nowhere. No power. No roads. It’s a mile hike, all uphill. I’ll take you but be prepared. He’ll be pissed.” Cringing, I imagine Dante’s bright red face as he swears over a pot of the thick sludge he calls coffee.

Scott furrows his brows, knuckles white on the helm. “Angry? Hell, so am I. First light, we’ll head out.”

He inhales, then exhales through his teeth. “Perhaps Wulf has a better play.”

Jaw jutted, he places his call while muttering, “Pick up, pick up.”

Five tortuous rings later, his groggy, irritated friend answers. “Damn, bro, don’t you ever sleep?”

Speaking as if each second counts, my FBI guy leans forward. “Didn’t plan on dragging you back into this. Shit’s hit the fan. The Iranians didn’t simply smuggle in ricin—they brought an army of chemists. Whatever they’re up to? It’s happening soon. Washington’s in chaos. I already called Patten. They’re sending as many men as they can spare.”

The pause in conversation lasts so long I wonder if Wulf got disconnected. Finally, he sucks in his breath. “Poisoning a whole city? Is this what you’re thinking?”

Hunt laughs, but it holds no humor. “Unless you know some humanitarian use for ricin, yeah.”

“Jesus, who knows about this?” Wide awake now, Hunt’s inside man sounds almost as freaked out as I feel.

“Besides the Iranians? Me, Kelly, Lucky, Slate, and now you.”

“What about Hornsby?”

Scott snorts out his derision. “My boss, the Counter Czar? He doesn’t know. Listen Axel, every bone in my body says we’re hours away from a disaster, the likes we’ve never seen before.”

“Understood. I’ll do whatever it takes.” His lack of hesitation gives me hope.

Once he’s hung up, Scott shakes his head, no doubt trying to dispel the same demons as me. “That’s it. Every favor I’ve ever been owed. Cashed in.”

Anchorless, floating over an abyss of terror, I reach for his knee. Despite his coiled-up tension, his rock-solid muscles give me strength. Picturing a calm day on Lake Champlain, I wiggle my fingers, release my death grip on his leg, and pray.