Page 44 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

Caleb presses a finger to his comms earpiece, lifting one side so he can hear me.

“We’ve got a signal. Receiving loud and clear.”

I blow out a prayer of thanks.

“What are they saying?”

His brow tightens.

“Arabic. I don’t have the dialect for it.”

Jake steps forward.

“We need Delilah’s translator running. I’ll call her.”

Caleb nods.

“Tell her to patch into the feed from the bug we planted. We’ll need onscreen transcription.”

Jake already has his phone out.

“She’s on it. But she says there’ll be a delay—and it won’t be perfect.”

“How long?” I ask.

Jake shrugs.

“Depends how fast they talk. Plus, dialect makes it tricky. A human translator would be safer. AI’s not perfect—might mix up words with multiple meanings.”

I wince. A mistranslation at the wrong moment could get us all killed.

“Can’t we loop in someone who speaks it?”

Caleb shakes his head.

“Not with the window we’ve got. Verity and Reese are already parked and standing by. Jammer’s prepped but not active yet.”

Jake’s phone buzzes. He looks up.

“We’ve got access. Check the live link. First translation’s coming through now.”

Caleb taps away at the laptop.

“Got it. The text will appear on screen in around thirty seconds.”

My nerves crank even higher as I watch a green cursor blinking Matrix-style on a black screen. I’m half expectin.

“Wake up, Neo”

to appear until the first sentence arrives unceremoniously, and it’s so disturbing I’m transported right back to the plane again.

“Your siblings, your grandchildren… All of us remain steadfast on your path, and we will not leave it until every last one of us is martyred, with God’s permission.”

Jake mutters.

“What the heck is that?”

Caleb’s lips move as he rereads the words onscreen. His face blanches, and he clenches his fist.

“Encouragement from home. Probably reading an email from his mother. Mothers think it’s an honor for their sons to die as martyrs.”

My stomach curls.

“That’s sick.”

No one disagrees with me.

Behind us someone coughs, drawing our attention. It’s Adena, and her eyes are locked on me.

“Samantha needs to talk to you,” she says.

“Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I say.

Adena shakes her head.

“This can’t wait. She’s… upset.”

She’s upset? What could she possibly have to be upset about? She’s safe—unlike my sister.

I huff out an irritated breath.

“I’ll be back in five.”

Jake smirks at me but doesn’t say a word as I walk past a poker-faced Adena.

“She’s in the last bedroom down the hall.”

I’m still irritated, and my gut twists into knots when I enter the bedroom and find Samantha staring out of the window, her back facing me.

“It’s going to rain,” she says.

I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms across my chest.

“That’s what you’re upset about?”

She turns, slowly, tears tracking down her face as she shakes her head and drops her gaze to a hole in the thin carpet.

Sighing, I drop my arms and cross the room to her.

“I told you you’re safe here. Don’t you believe me?”

Her brow wrinkles, and she blinks rapidly, dislodging another tear.

“I believe you, but I don’t believe them.”

I don’t have time for this, and I can’t allow myself to get distracted again. Not when we’re so close to going in and retrieving Brooke. I allowed this to happen, but I’m not allowing Hightower to take all the risk.

“They could have let the cops catch you.”

She chews her lip, chin wobbling as she edges closer to me. “I guess.”

I glance at the door.

“I should get back. They’re receiving?—”

Her arms slide around my waist, and she looks up at me.

“Can’t you stay with me for a minute longer?”

Frowning, I place my hands on her wrists. “I can’t.”

She swallows, her face twisting, as she slides her hands up my back.

“Thirty seconds?”

Before I can say no, she lifts her chin and brushes her lips against mine—so softly my lungs seize and I forget how to breathe.

“I’m scared,”

she whispers.

My arms go around her without thinking, and she leans into me, her body pressing closer.

“You’re going to be okay,” I say.

Her brow knits.

“You don’t know that. You could be killed.”

She’s right. I can’t promise her I’ll make it back. So I give her the only reassurance I can—a kiss that says what I can’t. That she matters. That she’s not alone in this, even if I can’t stay.

My mouth finds hers, deeper this time—fierce, steady, lingering. I pour everything I’m not saying into it, and it takes everything I have to pull away.

“You’re going to be okay,”

I say again.

She won’t look at me, her hands hanging loose at her sides as she backs up and presses against the wall.

“Be careful. I don’t… I wanted to say…”

She’s flustered. And I’m not that conceited to say it was just the kiss that caused it.

“Say what?”

She swallows and looks over my shoulder.

“Don’t die.”

A lump settles in my throat.

“That’s up to God, but if you care, you can pray.”

Samantha’s smile is weak.

“I’m not sure He’ll listen to anything I have to say. I’m not exactly on His good side.”

My heart squeezes in my chest.

“So get on His good side. Ask Him to forgive you. Ask Him to take control of your life.”

I don’t get to hear her reply because Jake calls me from the hallway.

“Time to get geared up.”

I look back at Samantha one last time, smile gently, and turn away—lifting a silent prayer that God will prepare her heart, and that He’ll let me be part of whatever He’s doing next.

Jake tosses a vest at me.

“Rest of the gear is in the back of the minivan.”

I follow him, bypassing the bedroom where Caleb and Adena are speaking in hushed tones, and return to the garage. The rear door is open, and Jake has set up a small armory beside the car seats. I pick up a radio and headset.

“You brought all this with you?”

He reaches in and pulls out a set of PVS-14 night vision monoculars.

I whistle.

“Those don’t come cheap.”

He grins.

“You should see the sexy gear Verity and Reese have. Fun times.”

Except it’s not fun. None of this is. Not when this is my sister’s life at stake.

Jake hands me a sidearm, which I refuse in favor of my own. I pat my holster as I shake my head.

“I’d rather use a weapon I’m familiar with.”

He eyes me, amusement flickering across his face before he gestures to an unopened bag.

“Can you get the vest over that thing, though?”

“What?”

Jake says.

I slide my arms through the vest and fasten it around my waist. As I do, it bumps against the holster, making it impossible to secure properly. My fingers move to the gun, ready to take it off—then I pause, realizing something else might be wrong.

I pat the front pocket of my jeans, expecting to feel my phone.

Nothing.

Frowning, I glance down. The square outline that had been digging into my thigh all day is gone.

“My phone.”

Jake reaches into the back of the minivan again and pulls out a phone. “This it?”

I take it from his fingers and instantly know it’s not. “No.”

He shrugs.

“It’ll be around. I’ll look in here if you want.”

Nodding, I rush out of the garage, retracing my steps, nausea churning with every stride.

How could I lose my frickin’ phone?

My heart pounds harder. They could call any second—and I won’t be able to answer. I won’t even know. Brooke’s life could depend on it.

Stupid. So stupid.

My steps quicken, breath coming faster. Every second feels like it's slipping through my fingers.

I tear through the kitchen, checking every surface—even digging through the trash just to be sure. Nothing.

Heart hammering, I head back into the ops room. Caleb and Adena are focused on the screen, talking to Silas, but I can feel their eyes on me as I move through the space—frantic but trying to stay systematic.

I retrace every step, every corner, but it’s not enough. The panic builds until I can’t hold it in anymore.

“I can’t find my phone.”

Caleb glances at Adena, and they both exchange a knowing look.

My back straightens.

“You know something I don’t?”

Caleb scratches his stubble.

“Sit down, .”

Something in my chest snaps—right along with what’s left of my hope.

“Is it Brooke? Is she…”

Adena hastily shakes her head.

“Nothing has changed.”

Jake enters the room, eating pizza, and strolls to the window.

“Clear,” he says.

My eyes dart to him then back to Caleb, who gets to his feet.

“Your phone isn’t lost. Samantha took it out of your pocket when she kissed you.”

Cold seeps into my veins, chased by white-hot anger as I scan the faces watching me.

The tears. The emotion. None of it was real.

Of course she can fake cry. She’s probably done it a hundred times to get what she wants.

I spin on my heel and storm down the hall toward the bedroom where Samantha put on her little show. I throw the door open so hard it bangs into the wall and sticks.

The room is empty. A soft breeze filters through the open window—she’s gone. Climbed out. Ran.

Rage rises like a tide, choking off thought. I whirl around, ready to confront Caleb, when something flutters on the bed.

A piece of paper.

I snatch it up, and the second I read the four words scribbled across the page, the fury drains from me—replaced by something far worse.

So others might live.