Page 12 of Oliver (The Golden Team #7)

Oliver

R iver was already waiting when I got to the war room, as we nicknamed it. Sean had just finished putting it all together. It was his idea to call it the war room.

Screens lined the walls—security footage, satellite maps, encrypted communications. Cyclone was hunched over a laptop, and Tag stood at the window, arms crossed, watching the street below.

“She’s remembering,” I said.

River looked up. “What did she see?”

“A burner phone at her training facility. A video on it. It looked like a military operation, possibly an arms exchange. She didn’t recognize the men, but she caught enough to trigger the takedown.”

Cyclone cursed under his breath. “They pulled her for a glimpse ?”

“Means whatever she saw was real,” River said grimly.

“And dangerous,” I added. She might remember more. Should we call in the government?

“Not until we find out who’s involved.”

“Does she remember faces?” Cyclone asked.

“Not yet. Just that one of them had a scar above his brow, and we found out that someone deleted security footage from the gym the day she vanished.”

River rubbed his jaw. “Alright. Let’s start cross-checking military personnel and known arms traffickers with that detail. And bring in Jason Blake.”

“Already called him,” I said. “He’s flying in now.”

Cyclone whistled. “That’s going to be a tense reunion.”

Jason Blake was a legend. Former Tier One SEAL. Built like a warhammer. Rumor was, he’d once taken down a drug cartel compound with a busted radio and a pocketknife.

He was also Emery’s father.

And the second he found out someone had touched his daughter, I was willing to bet hell wouldn’t be hot enough for whoever was responsible.

We were back at the safe house. An hour later, someone knocked. I opened the door and Jason Blake stepped in.

Broad shoulders. Sun-dark skin. Gray at the temples but pure steel in the eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept, hadn’t shaved, and didn’t plan on making small talk.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“In the sunroom,” I said. “She’s safe.”

His eyes locked onto mine. “You were the one who pulled her out?”

“One of them, sir.”

A beat passed.

Then he extended a hand. “Thank you.”

I shook it. Firm. Controlled. But I could feel it—that undercurrent of fire just barely held in check.

“Does she remember anything?”

“She’s starting to. We went to the gym here to try and shake her memory. She saw a phone. Thinks she opened a video showing a weapons handoff. Someone saw her, and the next day she vanished.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “My daughter doesn’t even know how to sit still. If she stopped long enough to open a video, it’s because someone wanted her to.”

I paused. “You think it was planted?”

“Maybe. Or maybe someone close to the op needed a distraction. A scapegoat.”

“Like who?”

He looked me dead in the eye. “Someone in our world.”

That changed everything.

Because if Jason was right, Emery wasn’t just caught in criminals' crosshairs.

She was being hunted by someone who’d once worn the same uniform we did.