Page 26

Jack

It’s Monday morning, and my focus is laser-locked on hitting my six-minute mile goal.

Sweat pours down my temples, and if I swiped it away three seconds later, I would have missed the signal.

The Joey’s Pizza box hangs off the metal trash can, half in, half out.

We’ve got to come up with a better fucking system.

I slow and stretch, sticking one ankle out at a time. My lungs burn, and I revel in the familiar sensation. I’ve got three miles on the return trip. This pause in my schedule had better be quick.

My contact sits on a bench about twenty yards from the trash can. She has a dog on a leash, and she’s reading a paperback with a coffee in her hand.

My head stretches left, then right. There’s a runner about a quarter mile up the beach.

In the nearby alley, a garbage truck beeps.

All the beachfront, shops are dark, given the early morning hour.

My foot props on the edge of the bench, and I stretch out my quads.

I give a quick nod to my contact and drop my gaze to my ankle.

“Mike Ventola was killed last night in a Texas prison riot.”

I continue stretching while stifling the urge to demand what exactly Mike Ventola, a stranger, has to do with my case. Red flag warnings are out thanks to a system coming in off the Pacific, and my gaze centers on the monster swells.

“Claimed he worked for Killington.” My neck cracks as I stretch it to the side. The feds are building the case against Killington for smuggling guns. Sources claim the evidence is piss poor. The evidence for abducting my daughter is irrefutable.

I scan the area. There’s no one near, and the winds are strong enough no one could hear us unless they were close.

“Never heard the name.”

“The FBI meeting was scheduled for this coming Wednesday.”

“Who knew?” It’s pretty fucking clear we’re dealing with high-powered people. Maybe even someone within the FBI.

“Not many. But he ran his mouth all over. Too many knew his story.”

Fuck . “Is the FBI meeting with his cellmate?”

“Today.” She says behind her paperback book. If anyone were to watch us, it wouldn’t be clear at all we’re speaking to each other, but I’d imagine she looks like someone in desperate need of reading glasses the way she’s holding her book so close to the front of her face.

“Anything else?” I ask as I hold my left arm straight across my chest, cupping my elbow, pulling it tight as I twist my torso to the right.

“Homeland says he has ties to some far right-wing groups. He may’ve been blowing smoke.”

Or he might have ties to far-right groups, and he also worked for Killington. The two are not mutually exclusive. And the death in the prison riot might have had nothing to do with his upcoming meeting. As always, there are too many possibilities.

“Your undercover op proposal is still under consideration. FBI will likely take the lead in a cross-agency task force. We’ll be in touch.”

I don’t have a response to that. Our government is slow to respond, as expected. And there’s no surprise to hear about a turf war.

“Have a good run.” She drops her paperback into a small tote bag, signifying her little update is over.

Back home, I shower and dress. Then shoot a text to Ryan.

Range this afternoon?

As I sip my coffee, I peer out the window.

I picked this house solely because of the proximity to my daughter’s home with her mother, but there are things about it I’ve grown to appreciate.

The panoramic ocean view is one aspect I value.

But this morning, the view in the swimming pool is more riveting than the Pacific.

Ava climbs out of the pool, and her pale skin shimmers in the morning sun.

She’s wearing a black one-piece swimsuit.

I am growing accustomed to seeing her in black.

Her one-piece hides the tattoo scroll that traverses her ribs, and her hair covers the forest on the nape of her neck.

From this distance, I can barely make out the inked flower tattoo on her right arm, and I can’t see the one on her left wrist at all.

Ava watches Sophia continue with her laps.

From what I can tell, Ava believes in the power of natural endorphins.

Sophia has never been a slouch, but she’s never been disciplined with her exercise.

Since Ava moved in, Sophia’s attitude is brighter.

But she still refuses to see friends. She’s still tight-lipped and claims she remembers nothing from her abduction.

I don’t believe her, but how much can a father push?

I wish her mother was alive. Sophia needs her, and I hate that she’s not here for her. I am a subpar substitute.

Ava glances back at the house. She covers her eyes, as if she’s trying to see if I’m behind the glass. Or maybe she sees me.

All I see is an incredibly sensuous woman.

She’s beautiful. Raw. Real. She’s risen above her sins.

Maybe that’s what appeals to me. There’s beauty in being shattered and possessing the power to heal.

The mythical Phoenix transfixes humanity with the elusive ability to regenerate. Her story is that of the Phoenix.

To say she’s not a part of my circle, or my world, would be a gargantuan understatement. Yet from that first day, she’s lured me in. I crave her. She’s only here two more weeks. The deadline to fuck her out of my system looms.

Underlying guilt gnaws at me. What I offered is wrong. I am twisted and disturbing. Perhaps what is most disturbing is my pull to her, because in this moment of introspection, I recognize her appeal extends beyond physical attraction.

But what, exactly? What about her past appeals to me?

Is it a power trip? No, I don’t want to tear her down.

I admire her strength. But there’s something about being with someone who has made questionable choices.

She’s less likely to judge me for my past. She doesn’t even seem to judge me for buying her.

Wolf

2?

The text comes in, and I tear myself away from the view, refill my coffee, and enter my office to double-check my schedule.

Perfect. I’ll pick you up at the helipad.

Ryan and I agreed to meet out at the range because the noises all around us ensure no device can catch everything we say.

He’s a busy man in his own right, and it’s unfortunate he has to waste time flying down to talk with me.

For years, I rolled my eyes at CIA precautions.

But given everything that’s happened, there is no safeguard too great.

If needed, we will write out anything that is sensitive and burn the pages. One week ago, I would carry on a conversation with him in my vehicle. Or in my home office. But now I won’t. I hoped Killington’s arrest would lead us back to normalcy, but it seems it’s stirring the enemies.

But I’m not stopping. I will continue to figure this out. I will take down every single person responsible for what happened to my daughter, no matter how wealthy or powerful.

Fisher taps on the door. I update him with our afternoon plans and then my morning meetings begin. During my first meeting, I email Patricia to let her know she’ll need to reschedule a few meetings this afternoon.

On the way to the range, Ryan hands me an iPad with a presentation loaded onto it filled with potential yachts. All the yachts his team has located are currently available and can be outfitted according to my needs. I select the one he recommends.

We have a private area on the range. My security team hovers nearby, ensuring no one approaches us.

Even with everything going through my head, I achieve a near perfect score.

Skill comes with practice, and I have practiced most of my life.

Ryan and I agreed that we would use this time for practice, in case anyone is watching.

And, like any skill, practice aids precision.

Out of ammunition, I move to leave the privacy of our hutch. A battery of firepower surrounds us. Ryan grips my elbow, holding me in place. He taps my headset. I shift it back, exposing my ear.

“We’ve been looking at the entire staff of the Texas prison. Still searching.”

“You’re not going to find anything in financial records. These guys are too smart.”

“Maybe,” he concurs. “But we found that the warden and the senator appear friendly. We’ve located photos that show them at events together going back ten years.”

“Is that unusual?” I’ve long suspected elected officials were involved somehow, if only through bribes to assist with cover-ups or looking the other way.

A senator would fit, but a warden in a maximum-security prison very well might be friends with a senator.

Hell, those are often appointed positions.

“We’re researching that.” Ryan keeps emotion close to the vest, and to any observer, he remains unreadable. “But the senator also has extremely close ties to the NRA.”

“Now that, I can confirm, is completely normal. You can’t get elected in Texas without close ties to the NRA.”

“We’re just connecting dots.”

“Let’s get this boat operational. That’s going to give us players we can track and follow.”

I don’t give a damn about the little guys, the ones who are paid to smuggle guns and drugs. I want to climb my way up the food chain and take out the source.

“I don’t like this. My bet is they’re playing you. Looking to see who you involve.”

“I’ve given that consideration. But that wouldn’t make sense. If they don’t trust me, it would be a much smarter plan to keep me in the dark. To continue to work around me.”

“Maybe so.” He scans the area. There’s one man in a vest at the far end. His headset covers his ears, and he concentrates on his target. “Any word about your ops request?”

“Still under consideration.”

“So, we’re moving forward as if they aren’t involved?”

“Yep.”

“I’d feel better if they were read in on this yacht. You don’t even know what they’re smuggling.”