it down.” Max’s command snaps through the air. He takes me in, knowing exactly what’s going on in my head. “Mission focus.”
“Copy that.”
He’s right. Emotions during an op are liabilities, more likely to result in negative results than achieving mission objective. I inhale and lock up my rage. I shove that shit far back in my head where I’ll unpack it later.
“You good?” he pushes.
“I’m good.”
“Right.” He points toward the tablet Liam balances on his knees. “Still got the tracker in her arm.”
“Any idea where they’re headed?”
“Airport,” Axel responds. He’s got an eye on the road, one on the GPS, and a third eye on Liam’s tablet. I’m more interested in Axel’s uncanny ability to read a situation.
“No surprise.” I draw in another deep breath. Too much rage lingers in my blood. Gotta tamp that shit down or I’ll be a liability to my team. I close my eyes.
“They’re not in a rush,” Axel continues.
I only hear what he doesn’t say. We have time.
Max puts his phone to his ear and relays what Axel says. A brief exchange follows as he gets the tech team involved. He lowers the phone. “Knox and Wolfe are on their way. Five minutes behind us.”
I breathe out, calming my nerves and getting a hold on my emotions. If Knox and Wolfe are inbound, they retrieved the security footage. It’s only a matter of time before we know who we’re dealing with.
Max glances over at me and I nod. I’m doing good. Back in control. His phone rings again. This time, he puts it on speaker.
“You’re on speaker.”
“Good.” Mitzy’s high-pitched voice rings clearly through the phone. “Four men. One waited for her by the elevator. Forced her inside. They exited on the second floor, carrying her. We tracked them to the garage. Made no effort to conceal their identities. Will have more info later. Your vehicle is a black SUV.” She reads off the make, model, and tags from the security footage in the garage.
“Axel thinks they’re headed to the airport. Any way to get us intel on that?”
“Any way?” Mitzy snorts. “I’ll have the tail number to you ASAP.” With that, she ends the call.
“How long?” Max asks.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“All right. Let’s go. Hit me with ideas.” Max sits back while we volley different ideas back and forth. This is the tricky part. In setting up this operation, there was no way to know where Moira would be taken.
At least we have a good idea where.
The only question now is how to get to her before that plane takes off?
Thirty-Four
Moira
I wake in the back of a moving vehicle, like third row back of an SUV. My head rests on someone’s lap and pounds with the worst headache ever.
Well, maybe not the worst. Dead Man Jack gave my skull a beating. Bossman tried. Shelly kept tapping my head with his steel-tipped toe. One thing unites all those men.
They’re all dead. By my hand, or my actions, they no longer walk the world of the living.
It seems I’m doomed to forever be waking up as some man’s captive. It happened at sixteen, again not too many weeks ago with the Bossman/Shelly duo, and now again with this asshole.
“Ah, princess, you’re waking up.” A strange hand brushes the hair out of my eyes. I give a start, but he holds me down with an arm made of iron.
“Where am I?” It feels like there’s a dense fog between me and the world. I have to claw my way out, but I swear I recognize that voice. There’s something else I recognize as well; the feeling of my hands zip-tied together.
I hate this shitty life.
But I’m no longer alone. I feel for my bracelet and squeeze my eyes together when I notice it’s gone. No way for me to check my ears, but from the way this bastard has my head pressed into his muscular thigh, I have a feeling my earrings are gone too. And the fabric of my dress is different. A quick check reveals what my brain already put together.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Why, princess, I’m taking you home.” He releases me from the lock of his arm and gives a light swat to my ass. Like, a really light swat. “Let’s try to mind our language, shall we?”
Language? I didn’t swear, curse, or ask anything but a simple question.
His comment is not only weird, it’s creepy. Smooth and cultured, there’s no anger in his voice. In fact, he sounds like a creepy Mr. Rogers, only