“If you have something to say, just spit it out.”
“Trust me, I know how it feels to lose a colleague in the line of fire. But right now, we need to focus. Go make this right, then come back with a level head.”
Hyland’s bulky shoulders deflate as the weight of the world settles onto them. “I’ll get Archer.”
“Good.”
With Hyland gone, conversation returns to the images that have been dated, printed and shipped to us like a fucking Christmas present. I struggle to see the floor-to-ceiling case board that holds every scrap of evidence we have, years’ worth of investigative work laid out in an elaborate display of failure.
Countless surveillance ops, interrogations, arrests and dead ends. Long-range shots of potential locations for Gael’s estate. Washed up trafficking victims. DNA profiles. Shipping manifestos. Now Gracie—older, visibly beaten and posed in all manner of sickening ways.
I wish it wasn’t her, but it is. Each shot captures her in high-definition horror. Her devastating blue eyes, swimming with numb detachment, offer a dead stare beneath matted, dark hair. She’s gaunt, her cheekbones pronounced, skin smeared with vivid bruises.
“Gracie…” I trace my finger over the pallid features in the photos.
She’s grown up so much. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her naked since our time in the cage, but the terror in her eyes as her abuser snapped each photo is unbearable. Pain and dizziness muddy the proof of my failure to keep her safe.
I did this. I left her there.
“While authorities are continuing to search for Gael’s estate with our intel, we’re going to focus on Gracie.” Warner looks around the room. “I want to know where she’s being held. Her captors may lead us to Gael.”
“We know he has connections to illegal operations across Europe.” Axel cracks his knuckles. “That asshole Dominic confirmed as much. So it’s feasible that she could be there.”
“Let’s reach out to our international partners and update them. Circulate these new images of her face. We’ll have to bring her next of kin in first; we don’t want her parents finding out about this online.”
There’s a chorus of agreeing sounds. Just the mention of her parents makes my gut roil with nausea. I haven’t met them yet, but I know they’re keen to speak to me about Gracie.
“Why send the photos at all?” Fox asks, huddled with his fellow techies.
“Ember killed his guy.” Kyle speaks for the first time, staring at his clenched fists. “Gael’s been wounded. He’s scrambling to source new leverage because he still wants Ember to break.”
“Well, if Gael wants a final showdown, then that’s what he’s going to get,” Warner states flatly. “We’ll locate Gracie and take the fight to her.”
“Excellent,” Axel grumbles. “We’re all going to die.”
“Don’t you start with me too.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Ax,” Warner cautions.
“Every time we get close to a breakthrough, the cartel dances back out of reach. Not even Madden can find where Gael or his father are hiding out. We’re constantly on the back foot.”
“We found Tom,” Warner argues. “And we have eliminated Gael’s right-hand man. I understand tensions are high, but we need to remain positive.”
“Positive?” Kyle repeats.
Warner’s mouth flaps open before closing.
“Our teammate is waiting to be buried, and you’re asking us to be positive?”
“Kyle—”
“No! You can’t expect us to risk our lives forherpersonal vendetta!”
Kyle spits the single syllable with venom. I recoil at his outburst. He’s never had a problem with me before. Not until the rescue op that killed his fellow agent, that is. Now he’s looking at me like I’m an armed nuclear warhead, and he’s caught in the blast radius.
“This is the job.” Warner’s neck muscles clench as he battles to remain calm. “It isn’t personal. There are no vendettas. We’re here to serve justice, plain and simple.”
