“Add this,” Cassidy says. “Rush mentioned in passing there were inventory lists that didn’t match manifests on a job last month. That might connect to the same financier who rented three villas on the island this week under different names.”
“Which three?”
Kari gives me initials and dates. I plug them in. “And how did they find us here? I get the drone and the truck, but they had to know where to look. Texas is a big state and even the Galveston area would be hard to cover with a drone. They didn’t just roll a die and land on this ranch.”
Cassidy chews her lip, then nods to my keyboard. “Type ‘customs leak’ and ‘tail number.’”
I do. “You think they followed the plane?”
“I think they found the charter tail number and watched where it landed," says Kari. "Even if they didn’t know about the ranch, they could triangulate movements from Galveston. If you were them, where would you hide a high-value witness in this region?”
“Somewhere with space and private security,” I say. “Somewhere with people like the boys.”
Cassidy grins and tips her mug toward me. “Exactly.”
I pull up public records. “Who on the island has ties to Houston? Who donated to the same energy PACs as the shell directors?” My fingers fly, connecting dots that may be useless or everything.
Kari sends us a message while I dig:
Need to run. Have a meeting with my publisher. Send me the shells. I’ll put eyes on Delaware and Caymans.
“Tell her Gulf Coast Heritage Foundation has nothing to do with this,” I add, thinking of the gala and the board who trusts me. “No one touches it. It stays clean.”
Cassidy nods and sends a reply to Kari whose bubble pops again:
Understood. Give me three hours.
The promise settles my pulse. We’re not helpless. We’re not waiting by a locked door.
Footsteps sound from behind us. Both Cassidy and I go still until they pass. Gage appears at the doorway and stops when he sees us on the floor with laptops and coffee and our hair still wildfrom the night. His mouth hardens, then softens, then settles somewhere careful.
“You should be asleep,” he says to me.
“I should be a lot of things,” I answer. “What I am is awake.”
His gaze drops to the screen. “What are you doing?”
“Research.” I keep my tone neutral, as if the word isn’t loaded with all the ways the team hates civilians in the middle of an op.
“On what?”
“Your job.” I meet his eyes without blinking.
Cassidy coughs. “Play nice, you two.”
Gage steps into the room as Cassidy rises and looks between us. His voice lowers. “We’ll share when it’s verified.”
“You’ll share when Rush decides we’ve earned it,” I say.
He doesn’t flinch. “Rush and this team more or less kept you breathing.”
“Not the point.”
“What is the point, Sadie?” He folds his arms, forearms stark with tension. “Because from where I’m standing, the point is you’ve got men with rifles targeting your head and you’re combing the internet for breadcrumbs that will make you feel less boxed in.”
“That’s a decent summary,” I admit. “Add this: I refuse to be the only person in the room without sightlines.”
Something like admiration flares in his eyes before he smothers it. “You stay on our side of the line. You bring anything you find to me or Rush.”
