“Got it.”
Emerson’s hands, intertwined on her lap, had never clenched as she’d turned on one former accomplice after another. Her attorney hovered at her shoulder.
“I’ll send this information to the SWAT team now,” Kurt said.
From what Zander could tell, Kurt had access to a substantial amount of information on each of the men they’d named. Now at least SWAT would know whom they were up against.
The clock drew Zander’s attention. Tom had told him he wanted to leave the country. How much more time did they have until he did just that? Would he take Britt when he went? If so, how would Zander find her? What if Tom had already loaded her into a plane and departed?
“Is there anything else you can tell us about Tom?” Kurt asked Emerson. “How he usually operates? What his objectives might be currently and how he might try to execute them?”
“Certainly.”
Zander continued to watch the clock while Emerson spoke, impatience causing his knee to bounce and his fingers to scratch painfully at his opposite elbow. A scream was building in his windpipe. He wanted to scratch and scratch until he tore off skin.
Six and a half minutes later, Emerson finished.
“Anything else?” Kurt asked.
“I have a great deal more to share with the FBI. About the jobs Tom has executed. His syndicate, and all the other players involved in that. But I’ve shared everything that can be of use in the operation you’re about to undertake. And now I’d like a cup of tea. Do you have a break room?”
“We do.”
“You’ll be able to find me there.”
Zander stood when she stood. Emerson observed him for a drawn-out moment. Then she inclined her head slightly. He inclined his. She preceded her attorney from the office.
Zander faced Kurt. “How much longer?”
“Not long. SWAT is fast.”
“Not fast enough.”
“They’re fast. Any faster, and they’d make a mistake. You don’t want that.”
“No.”
Kurt came around his desk and set his palms on Zander’s shoulders. “It’s our job to locate Britt and get her home safely. Not your job.Ours. We’re good at our job.”
“I’m going to the warehouses with you.”
Kurt’s grip tightened. “In situations such as these, when someone’s been abducted, we’ll occasionally bring a loved one along to comfort the victim when we recover them. I will bring you along, I promise you. But only if you’ll agree to remain in my squad car during the operation. I can’t allow you to jeopardize this mission.”
“Understood,” Zander said. “And agreed.”
Britt’s captors offered to escort her to the bathroom.
She declined.
They brought a bottle of water to her, unscrewed it, and held it to her mouth. She tried one sip, but when the water hit her knotted stomach, it immediately wanted to revolt. She kept the sip down, but barely. “Please,” she said. “No more water.”
“We wouldn’t want you to get thirsty,” the one called Nick told her.
“I’m not thirsty.” Through the open door behind him, she could see two of the men nailing a rectangular wooden crate shut. It looked as though they’d almost finished packing the Renoir in preparation to transport it. She didn’t read celebration in their body language. Not yet—they hadn’t gotten the Renoir off American soil. But she did read something close. Assurance. They knew they were almost to the finish line.
“Anything else you need?” Nick smiled. His regard slid down her body and up again.
Her skin crawled. “No.”
