I mutter. “I fucking wish I could have one goddamned sign she’s alive.”
Jason sits down at his desk and begins to type, brows creased. “Give me a moment, Lochlan.”
“Call me Lucky.”
“One moment, Lucky.”
“How come he can call y’all by your nickname without asking?” Suds grumbles, sips his coffees and studies the jet’s interior.
“I didn’t threaten to kill it.” I try to catch his gaze but he’s been avoiding eye contact with me since lift off.
“Not your fault, mate.” I address the elephant in the room and in the silence the chasm between us grows enormous.
He stares into his brew. “The hell you say. I was supposed to be guarding them. Rookie mistake. I knew there was a door between the buildings. I even checked it when we first got there but seeing how it was locked, never went downstairs again. It was four guys against one.”
“Four? I thought there was two.” I wander back to the machine for another cup of joe and he follows.
“No one told you? The staff was in on it, too. When you left, the chef called me into the kitchen and the waiter was hiding behind the swinging door. He knocked me flat with a frypan and the chef had a knife. I almost had them pinned down until those other two asshats showed up. One of the motherfuckers shot me so I dragged myself into the freezer and put a leg of lamb in the handle to keep them out. Unfortunately, the unit locks from the outside. If Callie hadn’t saved my sorry ass, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”
“Wait, Grayson himself vetted the staff, said they were legit.”
“Yeah, that’s true. However, the FBI found the real chef and waiter tied up in an alley behind the building.”
“Shit, I was there with you. I didn’t notice either. This wasn’t your fault.”
“Copy that.” He nods but with eyes downcast and voice sad, I don’t think he believes it.
“If it’s anyone fault, it’s mine. If not for me, Callie would be teaching at MIT or some Ivy league school. She wanted to change the world, to convince industry to make EMF safer. I wanted her close, working for the same company as me.”
“Can’t blame you for that.”
Suds pats my back and we both look to the screen when Jason speaks.
“I have located Calliope, gentlemen.” The avatar disappears and in his place is a photo of a toilet seat with writing on it.
Knees weak, I drop into a chair, spilling coffee on my lap. “My God. Is that blood?”
Jason reappears in a small window in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. “I am ninety-three-point-five percent certain it was written with Calliope James’ fingertip. I have contacted the FBI and am awaiting their response.”
“Fuck me.” If I wasn’t so scared, I’d be damn proud of my girl.
Suds shakes his head. “Your wife is smart. Must’ve written it, then put the seat down.”
“Still, what if they’d seen her do it?” A shudder wracks my body as I step closer to the monitor and study. “Jason, who shot this photo and where?”
“A young woman emailed it to the local police just south of Camden.”
“Where the hell is that?” Suds downs his coffee and pours another, eyes on the screen.
Google Maps pops onto the monitor where a red dot blinks due east of Philadelphia.
Jason says, “She should arrive in Washington, DC at eleven thirty-six.”
I pace, my ability to think gone to hell. My wife had a dangerous head wound. People die from a whole lot less.
Without warning, Suds grabs my shoulder, his eyes wide. “Did Callie ever learn how to shut off the EMF in the Blue Plains tunnel?”
“Fook me. She might have but by now her access has been revoked. Those government boys are fucking serious about locking down usernames and passwords.”
