Was Rob’s murder connected to the FBI cameras, or was Jack Gurion’s appearance a mere coincidence? There are so many pieces to this puzzle, yet none of them fit.
Stirring beneath me, my lover pulls out, staring into my face. “Where’d you go?”
“Is this pillow talk?” When I roll off his torso, he sits cross-legged beside me.
Snuggling under the blanket, he tickles me while pretending to search. “Uh, not unless you got one in here, somewhere.”
I cup his rough, stubbled cheek, locking eyes with his sharp, intelligent blue ones until he realizes I’m deadly serious. “Be honest. Was Dante murdered because of you?”
His brows lift. “Huh? No, sweetheart. He’s been dead for days. Why?”
My throat tightens. “If I hadn’t asked him to handle The Inci—” I swallow hard. “The rape—he wouldn’t have struck a deal with the devil.”
Scott rakes a hand through his hair and hisses through his teeth. “Listen, I don’t know all the details but here is my take. Robert made his choices. He could’ve asked for more resources and hunted these bastards down. A coward, he let Bourdin operate under his nose. Now, we’ve got God knows how many Iranian chemists working on some kind of ricin project, not to mention trying to kill us.”
“But he did keep Bourdin away from me and my family,” I whisper.
When the final log collapses into embers, Scott dresses. “Kelly, no more what-ifs. Move forward or we die.”
He pulls on his boots. “Speaking of… we need more wood. I’ll be right back.”
A frigid blast hits me when he exits. Three trips later, we’ve got plenty of split logs stacked by the hearth, the fire roaring once more. As the cabin glows orange, firelight flickers across the plaid curtain under the old sink.
Is it possible?Heart drumming, my bare feet race over the wooden planks. I yank the fabric aside, but it’s too dark. “I need a flashlight.”
Mr. Prepared-for-Anything reaches into his pack. Light in hand, he squats beside me. “What is it?”
I grab a knife from the drawer, slide it into a gap in the floorboards, and pry it up. “I can’t believe it. It’s here.”
Tipping forward, I remove a Glock, a rusty tackle box and pull out Dante’s laptop. “I hope it still has battery life.”
We bring it back to the fireplace where I sit in a half lotus. Crossing my fingers, I hit the power button. “Crap. I don’t know his password.”
“Give it here.” Scott wraps his shirt around the computer and shrugs on his jacket as he disappears outdoors with the flashlight. When he returns, he shakes off the snow. The PC is now parked at the home screen.
Wondering what miracle he performed, I raise my eyebrows.
He grimaces. “I used Dante’s thumbprint.”
Ugh.I shove down the tension rolling through me before clicking on the file explorer. My pulse spikes as I point at the display. “See here? Rob had an external drive plugged in the last time he powered down. We need to find it.”
Scrambling to the kitchen, I drop to my knees. “Dammit. Nothing.”
Scott kneels beside me, one hand solid against my lower back. “Open the tackle box.”
Reaching for the corroded container, I set it on the floor. The circle of light steadies while I tilt the lid up. The top tray contains colored bobs, hand-tied flies, and hooks of all sizes. Wedged in the corner? A bright blue USB drive.
“Gotcha.” My breath hitches when I pick it up between my thumb and forefinger. Hell, I half expect it to detonate.
Once I’ve shoved everything back in place, I hurry to the slate hearth, hitting it hard.
My hands tremble as I plug in the stick then open the only document. The first tab displays GPS coordinates. The second lists names.
My partner leans over the display, scanning the contents.
After a moment, he stiffens. “I know some of these people. They’re FBI.”
My arm slides around his waist so I can burrow into his side. Perhaps, if I get close enough, I’ll wake from this nightmare.
