“Ownership. Operational control. And as of last month? One of Ignacio’s listed container IDs was processed through that port under a fake agricultural manifest.”
Bones muttered a low curse. Voodoo went still, like he was cataloguing every implication.
Grace’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He trafficked through that port.”
“Yes.” I flicked open the laptop. The screen lit the room in pale blue. “If Amorette was passed out through the States—which she had to be, she started here, but if they didn’t move her up to Canada or down to the Caribbean, then the supply chain would start there—Sarmiento would have known. Maybe even overseen.”
I paused a beat.
“That made more sense in my head than aloud, but I managed to tie a name, a container number, and the private port. This is a solid lead.” Maybe I needed more caffeine.
Behind me, someone yawned.
Lunchbox filled the doorway, hair damp from a shower, wearing gym shorts and a shirt he definitely hadn’t put on for modesty reasons. Goblin pushed past him into the room to nose at Grace’s hand.
Lunchbox squinted. “Why is everyone awake? It’s barely six.”
“Because Alphabet is buzzing like a neon sign,” Voodoo said dryly.
“Because Alphabet found the name match,” Bones corrected.
Lunchbox perked up, fully alert in an instant. “Which name?”
I pointed at the screen. “Marcos Sarmiento. Or de Sarjiento. Or La De Sargento. He’s tied to a private port in Delaware that processed one of Ignacio’s containers.”
He blinked at me. “…And you were going to lead with ‘good morning’?”
“Ididlead with good morning. In my head.” I waved a hand. “Point is—we have a direction.”
Grace looked between us, something fierce slowly building in her eyes chasing away her sleepy expression. “Are we going?”
“That’s the next question,” I said. “But… yeah. I think we should.”
Voodoo cracked his neck. “We need intel before we walk into that hornet’s nest.”
Bones nodded, his hand finding Grace’s knee. “But we’re not letting this sit.” He pulled her to him and gave her a kiss that threatened to scorch the whole room. Her cheeks flushed and her lips were a little swollen. “Go shower, Dollface.”
Before any of us could offer to join her, however, Bones pinned us with a gaze.
“She showers by herself, we need everyone focused. Showers. Lunchbox, food and start the pack up. Voodoo?—”
Already standing, Voodoo helped Grace off the bed before he gave her a good morning kiss of his own, then said, “I’ll get our transpo sorted out and lock in the location.”
Breathless but looking a little shaky around the edges, Grace came right to me and I wrapped her up in my arms. Tucking my face down against her hair, I took a deep breath.
Two days. Just over fifty-three hours of tearing the data apart, longer than I’d liked, but still good based on what I had to work with, but we had a lead. Her arms tightened and I inhaled the sweetness of her scent. She steadied my jitteriness.
“Thank you,” she whispered and I leaned back to meet her gaze.
“You never have to thank me.” Ever. “I just wish I could have gotten you this information sooner.”
“Well, if you had it any sooner, you’d have been waking us at four instead of six.” It was a light comment, a teasing one. One meant to make me play with her, and it worked.
“Go on,” I told her. “Shower. I’ll put together the briefing so you have everything.”
“Okay.” When she pushed up on her toes, I lowered my head obediently so she could kiss me. I savored the closeness, drinking in her simple presence before she darted into the bathroom.
No one moved until the bathroom door shut and the water kicked on—sharp rush, muffled by tile. The second it did, Bones rose from the bed like someone had flipped a switch. He pinned me with that steady, surgical stare of his.
