She never turned her face to the camera, which only confirmed my suspicion. She’s more cunning than anyone would have imagined, and although Axel warned us about her impulsivity, her escape route appears to be well thought out. Purposefully haphazard.
And I feel like I’m learning her. Sensing a pattern.
I just need a small breakthrough.
“Ty.” Liam’s voice cuts through my perusal of more footage. “You need to be done for the night.”
“I’m good,” I mumble, my fingers never abandoning their lightning-fast stride.
The crack of the slamming door has my gaze flicking abovethe monitor. Liam and Wells stare back at me, both of their faces etched with concern.
I don’t have time for this shit.
“You’re not sleeping or eating,” Wells says.
“Or drinking,” I counter since I haven’t had a drop in eleven days. “Take the wins you can get.”
Liam sets a sandwich and a soda onto my desk before he plunks down on my love seat with a whoosh. “Well, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, man. I can always count on you,” I deadpan. “But I’d much prefer you get off your ass and use those astute observation skills to find Rena.”
“We’re doing everything we can.” Wells is suddenly looming over my desk, swirling a scotch on the rocks so that the ice clanks against the glass tumbler. “All of us have been devoted to this since the minute we got the call. But right now, I’d like to focus on you.”
As I drag my hand down my face, a sigh billows out of me. “Nothing to talk about. If anything, I’m better. Centered. Clearheaded. Not a damn thing to worry about.”
Hyper-focused on the only thing that matters.
Liam barks his you’re-full-of-shit laugh, so I ignore them both and return to my screens.
Wells’s approach is the polar opposite, his tone gentle, like he’s coddling me. “You know this could be a long haul, Ty. You’re exhausting yourself right out of the gate. You’re going to crash or snap.”
That ship has sailed, Chief.
No sense in sharing that.
“What happens when you find her?” Liam asks, clinking his Zippo open and shut.
I go get her.
Stupid fucking question. So, I decline to answer.
He sees my silence and raises me a goading jab. “What if you find her with a man, Ty?”
I kill him. Slow and tortuous. If time permits. But I’m not greedy. Dead is dead.
Probably shouldn’t share that either.
Where’s Gage when I need him? He’d be fielding these questions for me, wearing his crazy like a badge of honor. And no one would bat an eye.
Not me. My lust to end some asshole means I’m retreating into that dark place they claim I go—like it’s a vacation I take. It’s not. It’s a piece of the landscape I call home. I simply choose to ignore it sometimes and obsess over it at others. To each their own.
“Where’s the Big Guy?” I huff.
Wells is still staring down at me, his towering stature casting an irritating shadow on my screens. “He’s headed out west for me. Ivy needs him to shake up the Oregon governor.”
“Right,” I groan. “Indiana Jones.”
Ivy and I have code names for the majority of the politicians we deal with, all based off movies. It colors our often-shady work in a lighter hue. The Oregon governor could be a Harrison Ford double and wears a ridiculous leather hat. Low-hanging fruit.
