“What’s it say?”
“Gimme a minute, these things take time.”
Every minute counts.
But he didn’t say it, except in his head. They all knew every minute counted. Hell, every second fucking counted. But until they had a lead, there was nothing any of them could do. Every favor he had, he’d started calling in. He’d hit up everyone from the President of the United States to fucking Interpol, and nobody knew a damn thing. At least nothing they were telling him.
“I’m in.”
He spun around and leaned over Remi’s shoulder to look at the screen, his eyes darting from the phone to the computer.
“I’ve got it on the main screen.” Remi’s shrug hit him in the stomach, silently telling him to back off.
“Thanks.” He read the message twice, and still it didn’t make sense. “Who the fuck is that from?”
The JB you are looking for is in Shaharah, Yemen.
“I have no fucking clue.” Remi pulled up the satelliteprogram and zeroed in on the location. “I’ll run a back trace on the number, but I’m telling you now, that’s probably a throwaway or some shit.”
“I don’t care. Find them.” He had a starting point. That was something. Better than what he’d had two minutes ago. He’d take it. “I want every scrap of intel we have on that location.”
“You know it…”
“Shit changes over the years,” he snapped. Yes, he knew the fucking location. It was where that fucking mission he’d been on had taken place. The one which had earned him a place on the fucking list which put the wheels of this shitshow in motion. “I want current data.”
“On it,” Remi answered. “I’m calling the guys in.”
The images on screen looked almost identical to the place he’d been. Gunnar could see the memory of that job in his head. You never, ever forgot the men you lost, no matter how hard you tried to forget how they died. When it happened on your watch, it was part of you for the rest of your days. “Thanks.” Mission planning—this he could do. This was his jam. He’d give the guys five minutes to get their butts to the war-table, because it was time to go to work.
I’m coming, baby.
I hope the asshole who has you is ready, because I’m coming for that fucker too. Only difference is you live… he dies.
Nothing else was ever going to be acceptable to him. Ever.
* * *
“She’s been out a long time.”
The words filtered into the blackness which resided in her head. Jorja squeezed her eyes against the throbbing headache which pounded against the inside of her righttemple between her eye and her ear. The pain was even worse than the time she’d needed a root canal at the same time as the worst ear infection she’d ever had. “Ow.” She rubbed at the spot, trying to find relief.
“She heard you,” another voice said.
The first voice came again. “Hello, Ms. Buchanan. Are you awake?”
“She’s talking, she’s awake.”
“Unless you have headache pills and water, leave me alone.” She had no idea who these people were, but if they were in her dreams or even her house, then they could make themselves useful and bring her something for her headache.
“Ah, you are awake.”
Something she thought was a foot nudged at her back and she smacked at it. “Stop that.”
This dream sucks.
Sender of dreams… you’re fired.
“Get her up,” the second voice ordered.
