“There’s something about his name. Feels familiar. Like that fungus, the whole bioluminescence and neurological affects. I swear I’ve read about it somewhere, but…” He rolled his head to the side, winced. “It’s been a long couple weeks. Hell, a long year. Give me several hours to do some digging. To get Sloane started on that video before she decides she’d rather just shoot me in the other shoulder, and I’ll ring you back. Just… keep this on the down low until I call. I can’t place it, but I’ve got the feeling this isn’t something we should be broadcasting.”
Bodie sighed. “You mean something more than paramilitary assholes trying to kill us?”
“I mean, marked by various agencies for quick termination level bad.”
“Rowan did say someone high up in the federal food chain was most likely funding these bastards.”
“She’s likely right.” Nick cursed when his right shoulder shifted. “Son of a… Try to stay out of trouble. And keep your damn phones on. I’ll be in touch.” He ended the call, his warning lingering in the stillness.
Greer shook her head. “I swear that man’s got a death wish.”
Rowan sighed. “Seems to run in your circle of friends.”
“You included.” Greer glanced at the screen. “I’m so sorry about Evan. Can’t imagine what it was like, being there. Experiencing that firsthand. If there’s anything I can do…”
Bodie stood. “We can start by finding where these assholes are hiding.”
“I might have an idea.”
Buck’s voice rose above the old-fashioned clock ticking on the wall — what Rowan assumed was some kind of throwback for Bodie. Maybe a family heirloom with the burnished edges and intricate face.
Bodie turned to Buck. “You got an idea?”
Buck shifted on his feet, looking as if he wanted to chew on his thumbnail before physically shoving his hands down by his sides. He swallowed, rolled his shoulders. “That factory. It looks familiar. Remember that smuggling case you had me work a few months back?”
“The artifacts that group was storing in those old caves, then moving by boat at night?”
Buck nodded. “There’s an old cannery south of here. Close to that water treatment plant where…”
He drifted off, but Rowan knew there was more to the story. That something pivotal had happened there based on his clenched jaw. How some of the color drained from his face. Greer’s, too.
Buck shifted on his feet. “Anyway, I remember seeing silhouettes in the windows. Hearing what might have been a generator hum. I took a cursory look, but since it wasn’t our guys, I didn’t do a full recon. Figured it was more of those paranormal investigators cropping up all over Raven’s Cliff. But the inside looked a lot like that factory in the video. Might be worth checking out.”
Bodie grinned. “Brother, if you say it’s worth checking, then let’s go.” He took a few steps, then stopped, glanced back at her. “Assuming you’re onboard.”
Rowan joined him. “Any lead’s better than sitting around here, waiting for Nick to call. Is he always like that?”
“Busted up? Pretty much. Or did you mean paranoid? Because there’re few people Nick trusts.”
“You all seem to have it.”
“Like I said. He’s solid.”
Rowan glanced at Greer. “Are you gonna shoot me in the ass if I suggest you hold down the fort? In case things go sideways and we need a rescue?”
Greer crossed her arms. “Are you saying that because you think this scouting mission’s going to go off the rails or because I’m pregnant?”
“Honestly? Both. But mostly because I know Beckett’s crew would come running if you asked.”
“They’d do that if any of you asked, but you’ve got a point. Someone should man the radios, just in case. Though, Bodie’s the one who’s still limping.”
Rowan looked up at Bodie. “True, but he’d break ranks and follow, regardless, so I might as well just have him tag along.”
Greer smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got him figured out already. Fine, I’ll have Chase and the others on standby. Just don’t make me regret not coming along.”
“Scout’s honor.” Rowan patted down her jacket, checking for extra mags and her knife. “We’ll take the Tahoe, seeing as it’s already banged up. Unless I’m missing something.”
“Oh, you’re missing something. Or more precisely, someone.”
