I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, no shit. What did the governor’s staff say?”
“No answer. And I called the guardhouse,” he replies gravely.
“And the picture? Is it real or a deepfake?”
Ethan shakes his head. “If it’s a deepfake, it’s better than any I’ve seen. But I can’t be sure.”
I look at my watch. “And with time ticking away and no answer from the governor, we don’t have time to verify.”
“Exactly. Who’s going with you?”
I’m rummaging through my bags, pulling out extra ammo clips.
“Wake up Cross,” I say. “He can cover me from above. I’ll get Wheeler to come upstairs and call Coleman back.” I strap my harness back on, then check my guns. “Try to reach the governor. And Ethan? Have Damien on standby in case things go sideways.”
“Shit,” Ethan hisses, grabbing his phone again. “This is acolossally bad idea. I’m not sure we can get everyone in place in time.”
“Probably what he’s counting on,” I murmur as I pull my boots on.
“Then why are you going?” Ethan demands, his voice almost pleading.
“Because it’s her mom, buddy,” I reply softly. “My girl’s mother. If he really does have her, we need to get her back. Either way, he needs to be stopped.”
Ethan curses under his breath. “This is fucking Fallujah all over again.”
“I’ll try not to get charged by a suicide bomber this time,” I reply with a scoff. “I’ll talk to you over comms, let me get the Secret Service up to speed.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, giving in. “I’ll wake up Killian.”
I check on Basia one more time, unable to resist caressing her cheek with the back of my hand. Her mouth is open, her cheeks red from wine. She’s never been more beautiful.
“I love you, Basia,” I whisper, lingering for a moment longer.
Time to go.
I call Wheeler up and explain the situation. She tries to reach her colleagues at the governor’s house, but has the same luck Ethan did.
“Just keep Basia safe,” I say, already at the door. “Coleman’s on his way back. He’ll be in the lobby.”
“Be careful,” she calls after me, the click of the closing door preventing me from replying.
I’ll be fine. He’s just one man, and I’ll have Cross with his sniper rifle watching my back.
In my SUV, I put on my earpiece and check in with Ethan. “Everyone up to speed?”
“Yup,” Ethan’s voice comes through, loud and clear. “Killian’s on his way, said he’ll be there in forty. Said he thinks you’re?—”
“A fucking idiot,” Killian cuts in, joining us on the comms. “But I’d do worse for Emily.”
“You have done worse for Emily,” Ethan mutters. “I was there. Do you know how much it cost to get your ass print off the hood of my Audi?”
Cross snorts. “Yeah, man. You only told me fifteen hundred fucking times.”
I ignore their banter, though it takes off the edge of my anxiety as my mind spins in a wheel, my skin prickling with nerves.
I’m not alone.
And one way or another—this ends tonight.
