“Knowledge is power,” Ozzie muttered, scratching fingers through his wild hair. “And power is identity. If they reveal too much, someone might figure out who they are. That’s death for them. And the good they do would die with them. It’s enough that they gave us what they did. It’s more than we had five minutes ago.”
Fuck if it’s enough! Hew silently raged. Aloud, all he did was grunt.
Kerberos had revealed only: This is not about money. This is about BKI. Beware.
And that was it.
Just those three short sentences before…poof! The hacker group had vanished. Digital dust. Back into the bowels of the dark web from which they’d sprung.
Sabrina was out there all alone with these…motherfuckers! And it had been bad enough when he’d thought she’d been taken for ransom money. To know she’d been snatched because of the Black Knights, because they’d made enemies that didn’t have a damn thing to do with her, was more than he could stand.
“I swear to god,” he growled. “If they harm one hair on her head, I’ll beat the flesh off their skulls.”
“Hew.” Boss clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You’re no help to us like this, brother. We need the cool-headed Nightstalker back. Go do whatever you gotta do to make that happen, yeah?”
A roar of frustration threatened. Hew strangled it until it died a hard death at the back of his throat.
He didn’t remember taking the stairs down to the first floor. He didn’t remember walking through the kitchen and out through the back door. He didn’t even remember stepping onto the patio.
He didn’t come back into himself until he felt the pain in the top of his foot from where the laces of his steel-toed boot connected with the arm of an Adirondack chair. The blow sent the chair flying into the air before it crashed onto its side.
“Damn, man. You’re slow to anger. But when it comes on ya, it’s fierce, ain’t it?”
Hew turned to see Graham leaning against the back door’s jamb. The evening sun beat down on his head until it felt like his brain was stuck inside a pottery kiln. But the heat in his face had nothing to do with the Fahrenheit.
He was acting like a fool. Unraveled. Volatile.
Having seen what lack of self-control and self-discipline did to people, having suffered at the hands of those who’d never learned the fine art of restraint, he’d promised himself he’d never be that guy.
And yet…here he was.
Fuck!
Closing his eyes, he focused on box-breathing. Then, he carefully righted the Adirondack chair, dragged it out of the sun, and placed it in the shade cast by the patio’s short roof.
He should sit. He didn’t want to sit. He wanted to pace and punch and kick and curse. Which was why he should sit.
With as much dignity as he could muster, he shoved the cherry lollipop into his cheek and lowered himself into the chair.
Graham pushed away from the doorjamb and disappeared back inside.
Gone to join the others now that he’s made sure I’m not about to go on a murderous rampage, Hew thought as he sullenly sucked on the sugary treat and stared broodingly at the brick wall surrounding the property's edge. It was ten feet tall and topped by razor wire. A veritable fortress in the middle of the city.
Beyond the wall, he could hear the roar of a water taxi as it transported people upriver. Somewhere across the way, a hotel bellhop whistled for a cab. And farther down the river, a jackhammer worked tirelessly, tearing up concrete.
How weird was it that the world outside continued to turn when his world had stopped on a dime the moment that ransom call came in?
“Hydrate, brother.” Hew looked up to see Graham holding out a cold bottle of water. Condensation had already beaded on the plastic. “Throwin’ a hissy fit with a tail on it is thirsty work.”
“Christ.” Hew shoved a hand through his hair. “What an asshole I turned out to be.”
“Nah.” Graham pulled a chair up beside him and lowered his bulk into it. “You’re just an operator on the edge. That’s normal. Guys in our line of work usually end up bein’ homicidal or suicidal at some point. I’m just happy you’re the former and not the latter.”
It was said lightly. But something told Hew it was anything but.
He studied his friend and teammate carefully. Graham Coleburn had always been a closed book, the guy in the corner who preferred to squint and scowl and crack an off-color joke rather than bare his soul.
Now, Hew wondered if all those flippant remarks and taciturn looks hid a deeper melancholia.
