“She hasn’t said a word,” Talon repeated.
“See, that’s when you should worry,” Wolf said, his voice rising. “Women like her don’t bring you a problem until they’re already waist-deep in it.”
“And you would know this, how?” Stryker asked.
“Not like I’ve never had a serious relationship.” Wolf rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t work out, and it was my fault, not hers. I didn’t pay her the attention she deserved, and I lost her.”
“Skipper, HQ wants you and Jug on the comms when you get to a secure location,” Dude said when there was a pause.
Talon acknowledged the instructions, but Jug didn’t let it go. He waited until the official conversation was over before continuing, “Wolf’s not wrong, Skipper. Which I can’t believe I just said.” Wolf threw him the bird, and the team laughed. Jug’s grin faded just enough to be serious. “You saw whathappened with Ronan and Fleur. Big problems can happen real fast. We know the two of you will figure it out. Just don’t wait for the problem to find you first.”
Talon glanced toward the dark beyond the floodlights, where the desert stretched away into silence. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”
“God, isn’t that the truth?” Hammer said. “We’re here if you need us. Now, I’m going to bunk out. Someone scheduled another run at zero dark thirty.”
“Ha! You turning into a pansy ass?” Wolf asked as they started to funnel out of the training area.
“Pansy ass?” Hammer pushed Wolf, and laughter broke out. Talon walked with Jug as the three men in front of them let off some steam. Yeah, he had a Riley look, and he was concerned about what his gut was telling him. There was something she wanted to share. Obviously, she wasn’t ready. But as he walked toward the barracks, he wasn’t sure if he would push her either.
Damn it … he needed to be sure there wasn’t an issue he could fix. His inner caveman thumped his chest and grunted in agreement. Talon shook his head and followed his team. Damn if that fucking caveman didn’t sound like Grandpa Frank.
CHAPTER 16
The hum of the logistics terminal filled the small, windowless office like the drone of trapped insects. The screen's aging fan wheezed and stuttered, casting erratic shadows across Riley's face as the manifest records for the last quarter scrolled by in endless, hypnotic lines. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, a bitter, oily film coating the surface like the green scum that forms on a stagnant pond.
Riley leaned forward, elbow grinding against the desk's chipped laminate, her eyes burning as she scanned each line for irregularities. The fluorescent light above her flickered every now and then. It made the numbers dance and skip. She blinked and rubbed her eyes to refocus.
On the surface, everything matched. The numbers lined up with mathematical precision, the weights and destinations sitting exactly where they should be. A perfect, pretty puzzle assembled by someone with obsessive attention to detail. Well, they hadn’t met her, had they? She may not be as obsessive with detail as this mysterious Admin person, but she was determined to find out what the hell was happening. One of the few ways she was like her father. She wouldn’t let a challenge go without conquering it.
Her finger began a restless tattoo against the desk as her eyes drifted to two shipments marked with the red flag of expedited processing. Both had left the site weeks apart, one bound for Indonesia, the other for Bolivia. There was nothing unusual about the destinations themselves; the company had been shipping to both countries for years. Still, of all the corners of the world where they did ship … why those two countries?
So many questions, yet what made her stomach tighten was thetiming. Then, there was the way the drum counts never fluctuated. Not even by a single unit. Even when the September typhoon had delayed three other shipments by days. She pulled up thelocal paper to cross reference the dates of the dock workers' strike. It should have backed up everything heading out. Yet the expedited processing shipments? They moved like clockwork, untouched by the chaos that snarled every other operation.
Her fingers continued to drum on the small desk where she’d been working. No one would look for searches from a customer service terminal. She ensured all her actions were justified by reports Marisol had requested. Her fingerprints weren’t on the data, and her reason for being in logistics? Easy. Compliance inspection. No one would be the wiser. There was no trail of her obtaining the information she was seeing now. She hit save, and the data flowed to her thumb drive.
The familiar prickle started at the base of her skull, creeping down her spine like ice water. She didn't need to look up to know someone was watching her. She always knew. It was a sixth sense honed by years of boardroom politics and family dinners where every word was a potential weapon.
Don't turn around yet. Keep looking at the screen. Count to ten.
One. Two. Three.
Her breathing slowed deliberately, the way herself-defense instructor had taught her. Control what you can control.
Four. Five. Six.
The feeling intensified, boring into her back like a physical weight.
Seven. Eight.
Casual. Make it look casual.
Nine. Ten.
Riley reached for her notebook with studied nonchalance, turning just enough to catch the reflection in the office's glass partition. There, Mauro Delgado stood near the main door like a predator marking territory, his broad frame filling the doorway as he gestured to one of his warehouse clerks. His hands moved in animated conversation, but his dark eyes kept sliding toward her with the persistence of a searchlight. She signed out of the system and then removed the thumb drive from the machine.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. It wasn't the first time he’d been the one who’d made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Hell, it wasn't even the tenth time. Every time she lingered too long over a shipment log, every time she cross-referenced a destination or pulled up historical data, Mauroseemed to materialize from thin air. Always within sight. Always watching. Never close enough to justify a confrontation. But she noticed. Would she have a year ago? Probably not, but she’d become hypervigilant. One of the bullshit extras the abduction had left her.
You're being paranoid,she told herself, but the words felt hollow. Paranoia was imagining people where there were none. Mauro was here and there and everywhere she was. That wasn’t paranoia. That was concerning. She needed to talk to Talon.
