“You mean sex trafficking?” Addison asked.
“Um…I think so. Most likely. Yes.” Angie winced.
Taking pity on her, Paige continued, “Two U.S. Special Operations personnel would be an extremely rare commodity. As far as we’ve been able to learn, your brother and Michael are being held by an organization called The Cooperative.”
Addison licked her lips. “The Navy reported five members of the team were killed. What about the other three?”
“There’s no chatter on them. Either they’re being auctioned at another time or they’re…” Angie’s voice broke at the end.
“Dead,” Addison whispered.
“Yeah.”
Addison’s gaze flitted around the table, stopping on Devon’s. His gaze was intense—fierce, protective, and determined. At that moment, it was too much to handle with everything else she was feeling.
She pressed her lips together and pushed her folded hands against her forehead. She didn’t know what was worse—knowing her brother was alive and being held captive by a black-market slave ring or being told he was dead. A small part of her wished he were dead. At least then she’d know for sure. Know he wasn’t in pain or scared or hurting. This…this was horrible. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth to keep it from trembling. This was worse than she could ever imagine.
* * *
Sitting two seats down the table from Addison, Devon watched her process the information that her brother was alive and being held captive. Everyone at the table remained quiet, even Angie, whose ADHD usually resulted in her talking to fill the silence. She still shifted from foot to foot, pain and empathy etched on her face, but she stayed quiet.
The urge to push back from the table and gather Addison in his arms was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t his right or his place and she didn’t seem the type to accept such overt, public comfort. Not from a virtual stranger anyway.
Knowing that didn’t help tamp down the rage burning inside him. His palms itched to touch her—had itched to touch her since the moment he’d walked into the conference room. A strand of hair had fallen at her temple, and he wanted nothing more than to cradle her head, push that lock of hair away from her temple, and tell her it would be okay. Take all the hurt and pain she desperately tried to hide and promise her he would make it okay. They were going to help her and get her brother back—whatever it took.
Addison rubbed her hands against her forehead twice before lowering them to the table. Her cheeks puffed out as she blew out a breath before sipping her coffee.
“So, they’re in Crimea?” she asked.
“We believe so, yes,” Graham said softly.
“How did they get there from Syria?”
“We’re not sure how the events in Syria played out, but they were probably moved overland to the Black Sea,” Paige said. “Crimea is a hotbed for black market activity.”
“If the military isn’t going to help, what about the State Department?” Addison asked.
Graham shook his head. “They have no presence in Crimea and they’re prohibited from traveling there, so there’s no help on that front.”
“Then what?” Her voice caught at the end, and Devon clenched his jaw, watching her struggle to stay calm. “What good is knowing he’s alive if there’s no way to get him?”
Searching the room as if looking for an escape, or a lifeline, her gaze found his. If he could only touch her, but he wasn’t close enough. All he could do was convey his support through his gaze and provide a stable anchor.
Paige did what Devon couldn’t—wrapped her hand around Addison’s. “We’re going to get him, Addison—him and Michael.”
“We who?” she asked.
Finally, Devon had something to give her—a promise he swore not to break, no matter the cost. “Us. TLC. We’re going to get him.”
