“Because Idris wants us to know he’s here. Wants us to be scared.”
“It’s working.”
Olivia holstered her weapon. “Good. Scared keeps you alive. Complacent gets you killed.”
They bought their tickets for the next train to Paris and waited uneasily until it was time to board.
8
Omar lifted his mug and took a swig of coffee. Cold. He grimaced and swallowed it anyway. Then he pushed his chair back and padded from the dining room to the still-dark kitchen with the mug in hand to make a fresh cup.
He was pawing through the box of coffee pods in search of unflavored, non-decaf, regular old blend when the air behind him stirred.
He turned, fast, the ceramic mug raised, ready to smash it down on?—
Trent stood behind him brandishing an oar.
Their eyes locked. They both lowered their improvised weapons. Trent flipped the wall switch and the overhead lights blared to life.
“What are you doing skulking around the kitchen in the dark?” Trent demanded.
Omar waved the mug. “Making a cup of coffee. What are you doing roaming the house at six in the morning with an oar? Where did the oar even come from?”
“I had to pee. I heard someone down here rustling around so I grabbed the closest thing I could find?—”
“Which was an oar?”
Trent shrugged. “The bedroom I’m in has a nautical theme. There’s an oar mounted over the door.” He glanced at the wooden paddle dangling from his hand. “Or, more accurately, there was an oar mounted over the door.”
Omar’s heart rate was returning to normal. He grabbed a second mug from the open shelf. “Coffee?”
“Might as well. There’s no way I’m getting back to sleep now.” Trent rested the paddle on the counter. “Why are you up so early?”
“I wanted to go over everything we know one more time before we talk to Cal. Get your coffee and I’ll show you.”
Four cups of coffee later, they’d both scoured Cal’s personnel file, military records, and the public filings and articles Ryan had gathered and had committed the key facts to memory. They knew the money trail. The timeline. The players.
Trent kicked his chair back on two legs. “Still can’t believe he turned on us.”
Omar nodded. “I guess it’s true what they say. Everyone has a vulnerability. It’s just a matter of finding it.”
The chair thumped back to the floor. “What’s yours?”
“What’s my what?”
“Your vulnerability, the thing someone could use to try to coerce you?” Trent asked.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Omar evaded the question, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Mine’s Olivia.” Trent said it matter-of-factly.
Omar studied him. “Doesn’t it bother you?” It terrified him. It always had. The idea that someone would threaten his parents, or Leilah, or now, Marielle.
“Nah. Just ‘cause someone knows where to apply the pressure, it doesn’t mean you’ll crack. I won’t crack, ever.”
“I’ll bet Cal McCloud thought the same thing.”
Trent stood and dropped a heavy hand on Omar’s shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m not Cal McCloud. And neither are you. Come on, we should hit the showers before West and Ryan wake up. You don’t want to know how long it takes Jake to do his hair.”
