Wolf’s hands clenched into fists. Every line of his body radiated tension, barely contained fury. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t, and you know it.”
For a long moment, they glared at each other. Claire could see the war in his eyes—the commander who knew she was right versus the man who’d just spent the night making love to her.
Finally, Ian spoke. “She’s right, Commander.”
Wolf turned to him. “Ian?—”
“She’s right,” Ian repeated. His voice was steady despite the fact that his wife was the hostage. “Sullivan won’t move until he sees Claire, but that doesn’t mean she goes in unprotected.”
Wolf blew out a heavy breath. He looked at Claire. “You’ll wear a wire and a tracker. We’ll fit you with a vest under your shirt.”
“He’ll search me,” Claire said.
“Then we make sure it’s good enough that he won’t find it,” Lynx said. He was already pulling equipment from cases. “I’ve got a tracker that goes under the skin. It’s temporary and bioabsorbable. It will dissolve in seventy-two hours, but it’ll work for today.”
“And the wire?” Wolf asked. His voice was tight.
“Embedded in her bra.” Lynx held up a device no bigger than a button. “Audio only, but it’ll transmit everything within a fifty-foot radius.”
Wolf studied the equipment, then glanced at Claire. “And if he finds the tracker? When he knows we’re coming?”
“I’ll hold him off until you get there,” Claire said.
The next hour was a blur of preparation. Lynx injected the tracker into Claire’s left shoulder blade. It stung, but she barely felt it through the adrenaline. The wire was sewn into her bra. The FBI team coordinated with Mills to establish a perimeter around the area in case Derek Sullivan tried to escape.
Wolf stood in the corner of the small office they’d commandeered, watching. His expression was unreadable, but Claire could feel the tension radiating off him.
“Vest,” Ian said, holding out tactical body armor.
Claire shook her head. “Too obvious. He’ll search me and find it. He’ll know you’re setting him up.”
Wolf took the vest and pressed it to her chest. “He expects us to do exactly that. We play into his game, remember?”
She hesitated. “It’s risky.”
“If Vivi were here, she’d go with reverse psychology like the Commander is suggesting,” Ian said. “Serial killers get cocky after so many successful kills. I’ve heard her say it dozens of times. He’ll expect you to wear a vest and have a wire. When he finds them, all you have to do is seem surprised that he’s so damn smart. Make him feel more intelligent than you.”
“The cabin is forty minutes north,” Hawk said, studying a topographical map. “Remote. Heavy tree cover. Limited approach vectors. I can get a shot from here.” He pointed to a ridge about fifty yards from the cabin location. “But you’ll have to get him near a front window or outside. It’ll be tight.”
“Take it,” Wolf ordered. “Ian, Grizzly—you’re ground support. Stay concealed, move in when Claire makes contact.”
“And you?” Claire asked.
His eyes met hers. “I’ll be close. Always.”
They drove in separate vehicles: Claire in a Bureau sedan, alone. Hawk and Grizzly in one tactical vehicle, taking a different route to approach from the east. Garrett, Ian, and Lynx in another, circling west.
The communications system crackled to life in Claire’s ear. Lynx had given her the tiniest receiver she’d ever seen. It was nearly invisible.
“Radio check,” Lynx’s voice said. “Paperclip?”
God, she hated that call sign. “It’s Fury,” she corrected. Her hands were steady on the wheel, but her heart was racing. “I’m twenty minutes out.”
“Copy….Fury.” Was that a smile she heard in his tone? “Hawk is in position on the ridge and has a visual on the cabin. One vehicle outside, which confirms our target’s location.”
“Any sign of Derek?” Claire asked.
