Roarke didn’t acknowledge the comment, he dropped his gaze to study the map. A red pin lit the center of the screen. “Where the hell is she?”
Wraith hovered behind him. “Hour away.”
He copied the coordinates and pasted them into a different mapping platform to get a street view. Seconds later, he was looking at a satellite image of a driveway that jutted out from a gravel road. Trees and shrubs prevented him from getting a closer look at the property.
“Why would he take her there?” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed to force it down, but all that did was lodge the pressure in his chest.
He didn’t know Cameron. Had no insight as to how the abusive prick’s mind worked. Part of him had anticipated they’d kill and dump Laine, then get on the fastest flight out. Cameron had confiscated Laine’s and Emmy’s passports in Iraq. He likely still had them, which meant he could board a plane with his daughter without issue.
But an address an hour from the city? That didn’t make much sense.
“Could be a decoy,” he mused, locking his jaw.
“I checked the airlines,” Wraith said, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’re no flights to Iraq leaving until t’morrow late afternoon.”
“He’d need a place to crash,” Viper added.
Roarke bunched his hands into fists. Whether it was a decoy or not, they needed to check it out. He just had to keep his head in the game and not hold too much hope that they’d found Cameron’s hideout.
“I brought the gear. Gimme a minute.” Viper disappeared out the front door and returned with several black cases.
Five minutes later they were suited up. Roarke wore a bulletproof vest, his night-vision goggles attached. A handgun sat in the holster at his hip, a knife was clipped to his pants pocket, and an AR-15 lay across his chest.
They clambered into Viper’s heavy-duty pickup truck and ripped out of the driveway. Roarke rode shotgun, and Wraith spoke on the phone in the back seat.
The glow of the truck’s headlights lit the dark street, chasing away the shadows. The diesel engine rumbled. Roarke rubbed his palm over his thighs, wiping the sweat onto his pants.
Viper punched the coordinates into the large GPS. Good thing he could manage that while maneuvering them through the subdivision because Roarke was no help, caught in a violent storm of worst-case scenarios.
Finding Laine dead. Emmy being whisked away.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. If he didn’t get a grip, he’d need a fucking straightjacket before they made it out of Pittsburgh.
“That was Paige,” Wraith said. “I texted her for an update and she asked me to call. Striker’s in surgery now. She’s a wreck but askin’ for prayers.”
Roarke closed his eyes as more guilt slammed against him.
If he lost Striker along with Laine and Emmy, he’d end his career right here. There was no way he could continue knowing what a fuckup he was. How many people had been lost under his supervision.
Viper nodded solemnly. All Roarke could do was stare at the inky road as they merged onto the highway split down the middle with yellow.
“You doin’ okay?”
“No. Just drive.” His tone lacked bite with resignation. Right now, he had to lay down his guard and hope to God someone overhead was looking out for Laine.
“I hear ya, man. It’s gonna be okay.”
“Aye,” Wraith echoed.
Roarke bit back contrary words. His gaze shifted to the GPS. In forty minutes, they’d have answers.
Or he’d go out of his mind.
Pain hammered Laine’s face.She groaned and tried to turn her head away from the light, but her neck spasmed. She lifted her hand to touch the throbbing spot on her cheek and eye. Swollen, tender tissue met her fingers.
Peeling her fingers away, she stifled a cry. Weight on her other wrist told her she was chained again. Cameron had beaten her up. She’d lost.
Terror pulled at her heart. Had he found the phone? He’d know Emmy had given it to her. She slapped her hand against her bra. The hard device siting there assured her he hadn’t. She blinked and scanned the room.
