A gentle hand shakes me, and I force my scratchy eyes open. The thin wool blanket covering me is surprisingly warm, but my cheeks sting as hot, humid air fills the belly of the plane. We’re on the ground in Venezuela, and Ronan stands over me, his rucksack already slung over a shoulder.
“Time to go.” Holding out his hand for the blanket, he gives off an obvious air of impatience.
“You could have woken me when we started our descent,” I say sharply. Taking the blanket in both hands, I fold it in under three seconds, then shove it back into my own bag. At his scowl, I arch a brow. “My dad served for more than twenty years, my brother’s still serving now. You think I didn’t pick up a thing or two?”
“I like her.” The rough, raspy voice is familiar. Ryker. I push to my feet and turn towards the lowered cargo ramp. The man clad in all black is taller than anyone I’ve ever seen. He didn’t lookthattall in the photo on Trev’s dresser. He’s in front of me in four steps and grabs my rucksack. “Ryker.”
“Dani. And I can get my own pack.” I draw up to my full height, which still puts my eyes level with the center of his sternum.
“Didn’t say you couldn’t.” Ryker jerks his head towards the ramp. “Let’s get this shitshow on the road.” He strides out of the plane, followed by Ronan, and I stalk after them, my memories playing on a loop in my head.
“You are the most infuriating man on the planet, Trevor Moana.”
He chuckles. “Pretty sure that title goes to Ryker McCabe.”
“Who?”
“A guy I’ve worked with a time or two. You’ll meet him some day.”
A black van sits at the edge of the runway with another man loading metal storage boxes into the rear cargo area. He’s built…that much I can tell, even at 6:00 a.m.
“Peck, this is Dani,” Ryker says.
“Graham Peck,” the younger man clarifies. “Graham, I mean.”
Graham and Ronan exchange greetings, and I get my first clear look at Ryker under a light from the hanger fifty feet away. Half his face is scarred, his left eye doesn’t open as wide as the right, and the corner of his mouth turns down slightly. I try not to stare. After all, I saw some of the devastation in the photo from the wedding. But apparently, I don’t succeed, because Ryker’s expression hardens.
“You don’t want to know, Dani. But if we get out of this country alive, I might tell you.”
With a nod, I climb into the back of the van and turn on my cell phone. Nothing from Ochoa, but one new message from Austin. “You got my brother’s ETA?” I ask Ryker as he slides behind the wheel.
“Yep. He’ll meet us at the safehouse at oh-nine-hundred. Just about exactly when we’ll get there.” The van accelerates smoothly, and once we hit the main roads, Ryker scans the rear view mirror and locks gazes with each of us in turn. “If you can manage to sleep in this no-shocks-piece-of-shit, do it. Because once we arrive, we’ve got a fuckton of work to do.”
Chapter Twenty
Trevor
Grittingmy teeth so I don’t groan, I let myself collapse onto my side under the constant blinding lights. One of Ochoa’s soldiers stomps towards my cell, banging his Billy club on the bars as he goes. They patrol regularly—every fifteen minutes or so—keeping us all awake.
Training taught me how to sleep in short bursts, but if I’ve gotten more than an hour in the past six—hell, in the past twenty-four—it’d be a miracle. I’m still shivering, thank fuck. It’s when you stop you have to worry. Frigid air blows into the cell, and I have to curl into a ball to try to protect my fingers and toes.
The footsteps recede, and I force myself up to my hands and knees again. I have to keep moving as much as I can. Keep my muscles from locking up completely.
I know every one of Ochoa’s tactics. I’ve used them. One more reason I quit the CIA. Sometime in the next few hours, he’ll pull me out of here. Take me somewhere warm. Offer me food. Water. Some sort of carrot to get me tohelphim.
Fat fucking chance.
I inch closer to the bars and press my face against them.“¿Cuales son tus nombres?”I whisper. No one answers, so I repeat my question. I need to know the names of the others down here with me in case I ever get out of here.“¿Cuales son tus nombres?”
“¡Cállate! Los guardias nos harán daño.”
The voice is weaker than my own, older. Warning me the guards will hurt us if we keep speaking. But I think…it might be Luis.
“Me llamo Trevor. Estaba con Dani Monroe.”
“Dani? ¿Está segura mi hija?”
Is hisdaughtersafe? He knows. Of course he knows.
