“I’m clean,” Leo says when he joins us. “Been watching the crowds for an hour. Where’s flyboy?”
“Right behind you,” Austin says. “Never thought I’d see you again, man. Give me some good news.”
“I found the third brother. But he won’t talk.”
“Wait, as in...Franco Rojas?” My gaze pings between Leo and Austin, and both nod. “Did you tell him who I am? I mean...to him?”
Leo’s lips pinch into a thin line as he shakes his head. “He hung up on me before I got a chance.”
“Give me his number.” I pull out my phone and unlock it as the other three men stare at me. “This is what I do, guys. Convince people to talk to me.”
“It can’t hurt.” Austin shrugs. “Do it.”
Annoyance flashes in Leo’s one good eye—probably over Austin’s tone. He’s very much in “JSOC Commander” mode, and it’s almost scary how forceful he can be compared to the guy he usually is with me. After a blink, Leo seems to get himself under control and rattles off Franco’s number.
“It’s okay to call from here?” I ask.
Leo nods. “I’ll keep watch.” He limps slowly to the mouth of the alley and leans against a wall, casually pulling a candy bar from his pocket and tearing off the wrapper.
My stomach growls, but I ignore it for now and take a deep breath. Focus.
“Who is this?” Franco asks in Spanish when the call connects.
“I’m your niece. Luis’s daughter. Don’t hang up.”
“Luis does not have a—“
“He fell in love with Kate Monroe when she was Jorge Sosa’s prisoner, and they had a daughter. My name is Daniella, and I need your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dani
The house makesodd settling noises throughout the night, and each one wakes me up from a dead sleep. The guys take turns on watch.
After ten minutes, I managed to convince Franco to help us, and before I stretched out in this sleeping bag in a back room, he spent two hours giving up everything he knows about the Loma Collectivo.
I check my phone. No new messages from Ochoa. Wren worked some magic and fabricated a photo of me on a commercial airplane that I’ll text to the general at 4:00 a.m. with the message,“I’m on my way. But before I get on my connecting flight, I want proof of life.”
My final flight will land at 2:00 p.m. local time. Wren will take care of the electronic customs records, and then Ryker expects the general’s soldiers to be waiting for me.
“You should get some sleep.” Ryker leans against the door jamb with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“I tried. Managed maybe three hours. I just…I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?” Ryker takes a sip of coffee and studies me.
“Exist knowing that Trevor’s…where he is because of me.” I sit up and wriggle out of the sleeping bag, then draw my knees up to my chest.
Ryker gestures out to the main room. “Get yourself a cup of coffee, and I’ll tell you how.”
I scramble up and follow him, grabbing a cup out of the metal French press. “You brought a French Press on a rescue mission? Whoareyou people?”
“I live in Seattle. And West—Cam’s husband—is a little militant about his coffee. No one fucks with the SEAL. Not even me.” Ryker eases himself down in a chair next to the bank of laptops and taps a few keys. “Wren? Going dark for a few minutes, sweetheart. Doing a system restart. Nothing to worry about.”
“Roger that,” she says, obviously distracted by something on her own machine. She barely even looks up.
After another couple of taps, the camera light turns off and Wren’s image disappears, but Ryker doesn’t make a move to restart the system.
