“Fucked up beyond all recognition.” He chuckles, but there’s no joy in it. “Don’t know what we’ll do about the couch cushions. My sewing skills are limited to stitches.”
I stare at him, trying to decide if he is serious or not. Until I remember what I wanted to ask him. “Why did you call Austin ‘Jimmy’ at my apartment?”
Trevor turns his head and points to his ear. “When we’re in the field and using comms, we all have codenames. I’m ‘Superman’ or ‘Clark.’ Austin’s ‘Jimmy’ or ‘Stars and Bars.’ You’re ‘Diana’ and Leo is ‘Steve.’”
“Clark and Jimmy I know. But who are Diana and Steve?” Tucking in the sheet, I reach for the duvet.
“FromWonder Woman. Lois was already taken,” he says with a small smile. “And Perry White…well, I doubt Leo would have taken too well to that one.”
Trev cocks his head, then taps his earbud. “Got it. I have to go to Diana’s. Need pillows.” Another tap, and he reaches for his weapon.
The front door opens and closes, followed by Austin’s deep, “Back. All clear.”
“You’re safe here, Domina,” Trevor says, his voice gentle. “Shower, sleep…whatever you need to do. We’ll let you know if we findanything.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Domina
Despite what the police—orthe IPS—did to Leo’s apartment, his bed still smells like him. Or us. But as tired as I am, I only manage three hours before I wake up with my heart pounding. Leo could be anywhere. Hurt. Afraid. Alone.
“Call Zephyr! I need—”
He was depending on me. It doesn’t matter that Zephyr found me. Or that Austin and Trevor are in the next room. It’s been more than eighteen hours.
In the main room, I find Austin sitting at the small dining table with two laptops, a mobile phone, and more weapons than I could have imagined strewn around him. Trevor sleeps on the sofa, still wearing his shoulder harness and gun.
“There’s coffee,” Austin says quietly with a quick jerk of his head toward the kitchen.
I pour myself a cup and join him at the table. “Is there any news?”
He sits back, stretching his arms over his head with a wince. “Zephyr eliminated three of the black sites we identified. No activity within five kilometers at any time in the past twenty-four hours.”
“But that still leaves seven.” The coffee smells wonderful yet twists my stomach into knots.
“Domina, wewillfind him. President Garcia’s aide messaged me a few minutes ago and said he’d take my call.” He offers me an earbud. “Want to listen in and hear the most powerful man in the country shit his pants?”
“President Garcia is a good man. He and Manuel have been friends for years. But if it will find Leo, I will listen to anything.”
Austin dials, and after a moment, the President answers, his voice rough with sleep. “Mr. Pritchard, I understand you have very powerful friends. But what is so important you had to get me out of bed at 6:00 a.m.?”
“It’s formerMajor GeneralPritchard, asshole. The first call you received from me was at 11:00 p.m. last night. Since then, I’ve tried to reach you every hour on the hour.Youchose to ignore me until now.”
“I am a busy man.”
“And I’m an angry one,” Austin snaps. “Your vice president would be dead right now if it weren’t for Leo Basher. And your precious Ministry of Public Service is hiding him in one of your fucking black site prisons. If this is what you do to people whosaveyour citizens’ lives, what the hell happens to the guys who pose an actual threat?”
“I know nothing about this…Leo Basher,” Garcia says. I clench my hands under the table. After being fired without any chance to explain or defend myself, I shouldn’t care about being loyal to anyone in power. But I still believe Manuel had nothing to do with it.
“You’re the goddamn president. Make some calls and find him. He left the Pacifica Stadium in the back of a black SUV with government plates at 12:15 p.m. Ask me how I know that.”
President Garcia doesn’t answer, and Austin is getting angrier by the minute.
“You want me to shut down the IPS? Or the Ministry? Or tell the people of Panama what theyreallydo? Or maybe I call the newspapers and tell them how you sold your soul six years ago to get on the presidential ticket?” A muscle in Austin’s jaw ticks, and after a beat, he continues. “Payingyour rival five million dollars to disappear? Do you think you’ll be able to retire quietly to the countryside after that? You’ll lose everything. Including the accounts you maintain in the Cayman Islands.”
From the couch, Trevor adds, “Don’t forget the escorts. All those private videos he uploaded to the cloud could be ‘not so private’ with a few keystrokes.”
I gape at the man, still prone, eyes heavy with sleep, while Austin relays the information. “So, what’ll it be, Garcia? Release Leo Basher or lose everything?”
