I wave to the nurse at the desk, nod at the two security guards, and pull out my phone as I step into the elevator.
Ford: Get your ass to my place. Shit’s going down.
Fuck. The message came in twenty minutes ago, and before I reach the ground floor, he sends another one.
Ford: I mean it. Get. Here. Now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nomar
Ford won’t answermy calls, and I spend the whole ride to his place kicking myself for putting my phone on silent. I’ve been up for more than a day, and all I want is a hot shower and a bed that doesn’t come with a nurse checking my vital signs every four hours.
All the curtains are drawn, but when I knock, Ford answers in under ten seconds. “Get inside.”
“What the hell is going on?” My gaze lands on Joey, huddled on the sofa with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her bloodshot eyes are swollen and bruised, and a cup of coffee wobbles in her hands. “What’s wrong? Whatshitis going down?”
Ford passes me his tablet. On the screen, a drone flies over—holy fuck. “Why am I looking at footage of Faruk’s compound?”
“Because Dax, Trevor, and Ryker’s entire team are preparing to breach. Wren—she’s Second Sight’s hacker and Ry’s girlfriend—is on comms from our offices.”
“Want to tell me why they decided to wait untilnow?And isn’t your bossblind?He’s not field ready.”
“Try telling him that,” Ford mutters. “As for why…” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaustion in his red-rimmed eyes. “When we were headed out of the compound, one of Faruk’s guys stopped us.”
“So you killed him, right?”
Joey flinches and digs her fingers into her forearm so hard, the tips turn white. “Isaad was the one who…erasedme,” she says. “My bank accounts, my driver’s license, credit cards…he made me disappear.”
Ford covers her hand with his. “You’re here, buttercup. Wren fixed everything.”
“I know.” She leans against him, relaxing by inches. “He was terrified. Broken. I can’t imagine what he’s been through. If they can get him out—”
“Theywillget him out. Dax and Ryker aren’t leaving Afghanistan without him,” Ford says.
My frustration is about to get the best of me. “I haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. Explain this to me like I’m five. Who is this Isaad guy and why are Dax and Ryker on a fucking suicide mission?”
“That’s…a hell of a story.” Ford nods at the kitchen. “Get yourself some coffee. You’re going to need it.”
The constant throbbing in my side that hasn’t let up for hours is made worse by my stomach growling loudly. I fill a mug, then notice the pizza box on the counter. “Do you mind? The last thing I ate was an apple in Uzbekistan.”
“Knock yourself out.”
I slide the last two pieces of pepperoni and extra cheese onto a plate. As I take a seat in the recliner across from the couch, a beep comes through the tablet’s speakers.
“Alpha Team to Foxtrot. Stay available. We go in ten minutes,” a man says.
“Roger that,” Ford says.
The rich scent of coffee helps me focus, and after the first sip, I’m almost awake again. “Ryker?” I ask.
“Yep. He’ll be the primary one you hear. We’re listen only unless Wren says otherwise or Ry asks a question. Fewer distractions that way.”
I nod. Smart. I’ve never met the man, but the way Ford talked about Dax—about both of them—Ryker’s capable as fuck and twice as scary.
“Six years ago,” Ford says, “Ryker’s Special Forces team was ambushed outside Fallujah. Four of them survived the attack. After a couple of months, the Taliban sent them to Hell Mountain.” He stares into his mug and shakes his head. “Fifteen months later, only Dax and Ryker were left. Ry broke himself out, but by the time he got a team together to go back for Dax, the fucker who ran the place had poured drain cleaner in Dax’s eyes.”
“Goddamn. I heard the rumors, but you know how shit like that gets exaggerated…”
