“Can you lift your left arm over your head?” he asks.
“Not easily.” I grimace, but can almost salute the man—though I think I might technically outrank him.
West aims a pen light at my side, then gently palpates the swelling around the wound. “Natasha’s a Ranger. She knows her shit. But she’s too close to this.”
“She’ll never forgive herself for what Gladys is going through.” I’m not sure the woman I fell in love with will come back from D.C. Even if West’s plan works and Gladys escapes unharmed.
“You land at 6:00 a.m. That gives you two hours until the Army CID office opens.” West swabs an antiseptic pad over the stitches, waits for the skin to dry, and pulls out a roll of medical tape. “Inara and I will be at Dulles when you land. Clive and Tank from Second Sight will be close, but Tank was a Ranger and Clive was Army, so we can’t have them anywhere visible. Just in case. But they’ll be in short term parking.
“Trevor, Vasquez, and Ella will be watching CID. They’ll swap cars on the regular”
“What about comms?” Talking through the plan helps to keep me focused, though my gaze hasn’t left Natasha’s face since I sat down.
“If Bastian’s not a complete idiot, he’ll have a scanner or a signal jammer. But Inara’s currently modifying one of your hiking boots to hold a spare unit in the heel. If we can’t take him down before he and his band of village idiots get their hands on you, use it. It’ll work with your phone or—since I can’t imagine you’ll be allowed to keepthat—any unsecured wi-fi network. Though it’ll default to broadcast only.”
West secures half a dozen strips of tape over the stitches. “Scale of one to ten. How bad is the rib pain?”
“Three.” At his stare, I sigh. “Five.”
“Any way to get that lower? Say…to a one?” he asks.
I scowl. “Doubtful. Not for more than a few hours. Morphine would be out of my system in four. Same for Dilaudid. Ibuprofen will have to do me.”
“Not good enough. With Raelynn?—”
I swear under my breath. “Fucking hell. That wasn’t my idea. You know that. And I doubt it lasted very long.”
“Long enough. But…no.” West repacks his field kit. “We could be fucked here, Doc. We don’t know who we can trust in CID. If we can’t find Gladys before 8:00 a.m., you and Natashawon’t have a choice. Bastian will take you, and she’ll have to turn herself in.
“Fuck no!” Halfway across the warehouse, Ryker stares at us, holding the baby to his chest and patting her back gently. I lower my voice to a harsh whisper. “There’s no scenario where that asshole just lets Gladys—or me—live. No matter what Natasha does. You know it as well as I do.”
“That’s why we need you as…agile as possible. To protect Gladys and do everything you can to get her the fuck out of there.” He rubs the back of his neck, stress lines bracketing his lips. “This is what we do, Doc. And we’re really fucking good at it. But no one—not even me—can anticipate every outcome. We have to be prepared. For anything.”
“Even a shot of lidocaine—or two—directly to the nerves might not last long enough. But it’ll give me the best chance. I don’t have what I need here. We’ll have to stop at the clinic before we go to the airport. And you’ll need to be the one to handle the injections.”
West nods, checks his watch, and pushes to his feet. “Be ready to go in an hour. I need another gallon of coffee.”
He hasn’t slept since this morning’s interrogation. None of us have. Not really. And in less than twenty-four hours, we need to be at our best. Or I could lose Natasha forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Natasha
“We’re here.”Nash turns in the front seat of the SUV. “Doc? You okay?”
“Been better. Been worse.” Doc holds the younger man’s stare for a long moment. “Thanks…for doing this.”
When Nash showed up at the warehouse, Raelynn held onto him for a full five minutes. He’s not a part of Hidden Agenda, but he was the only one available to drive us to the airport. Everyone else left on a private plane out of Boeing Field thirty minutes ago.
They’ll beat us to D.C. by at least two hours. Maybe more.
Nash doesn’t say another word as Doc and I get out of the car. The fake Lyft decal on the side of the vehicleshouldfool anyone Bastian might have watching the drop-off area. But we have to act like we don’t know him.
Wren and Ripper were able to identify almost a dozen passengers on our flight who bought their tickets in the past twenty-four hours. Including the two seated directly behind us, and Kerr in the last row. There isn’t a single empty seat, even ifWesthadbeen willing to take the chance and send Graham with us.
A muscle in Doc’s jaw ticks as he slings a backpack over his shoulder. We don’t have luggage. Only a rudimentary medical kit, our wallets, and two extra sweatshirts. By tomorrow afternoon, we’ll either be on our way back to Seattle with Hidden Agenda, or I’ll be in lockup and Doc…
Stop. We have a plan. It’s going to work.
