After that, he connected with another operator in Nigeria and the buddy of a friend with Igbo connections. L.A. next. His phone pinged with a text from Willow, saying the reunion for Mari went well. Thank God something went right. Head hurting, he rubbed his eyes. Leaving Brighton here was risky, but the location was too perfect—remote enough to be safe, but close enough to Dulles to relocate her once the paperwork came through. Stone might hate her, but he’d keep her safe. Risk was the name of this game—a long game. But he’d find the head of the dragon that took Cicely.
Promise you, Cissy …
He ran a hand over his shaved skull and thick beard. Hung his head, elbows resting on the table, hands hooked up over his shoulders. Some days just took it out of him. What he saw. The daily bureaucratic fights. The surprising difficulty of even working with other charities. It shouldn’t be this hard to rescue and re-establish survivors.
“Mind if I intrude?”
At the sultry voice, Cord straightened. On the other side of the table stood the pretty brunette who’d intervened at the front desk. “I was just about to give up on this day, but I think the sun just came out.”
With a wry smile, she slid onto the stone bench and folded her hands on the table between them. “Can we be direct?”
Wow. The lady had chutzpah. “As long as we start with names.”
She leaned to the side, her long black hair sliding over her shoulder. “You’re military???—likely former. Maybe now contract or black ops.”
He grinned. “That’s a really long name.”
She drew her chin up. “That girl?—”
“Sorry.” His amusement bottomed out. He keyed up the flirting to get her to chill or off-kilter. Either would work. “No name, no game,” he said with a shrug.
Her nostrils flared, and God forgive him, but she was hot. A spitfire. “Brooke.” It sounded like it hurt her to give in. She wasn’t used to providing information?—she was used to taking it. Commanding the scene.
She folded her arms. “Now, why did you bring her here?”
He’d dealt with people like her before and wondered if he could annoy her as much as he’d annoyed all the others. He switched to the other side, sitting next to her. Extended his hand. “I’m Cord.”
“I really don’t care.”
“Ah, but you should.” He gave her a lazy grin. “You want information from me.”
“I know your kind.”
“Sounds promising.”
Pale irises hid beneath dark bangs. “Look, would you just …” Her confidence wavered and she looked down, picking at the sleeve of her blouse that added a lot of femininity to her already-amped beauty. Head angled, she squinted at him. “The woman you brought to the lodge?????—I know who she is. Tell me why she’s here.”
Well, crap. He really hoped she didn’t know who Brighton was. There was an intensity to her words and expression that he had to redirect. “I thought you knew my kind???—isn’t that enough?”
“No, it’s not??—”
“And who are you that you injected yourself, paid for the rooms, paid for food.”
“You know my brother and knew full well what that woman would do to him.”
Brother? Double crap.
“Is this … are you trying to destroy him again?”
Her words sucker punched, struck at the core of who he was. “No.” He wasn’t really at liberty to discuss this, but he wanted to explain to her that Stone was his buddy. That he knew Stone’s kind. Yet, he couldn’t. The information was too sensitive. And while the eyes might agree that she was related to Stone, he didn’t know that for sure, and no way would he compromise this operation. No matter how bad he wanted to know this woman better.
She considered him for a long while. “Is this about trafficking?”
Wasn’t he supposed to be getting her off-kilter? Not many people surprised him. Cord shifted and straddled the bench, facing her, his knee bumping hers. “Now why would someone like you ask a question like that?”
She cocked her head. “Someone like me? What does that mean?”
“You’re attractive, intelligent, successful??—”
