“What the hell are you packing for?” Ryker barks, yanking my attention from my descent to his concern, with a brash attempt to gloss over the unraveling we both know I’m enduring.
I am hardly packing. I’m bent over my suitcase in the middle of my closet. And aside from the intrusive flashbacks assaulting me, I’ve been filtering through everything Zara has ever said, every tidbit Stone offered, every crumb I’ve gathered on the dark web, but there’s no point in divulging that.
He shoves a glass of water at me. Water is always what they give me, water to douse the flames. But water doesn’t prevent drowning.
I drink it and hand him the empty glass. “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here. I have to find her.”
Even with the leads Stone has tracked down, Zara has managed to stay hidden. KORT is breathing down my neck, probably suspecting that I have her stashed somewhere. I have a private investigator helping me, but it’s led to nothing. I returned to Greece and interrogated my CIA contacts, and again, it produced no new leads.
She’s a phantom. With an agenda. That doesn’t include me.
All hell has broken loose in the underworld. We stumbled upon a video online from a couple of weeks back, and I know it was Zara. Her hair was the wrong color, and with the lack of lighting, her facial features couldn’t be discerned. But the manner in which she held herself was unmistakable.
After witnessing her go toe to toe with the men in Greece, I’ll never forget how she fought.
The video wasn’t even fifteen seconds. It was from when she was in New Orleans, facing off with a woman we couldn’t ID. Stone claimed it was another agent, so the name would meannothing. The clip ended with an explosion and no outcome to their grappling, but I’m betting my girl was the only one still breathing.
There were other deaths too—or rumors about them. Deaths of a few of my members that don’t make sense for her to be connected to, and yet there’s a whisper inside me insisting that she is. I might not know what she’s doing or how the hell this ends in anything other than annihilation, but it’s clear that Zara can outrun, out-strategize, outmaneuver every person in her vicinity. I’ve never underestimated her brilliance, but the awe is as gripping as the grief.
The news has been vague, which suggests someone is working hard at covering things up. But maybe if I follow the body count that has been reported, it will lead to my wife.
Ryker’s face lines with empathy. “I understand that, maybe more than anyone—”
“You knew she was safe,” I cut him off, and maybe I shouldn’t after he spent years in hell searching for Mercy. “You know the pain and, yes, much of the worry. What the two of you endured was horrific. But when she was gone, there were people we trusted who were looking out for her. This is …”
“Zara’s different than I am,” Mercy interjects, rubbing her stomach like she’s sick, and her presence causes me to scan the rest of my closet.
This is the drawback of a dressing room the size of most kitchens. My entire family is here, crestfallen and helpless. Except Remy, who I spot jumping on my bed.
I stuff my misery down for a beat and pull Mercy in for a hug. “You’re both strong,” I correct her, flicking my gaze to Tessa. “All of you are. And, yes, Zara is exceptionally skilled, but lonely.” Releasing her, I ignore the distress pinning me from all my brothers’ eyes and move back to my suitcase, stuffing someshirts inside it. “I promised her she wouldn’t be alone anymore, so I’m going to fucking find her.”
Maybe it’s only me that’s alone. Surrounded by loved ones, but broken and desolate.
The girls leave us to get Remy before he crashes to the floor, and there’s a chorus of murmurs that I can’t quite clutch—other methods of locating Zara and suggestions about going with me. We all know she won’t be found until she wants to be, and I won’t be whole until she is.
“Of course we won’t stop looking for her, so when you find her …” Cash leaves his question dangling because he won’t risk showing emotion. He wants to know how the hell I’ll come back to them if she’s a fugitive from KORT.
I can’t drag them down with me or extend promises that are unlikely, so I keep it simple. “I need you all here so I don’t have to worry about you or the resor—”
“He’s right,” Jax interrupts, probably because he understands the hellfire that will rain on all of us whether I find her or not. Then he hands me my phone, his hazels conveying something unspoken. “Don’t forget this.”
It was on my dresser with my wallet, so I wouldn’t have forgotten it, which he knows. I slide it into my pocket and usher them all out.
“I think Cash was going to ask if you’d shave once you found her.” Maddox lingers for a beat, swirling his finger around my face. “The wildebeest look is off-putting, Papa Axe. Good thing we love you, no matter what.”
That’s valid. I haven’t shaved in a while. This is the first time I’ve sported a full beard, and it doesn’t suit me. But it’s his smart-ass support that slams into my chest—subtle permission to run and not look back if that’s what’s needed. All I can manage without falling apart is to dip my chin.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I pull out my phone, spotting several texts, but there is no question which I go to first.
Jax: Left you the money I owed you in your top drawer.
He doesn’t owe me anything. When I open the drawer, there’s a bag of Singapore coins.
Thank fuck.
That’s Zara’s way of telling me she’s done. She must’ve known I’d be heavily watched, so she contacted him. We have currency from all over the world in our vault, so he wouldn’t have drawn any attention while obtaining it. And while he’s probably being scrutinized as well, he’s generally the one people dismiss.
My brilliant girl.
