“Sleep while you can. You’re going to be used more than a public toilet tomorrow.”
Chris let out a derisive laugh, and they walked out of the room. The light clicked off and the door shut. The lock snapped into place.
Dread wrapped around her throat tighter than the ropes.
She was helpless now. Breaking free was no longer an option. She’d failed. Not just herself, but Atlas.
Tears blurred the dark room and fell silently onto the silk sheets. Exhaustion encased her in a warm hug, promising her a safe escape if she just gave in.
A deep, rattling sigh fell from her lips, and sleep pulled her into its arms, as dark as the waves outside her window.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Atlas moved away from the computer to pace. Anxiety fired up and down his legs, urging him to do anything but stay in this fucking building.
The guys continued to work and once again, he was thankful as hell he wasn’t doing this alone.
“I’ve got something,” Rogue said, pulling the penlight from his teeth and making his way across the office.
Atlas met him in front of the desk. “Found this file under a tab marked Properties,” he said, pointing at the paper in his hand. “Looks like he owns a couple of commercial buildings in Panama City and another house in Nicaragua.”
Atlas accepted the paper and stared down at the property value assessment. It was for a twenty-five-acre island off the coast of Panama. “This has to be where he’s taken her.”
“My thoughts, too.”
He placed the sheet on the desk then took out his phone and punched in the coordinates. In seconds, his device had mapped out directions. “We need a boat. We’re about thirty minutes from the harbor.”
“We can take the heli,” Havoc offered, as Rogue tucked the paper back into the filing cabinet.
Atlas shook his head. “They’ll hear us coming a mile away. We need to sneak in unnoticed. We don’t know how many men he’ll have with him.”
“We’ll bring the drone,” Rogue said.
Atlas checked his watch. It was after 1:00 a.m. In a few hours, getting to the island without being spotted would be more difficult. “Let’s go now.”
They strode out of the building and made it to the SUV in five minutes. Their gear was in the back—all they needed was one more important item.
“Tell me someone has access to a boat,” Atlas said.
With Phantom Ops’s connections, they could get their hands on any mode of transportation needed from private rental and security companies. But these things were typically booked well in advance.
Last minute and in the middle of the night—well, that wasn’t promising.
“I might,” Rogue said, taking his phone from his pocket. “My buddy Anton has a speedboat. Gimme a minute.”
Viper steered them through the streets of Panama. The roads were quiet in this area, which was relatively far from the nightlife strip and touristy spots. Heavy raindrops splattered on the windshield.
Christ, how had he fucked up so bad?
Molly might be dead. Gone.
Sold.
The sharp pain of her absence stuck in his ribs and tore at his chest with every breath. He hadn’t known Molly long, but damn she had a chokehold on him. He braced his elbow on the door and stared out of the window. The ocean, lit by the cityscape, spilled between buildings.
Rogue was on his phone in the back seat, but Atlas couldn’t focus on a word he was saying. He prayed he wasn’t too late. That they found Molly unharmed. The odds weren’t in his favor, but he’d never stop searching for her.
