Havoc rounded the desk, dropped into the large leather chair, and pulled out a small device from his cargo pants. He plugged the tiny machine into the USB port.
“How long will that take?” Atlas asked, clicking off his flashlight.
Rogue lowered the blinds, then took out his penlight and moved to where Viper stood at the filing cabinet. The top drawer was already pulled wide.
“Few minutes. Sometimes less.” Havoc straightened. “I’m in.”
Atlas sidled around the desk. “Check his email first. There’s a good chance he spoke to someone about not coming in today.”
Havoc clicked on the mail icon and went to the first conversation. “He did. This email was sent this afternoon.” He highlighted the short message addressed to someone named Faith.
I won’t be in the office this afternoon. Something came up. I’ll see you Monday. If Vinny calls, tell him to reach me at the island.
Atlas nudged Havoc’s shoulder with excitement.
“Guys,” Havoc said, “we’re looking for documents that mention an island.”
“An island? There’s a fucking million around Panama,” Rogue grumbled, a file folder open in his hand. He stuck his penlight between his teeth and flipped through the pages.
“Well, there’s a good chance he’s at one of them,” Havoc retorted.
It wasn’t much of a lead. They needed to find out more before they invested too much time on this road. “Move over.”
Havoc got out of the chair and Atlas sat, needing to put his fingers to use. He entered “Vinny” in the email search bar. Hundreds of messages appeared.
He clicked on the most-recent message from Vinny, sent yesterday.
I’ve got a buyer. Needs to be good. You know the specs.
Too vague. He scrolled through the thread. Then one of Willy’s messages made him stop dead in his tracks.
I might have one tomorrow night. Worth a lot. Be on standby. I’ve attached a picture.
Atlas clicked on the attachment.
An image popped up and his heart squeezed. His eyes strained, trying to deny what he saw. Havoc’s sharp intake of breath confirmed he wasn’t hallucinating.
The picture was clearly taken for a work-ID photo. A close-up shot against a bright-white background.
Long blond hair, amber eyes, and a killer smile. Molly stared at him as if searching his soul.
And she might already be lost to him.
Pain hammered against Molly’s skull. Her stomach rolled and threatened to eject its contents. She clamped her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut as if doing so would stop the constant rocking of her body.
Was she on a boat? A plane?
No, she was hanging upside down. Over someone’s shoulder.
Oh god.
Another sharp sway. She swallowed a gag. Her ribs ached and her lungs demanded she take a deep breath, but all she could muster were small, shallow ones. Anything more would surely intensify the nausea.
She needed to find out where she was. Opening her eyes was like peeling glue off a wall. The first thing she saw was the back of someone’s legs climbing a set of wet wooden stairs—they were still outside.
She hadn’t been passed out for long. Her face throbbed with the memory of the men’s fists and feet.
Every muscle in her body ached. Weakness had seeped over her bones. Fighting would be impossible now. She didn’t have the strength. The wooden stairs led to a muddy path carved through the grass.
