Page 3 of Deep Cover

Cannon’s gaze cut to Rorke for a beat.

Rivers caught it. So did everyone else.

“Weird that Charlie’s working this when we’ve been on it longer.” Cannon’s voice was deceptively easy. “Especially when we’ve got our own intelligence expert sitting right here.”

Rorke met his stare.

“Did you know?” Cannon asked Rorke.

Whatever had been brewing between the two of them, Rivers had apparently missed it while he was gone. And Rorke sure as hell wasn’t leaning over to fill him in on that part.

“Not about this. But I do have higher clearance than you.” Rorke didn’t look up from his hands as he delivered the jab.

Rivers swung his gaze between them. Cannon’s jaw was clenched. Rorke’s stare was flat and unreadable.

Whatever was going on between Cannon and Rorke had started long before Rivers walked back through that door. Apparently, he’d missed more than mission briefings.

“Everything okay?” he asked, because somebody had to.

Across the table, Rome caught his eye, and Rivers translated the look. This isn’t the first time, brother, and I’ll tell you everything later.

Rivers filed the exchange away. The team he was returning to wasn’t quite the one he’d left.

Cannon took control again, directing their attention to the big wall monitor as the faces of Charlie team appeared. Con wore the same line between his brows as Cannon, the kind command seemed to carve into a man.

“We’ve got a new incident. May’s on scene, but her connection’s spotty. She tracked down the owner of the trucking company that handles our deliveries.”

“Bill. The supply guy,” Rivers said quietly.

Con nodded. “He’s got offices in Portland and New York City.”

Legs braced wide, Cannon faced the screen. “What else do you have?”

“He’s dead.” May’s voice carried through the war room.

For a second, nobody moved.

“We just arrived, but the FBI beat us here.”

Rivers straightened so fast his side pulled. “NYPD should be handling it. Why FBI? You sure?”

May angled the camera enough to catch two seconds of a jacket—dark, with block letters stamped across the back.

Letters that shouldn’t punch the breath out of Rivers’s lungs.

She swung the camera away. “Positive.”

May moved closer to the yellow crime-scene tape and zoomed in on gloved hands working over the body. They stripped him of his phone, keys and watch, bagging and tagging each item as a bored voice called them out for the log.

“Nice watch.” Rorke leaned closer to peer at the screen. “Swiss. Expensive.”

“How do we get access to that evidence?” Cannon asked.

On the screen, Charlie’s tech expert glanced up from his computer. “Give me a few minutes. I might be able to get eyes on the Bureau’s case file.”

Cannon stared at him.

His mouth twitched. “Legally, of course.”