Page 80 of Every Last Breath

Cole strode through the conference room doors, holding up a newspaper. His features were laced tight with determination. “The Post we took from the Ghost’s room. One section was missing. This one. Events section for the weekend.”

“The auction was moved up a day. Novak’s original plan might’ve been conceived expecting to get his hands on the weapon today, Friday night. Maybe he wanted to use it at an event over the weekend, since he’s waited and didn’t deploy it already.” She grabbed a highlighter and flipped open the paper.

Potential targets had already been highlighted with notes beside each one giving an approximation of how many people would be in attendance.

“You did this?” She blinked one too many times.

“I can do more than crack skulls.”

“I know you can.” He’d graduated summa cum laude from Georgetown and had been working on a master’s in architecture at MIT before their lives went to hell. He could do anything. Maybe even leap tall buildings in a single bound. “I’m just surprised.”

“As a member of the band, I’ve got to carry my weight, right? I wanted to be helpful. To you.”

More dreadful heat warmed up long-frozen cold spots. “Thank you.”

Gideon peered up at her from the monitor, but she avoided meeting his eyes.

The conference room door swung open. Castle led the way. In tow were Reece, Harper, and Cutter.

Harper held two folders clutched to her chest and sat on Maddox’s left side with her gaze lowered. “I was gone from my desk for ten minutes, thirty-seven seconds.” Her tone was hushed. “The time allotted for a break during an active operation is fifteen, but it was still my fault Novak got away. I’m sorry. I’m the best analyst here. You didn’t have to assign Daniel the threat matrix. I’m more than capable.”

Folding her hands, Maddox dug for the right diplomatic words. “It’s not a reflection on your ability to do your job. It wasn’t fair to ask you to work around the clock without help. You need to be able to go to the bathroom, eat, sleep. We all need breaks.” Cole’s admonishment rose in her memory and she shook off the rising irritation. “We wanted to keep the footprint small on this. It’s my fault, not yours. You’ve been doing a great job.”

Harper reared back, surprise washing over her face. “O-okay.”

Maddox glanced up to find Gideon staring with the focus of a microscope. His sharp gaze bounced between her and Harper.

The hairs on Maddox’s arms raised. She ran her tongue over her teeth, unsettled by the intense look that made him appear as if he were chiseled from dry ice. Cold and untouchable. One would never guess that when he let loose and cracked a smile or laughed, women in the vicinity dropped their wet panties. And he used that smooth charm like any other weapon in his arsenal.

After Maddox gave him a thumbs-up and a head nod, his attention shifted. Odd, he wasn’t friends with Harper. No one was. He never interacted with her—he went out of his way to avoid her. So far on this mission, he’d barely spoken five words to the girl.

Harper handed Maddox both folders. “The first one is everything I could find on the death of a man in Costa Rica who we suspect was Kassar based on the wife’s statement taken by police. The second file is the additional information about Novak’s military record. I’ll brief everyone in a moment. Also, we don’t have enough of his disguised face to run the image through facial recognition.” Harper stared at the conference table as she spoke.

“But we tracked the taxi he took from the hotel,” Cutter added.

Harper’s gaze zeroed in on Mr. Gung Ho. “I tracked the taxi while you sat looking over my shoulder.” Her shaky voice was a notch above a whisper. “I discovered the auction and I’ve been working this mission from the beginning. We wouldn’t have this operation if it wasn’t for me. You’re just latching on midstream.”

Seeing Harper riled up was a first.

Cheeks flaming rosy red, the analyst pulled her lips inward as if she wanted to swallow them. She tilted her head down. “The taxi gave us nothing. He was dropped off at Union Station.”

The bastard. Maddox had assumed that after Novak lost them at the Metro, he would’ve headed for Union Station—the most practical place to escape—but there hadn’t been any sign of him on the street. For him to deliberately take a taxi from the hotel to Union Station, when he must’ve known they’d later track it, meant he was toying with her.

Harper and Cutter stared at one another like they were about to rumble, armed with notepads and laser pointers. Although Cutter was in his late twenties, fit, and had hand-to-hand combat training, Harper seemed fired up hot enough to claw out his eyes.

Territorial wars in the Gray Box weren’t uncommon. They were a small outfit, most of them were as close as family, and no one was in this for glory—Cutter not included. But everyone wanted to make their mark. On this case, Maddox didn’t need the waters any muddier.

“Harper, you need analytical backup on this, but the record will reflect you’re point analyst.”

“Okay,” she said in a low voice, sounding appeased.

Yes, the woman would get the glory of a win or the disgrace of a failure. A more cunning analyst would’ve preferred a blurry line.

“I reached out to the Albanian Army,” Harper said, “like Maddox asked, and tracked down a retired colonel who had been friends with Novak. They enlisted around the same time. During the Kosovo War in May 1999, Novak’s family was being transported in a refugee convoy.” Tapping a digital button on the glass smart table, Harper brought up an image of a truck convoy in a woodland area. “The men and women had been separated. Wife and daughter in one vehicle, son in another. A U.S. aircraft attacked, acting under incorrect intel that it was a Yugoslav military convoy. Fifty people were killed, including his wife and daughter.”

Harper stared at the screen rather than making eye contact, fidgeting with her pearls as she spoke at high speed. “NATO and the US issued an apology for the airstrike, amongst others. We made a lot of mistakes during Operation Allied Force, including the accidental bombing of a refugee camp. Novak was so vocal about his hatred for America and the unnecessary, brutal loss of innocent lives that he was discharged.”

“He wants vengeance,” Maddox said. “This is personal for him.” A vendetta fueled by grief complicated the hell out of the situation. “Deploying the bioweapon in the nation’s capital would suit Novak’s motives perfectly. Where do we stand on a threat matrix?”