Page 7 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

I was right.

Whoever ran this shit was here.

With Annie.

With James’s daughter.

I’d tracked the killers. I’d taken them out. I’d infiltrated the Cooper River Cartel. I’d taken down most of it, and now it was only the last head of the hydra to remove.

Get Annie somewhere safe.

Then, I could rest.

Chapter Three

RYDER

When I stepped off the sleek, private jet emblazoned with the Callahan family crest, my anticipation mixed with a fuck-ton of unease. Chicago’s skyline loomed ahead, and in among its towering structures stood Sanctuary’s Chicago office.

Someone had reliably informed me that it was distinct from Albany Ops, the new hub in Maine, and the hundred or so safe houses around the U.S. and up into Canada. A car was waiting to whisk me away and parked outside an imposing building full of normal offices with the top three floors labeled as Callahan Imports and Exports. I had to stifle a snort, because if that didn’t sound like a cover company, I don’t know what did.

A man approached me and extended a hand, which I shook.

“Simon Grant.”

“Ryder West,” I replied, and we did that whole nod thing where we acknowledged what we were here to do. I followed him to the elevator, and when the door closed, he placed his hand against a screen that scanned his palm and fingers. The elevator came to life, whisking us upward.

“Do I get some of that?” I asked as I poked at the screen.

Simon chuckled. “You don’t want it. Hell, we operate under so many levels of security and secrecy that sometimes I wonder if, one day, I won’t be able to get in. First day I came up here, I got shut into this glass prison thing, although to be fair, I was armed and covered in blood…” His smile widened, as if that was a fond memory. “Those were the days,” he added as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

I didn’t ask.

“Okay, if you can wait here,” he indicated a round mark in the tiled floor, “and stand still while it scans.”

I did as I was told—couldn’t see a scanner or anything like lasers or whatever they had going on here—then Simon tapped his ear and gestured me forward. “Follow me.”

I noted he didn’t ask me to remove my weapon, or the knife in the sheath at my waist.

He opened a door to reveal a vast expanse segmented into various low-walled spaces, like cubicles, but not. There was a general hum of activity, with people moving about briskly, focus unwavering, some acknowledging Simon, others talking into phones or earpieces.

“We have a thing happening right now in New Mexico,” Simon said with a wave around the hive of what I assumed was strategic planning and intelligence-gathering, each person likely a cog in a well-oiled machine.

A bank of computers, more advanced and expansive than anything I had seen at the ranch safe house, dominated the central area. Screens flickered with maps, data streams, and surveillance footage, painting a picture of global operations in real time, and sitting on a chair in the middle of it all was another man who stood and crossed to me.

“Welcome. I’m Cain Brodie, resident IT nerd,” he said, and we shook hands.

“And our boss,” Simon added with a hint of pride, which earned him a quirky smile from Cain.

“Ryder West, former Army Ranger and fellow IT nerd,” I said with a smile.

“Oh cool.” Cain grinned at me. “I was just researching quantum encryption.” He sounded cautious, as if he were expecting me to laugh at him.

“The uncrackable code?” I said, and Cain nodded. “It’s like something out of a sci-fi movie, but I can’t help but think about how it could revolutionize field operations.”

“I know, oh my god, imagine having comm and data that are virtually impenetrable to hacking.”

His enthusiasm was infectious. “Imagine having something that could mean the difference between a mission’s success and catastrophic failure. The ability to operate without the fear of our communications being intercepted or compromised could give us an edge we never had before.”

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