Page 432 of Sticks and Stones
Greyson was aware.
“I don’t doubt she’s an ME, but she’s not Sasha. She’s definitely a different person. Right now, I have that laptop running facial recognition. There was an app on that laptop. It will alert me when she pops. If she’s in any federal database, we’ll find her.”
Ethan played Devil’s advocate.
“Unless Gabe had her wiped. The CIA can create and delete people at will. If she doesn’t exist, that means we have a whole other set of issues.”
They all look at each other.
Hearing that, Greyson was red.
“Uh, breathe,” Blackhawk said. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t stroke out.”
Oh, he was about to.
“She lied to me. I hate liars. We have to find a way to handle this. I need to know who is working with us,” he stated. “This rubs me the wrong way.”
Ethan knew how.
“We need her DNA.”
He stared at him.
“How are we going to get it tested? We work for the FBI, and Gabe is the boss?” he asked. “The city will takeMONTHSto run it, and Corbin isn’t working to slip it in. I don’t trust the city enough to watch my condo keys let alone DNA.”
Okay, he had a point.
“We need to run it somewhere safe,” he said. “If they run the DNA, and it pops, and we’re wrong, one of the techs will let her know. Then, we lose the advantage.”
He was right.
Only, Gene had an idea.
It looked like Gene was sending a text to someone to get help.
Pulling out his phone, he began handling it, sending Elizabeth a text. She had a private lab at the FBI. Gabe had gifted her with a full-time ME and techs.
This was just more proof that she was definitely his golden child.
As Gene texted, Greyson was talking.
“Who did I sleep with?” Greyson asked. “Why do I feel like this is going to come back and bite me in the ass?”
Ethan calmed him down.
“We’ll get it handled. Gene has a friend at the FBI. I guarantee he’s reaching out to her.”
Damn right he was.
He’d finished texting, and he had his reply. Elizabeth sent him an address, and it was a post office box in DC.
Gene grabbed his pen, and scribbled it on the paper placemat for Greyson.
“Get a hair, or saliva, or a water bottle, and send it here. Mark it Doctor Christopher Leonard. He’s going to have his people run it on the DL.”
Greyson took the paper.
“Will he keep it quiet?” he asked.
