Page 58 of Broken Trust
“Kind of in the middle of something.” She gestured at her screen. “We’re tracking down a connection. It’s time sensitive.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Sophie and Dante exchanged glances. Dante stood. “We could use a coffee break—”
“No,” Elin said quickly. “Stay. We’re almost through this encryption.” She looked back at Mason. “Can it wait?”
“No. It can’t wait.”
He needed to know she was okay, needed to know what the hell was going on with the doctor. Needed to know why she was looking at him like he was an inconvenience.
“Dr. Patir is here. Do you know anything about that?”
Dante turned his head at mention of the Blackout team doctor, who only ever visited when one of them was too injured to patch up. Like when Denver sustained that last head injury that took him off the team.
Sophie looked straight ahead at her monitor—a tell if Mason ever saw one.
She and Elin knew what was going on. But if the doctor was here to see Elin, she wouldn’t be sitting here. Relief flooded through Mason.
“I’m working, Liam.” Her voice was flat. “Unless this is mission critical, I really need to focus.”
He stood there for a heavy heartbeat, staring at her profile and wondering how the hell to bridge the gap he’d thought was already starting to close. Starting to heal.
Obviously, he was wrong. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He forced himself to walk away and made it to the stairs before he had to stop, one hand braced against the wall, breathing hard.
He felt Elin slipping through his fingers. If only she would give him a sign, talk to him. Hell, even rage at him for leaving her with the kind of pain he never should have made her feel. Then they might stand a chance.
What he feared above anything else was waking up one morning to find out that her job was done…and she was gone.
He tasted iron—reminded himself it was his own damn doing.
He’d walked away. He’d told himself it was protecting her.
All he’d really done was leave her in the wreckage.
* * * * *
Elin had either done something monumentally smart or monumentally stupid.
It was her idea, and even though Con gave the go-ahead, it was the riskiest move her career had ever seen. And after working with Interpol and the FBI, taking down trafficking rings on the dark web and even exposing corrupt leaders, that was saying something.
Hours ago, she’d sent an encrypted message to a man who could have her killed with one phone call.
At least it felt that way.
Adrian Douglas Kent—Pentagon analyst and terrorist handler.
The message she sent had been simple.
Meet with us and hand over everything you know, or I send this to the FBI. You have 24 hours.
Then she attached the wire transfers and communication logs linking Kent to Silverton. Enough to bury him in a federal prison for the rest of his miserable life.
Or make him desperate enough to eliminate the threat—her.
This was the work that got her blood pumping. It kept her going, even when all appeared to be lost. So she’d hit send, held her breath…and waited.
