Page 60 of Seeking Vengeance
She poured a cup for herself as well and joined him at the table, pushing a plate of cookies toward him. He went over everything they’d found and not found—again. Methodically. Accurately.
“I’m missing something, Maggie,” he said in frustration. “I know it.”
Her green eyes swirled and lost focus as she considered him. It was hypnotizing—and freaky. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I think you’re right.”
“Can you see it?”
“Well,” she said slowly, working through things in her mind, “I’m not sure exactly. Let me ask you this: are you and your brothers in any federal database?”
“No, of course not. Except for our official records.”
“So, what if Nicki’s in the same kind of situation? Working covertly but with a freelance group? Surely, you guys aren’t the only ones.”
Sean considered this. Yes, there were others. Rogue teams of disillusioned former military who ran missions under the radar. But Sean and his brothers were the best. In any event, it was worth looking into.
He nodded. “I’ll talk with Ian. He’ll know how to find out. Anything else?”
She chewed a cookie thoughtfully. “Something’s not right about this Benny guy.”
Sean stirred restlessly. He felt the same way.
“Well, not him exactly. His house.”
Sean’s brow arched, the skin on the back of his neck tingling. “Explain.”
“Isn’t it a bit of a coincidence that his personal residence goes up for sale within days of Nicki’s disappearance?”
“Yeah, of course. But we checked the place out. It’s clean.”
“Exactly.” She nodded emphatically. “Who cleaned it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who cleaned it? From everything you’ve told me, I can’t picture Benny Marscone rolling up his sleeves and diving into a bucket of Pine-Sol. And a home is always prepped before it goes on the market—the real estate agent would have seen to it. Maybe whoever cleaned the place found something that might be useful.”
Sean pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Ian. Within a few minutes, Ian called back. Sean listened intently.
When he disconnected, he leaped up and pulled Maggie into a hug. “I love you, Maggie Callaghan.”
A deep growl sounded from the doorway.
Sean flashed Michael a brilliant smile and released Maggie. “You married a fucking genius, Mick.”
“Good news?” Maggie asked as her husband moved behind her and possessively wrapped his arms around her. She snuggled her backside against him, assuring him of her singular devotion.
“You were dead on, both times. Ian says he’s heard of a couple of renegade teams, one or two in particular that seem promising. He’s going to look closer and call in a couple of favors. And the house? No professional cleaning service within a hundred miles was used. Mick, grab your CSI kit. You and Maggie are going house-hunting.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Nicki’s a Chameleon,” Ian said triumphantly, tossing a file down in front of Sean.
The living space on the second floor of the pub—where Shane, Kieran, and occasionally Sean still lived—had become their center of operations. This was where information was gleaned and shared in their search for Nicki.
“A what?”
“A Chameleon. A member of a highly successful covert ops team specializing in vice—drugs, guns, prostitution. But unlike other groups, this one’s not made up of ex-military or those with traditional training. They pull kids from hopeless situations. The kids give up all ties to family and friends in return for a new life, and the organization basically erases them from modern existence. Then, they’re sent through a couple of years of extraordinarily unconventional training. We’re not sure exactly what that entails, but it’s supposedly intense.”
“She was working a mission here then?”
