Page 8 of Covert Obsession

That again. Blimey. He’d told Parker the truth—he needed this mission. Capturing his brother’s killers should have filled the bottomless pit of agony and left him a new man—one who could start over. With her. With everything.

Instead, the pit loomed deeper, with no end in sight. Without a purpose, what did he have? A sister who had a husband and two kids and no longer needed him, and a dysfunctional and scarred set of adoptive parents who didn’t.

He was a misfit, unlovable.

Still sinking.You’re the doc, he typed back, grinding his teeth.It’s your game.

He waited for a reply.

Got nothing. Bloody hell.

He peered out the window into the dark.I have Parker.SFI, too. They’ll keep me afloat.

Maybe.

If he couldn’t get his shit together, the two largest containers that kept the apocalypse at bay might dissolve.

Fear. The strongest of motivators. Maybe that’s why Montgomery had sicced that question on him, knowing that he was dancing on a knife’s edge with it.

He shook his head, clearing it.Focus. No distractions. No emotions. Only one end game.

By the time they landed and were in a line of swanked-out SUVs heading for the abduction sight, Moe had locked down all the compartments in his head but one. Lydia Charmaine was five hours missing. Most victims had a twenty-four-hour window before shit hit the fan. He punched the timer on his smartwatch, setting it on a countdown. He had nineteen left to find her.

FIVE

The crash site was undisturbed, the SUV in the ditch. Parker’s boots crunched on the remnants of busted glass, the night heavy and dark outside of the halogen lights Emit had set up. Local police had left it alone due to Jenkins claiming Homeland jurisdiction and handing it over to Emit.

Jenkins had to figure out the red tape wrapped around the incident happening on U.S. soil when it involved a former MI6 operative and a Russian terrorist group. He was counting on SFI to rescue Charmaine before word got out, so they could put a positive spin on it.

In the distance, a coyote howled, raising goose flesh on her arms. Summer here did not keep the nighttime temps from falling into jacket-wearing territory, and she told herself it was the cool mountain air affecting her, rather than the wildlife stalking them in the shadows. “All the windows are intact,” she noted, glancing at Emit. “Where did the glass come from?”

A lanky guy with a brilliant mind, his flashlight beam reflected on the busted pieces. “My vehicles are top-of-the-line with ballistic steel armor plates, transparent armor glass, run-flat tires, and more. Lydia fought her abductors with a bottle of wine. I figured she’d be hungry and tired after the trip, so I sent that and some light snacks.”

The driver was in serious condition. They’d reviewed the footage of the attack, provided by the onboard cameras. Not only were Emit’s vehicles able to withstand gunfire and small explosions, they came equipped with fire suppression and cameras.

He’d run the photo of the van the terrorists had used through his databases and come up blank. The vehicle had no plates and sported blacked-out windows and no distinctive features. They’d probably stolen it from a local junker and rehabbed it for their purposes. It was part of RING’s MO. That, in and of itself, could give them a lead.

“Are there any abandoned warehouses or automotive garages in this area?” Parker asked.

“Twelve miles on the other side of Switchback Mountain is a former Army base.” He pointed behind her. “Fifteen in that direction is an abandoned Air Force base. South of here is an old naval medical facility adjacent to a ghost town. Garages, I’m not sure about, but I can find out.”

Moe stood in the ditch, staring down the deserted highway. “Any or all of those are potential hideouts, but we can’t overlook something right under our noses.”

Parker hated to agree with him but she did, and they didn’t have enough bodies to investigate all the sites thoroughly under their deadline. “How many staff members do you have who can assist us?”

“At the ranch? I have Colton Bells.” At her disappointed look, he asked, “What about a drone? We can scout sites from the air.”

Jeb hooked his thumbs in his pockets, tipping his head back to stare up at the stars. “Beautiful night,” he said to no one in particular.

Moe glanced up as well. “It is that.”

“I hate to interrupt your star-gazing,” she said, wondering if Moe was intentionally being a jackass to get back at her, “but we have work to do. Do either of you have a suggestion on where to start?”

Trace, in the shadows, stepped up to the road, grinning. “Do you want the air or the ground, Jeb?”

“I’ve always fancied flying one of them drones.”

Moe nodded, joining Trace. “I’ll take the ground. My kingdom for a horse.”

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