Page 189 of Captive Omega

I don’t care about any of that shit.

I just want an address for the guy who shot Resa.

I hadn’t thought Resa was capable of killing before she admitted it. That doesn’t change my opinion of her, but I worry. Some people can shrug off a kill and move on with their life. An experience like that leaves scars and Resa has enough from what was done to her. I don’t want her to have more.

“You think her baby is going to be okay?” Frost stops typing to look at me.

I nod, but I don’t know. None of us do. Not Garrison, and probably not even Sadie. We can only hope.

Frost turns back to the monitor and pauses security footage of a thin man with dark hair in khaki fatigues. He perches on a tree with a rifle scope pointed into our garden.

He didn’t trip our motion sensors because he stayed firmly on the other side, and our cameras only caught him because we had an exact place to look for him. Just because we have security doesn’t mean everyone else does.

“Billy O’Brien of Hancock Security. He’s the one in charge. When he was through shooting Resa, he was down that tree and in a white sedan under two minutes later.” Frost resumes scrolling through reams of intel.

I could call in some of the Ever Safe staff. John would have my back if I asked. Cynthia doesn’t know how to shoot, but she wouldn’t hesitate to say no. Zach would drop everything and come running. And Bee? Bee would have cooked up something explosive with her fancy degree. The fewer people involved in this, the better.

I need Roman to watch the house, and Garrison needs to focus on Resa.

I’ll see about Blaine after, but for him to bolt for Frost’s house does not bode well for his state of mind. Frost has a keypad lock on his front door, so he never has to worry about losing keys. If Frost’s phone hadn’t pinged when Blaine let himself in, none of us would have even known where he’d gone.

“Send that list of known addresses to my phone. The same for Nathaniel Lang.” I glance at the clock hanging over the wall. 2 p.m. doesn’t leave me a lot of time to do the reconnaissance I need to.

“Alone?” Frost’s face is expressionless.

I push myself to my feet and walk away before he can tell me how bad of an idea this is. I know. Will it change my mind about what needs to happen? Not a chance in hell.

“Yes, alone. I doubt anyone will try anything so soon, but stay inside and keep a close eye on the monitors. Call if anything happens.”

I make a quick detour to one of the reception rooms that we turned into a mini shooting range, complete with fully soundproofed walls, and a closet where I store the bulk of my weapons.

It takes five minutes to fill a duffel with everything I need, stuff a black hat on my head to cover my distinctive blond hair, and leave the house, heading for my Jeep.

On my way to my car, I call Blaine. It’s not my first attempt. The result is the same. It rings out. I’d send a text but it would be a waste of time. He wouldn’t read it.

I hang up and scan the addresses Frost sent to my phone. I skip over the addresses registered to Hancock Security. That would be too obvious. Instead, I start with the addresses connected to their employer, Nathaniel Lang.

I strike out at the first two addresses. I’d known I would. When you work security, it’s good to have a few addresses no one knows about.

The nasty-looking office space in the not so nice part of town has no connection to Hancock Security, but it does to Nathaniel Lang.

He leased the office space three years before. There’s no reason why he would.

As I drive past, I spot a white sedan parked out front. I don’t slow or even turn my head. I note the other businesses on the road before I park a few feet from the office space. Then I cut the engine and drag a large map from my glove compartment.

I’m not looking at the map. I have all my attention focused on that ugly ass office with the tinted glass window.

No one enters or leaves in the ten minutes I sit in my car.

I return my map to the glove compartment and grab my duffel from the passenger seat. I climb out of my car, heading for the laundromat across the road. The front shutters are twisted, like someone broke into the rundown and closed building at one point and no one cared enough to fix it, which makes it perfect.

I slip my knife from my pocket, give the quiet streets a cursory glance one way, then another, and do what I came here to do.

Breaking in takes seconds.

I walk into a dust-filled stale smelling space covered with old trash and rusting washing machines. Bypassing the mess, I walk up the stairs to the second floor.

Finding a window that offers a nice view of the front of that office building takes longer than it took to break in, and that’s only because I check to make sure no one is watching when I force a window open a crack.

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