Page 68 of Don't Let Go

That last was a question for me. Locke was making his way down the street. “Still no eyes on him?” The question asked me a lot of things. Was I worried? Did I want him to find him?

“No, Remy disengage with Reynolds. Leave him in play. We may have compromised ourselves with him but I don’t think so. I’ll keep fishing. Join Locke, McQuade’s gone missing and we don’t have eyes on him.”

Frustration scraped through me. Where the hell was McQuade? Remy left Reynolds as silently as he arrived. I could track him, but I was also scrubbing their surveillance so they couldn’t see him.

At fifty minutes, I activated a ping to hit McQuade’s comm. If it was off, it would still send a signal back. I could triangulate using the signals and that part of town.

“The town isn’t that large,” Remy said as he linked up with Locke. “Which way did he go?”

“Mechanic’s shop.” I answered in unison with Locke. It was also where the ping returned from. “I don’t have eyes, so I can’t see what you’re walking into. They have no cameras there, or if they do they arewellshielded against intrusion.”

Irritating, but if they did have them, I’d find a way to crack it.

“We can handle it, luv,” Remy said, his voice soothing some of the rougher edges of my worries. “Don’t mind McQuade, he’s a cantankerous prick, but he can handle himself.”

Yes, he could. It didn’t mean I had to like it.

Silence relayed down the line. Then Locke said, “We’ve got a car pulling out from behind the shop, it’s heading south and away from town. I got a picture, but couldn’t catch the plate.”

Oh, please let McQuade not be in that car. But I kept my words locked down, not trusting myself. The conversations with the vet and Reynolds may not have netted much, but they had served as a distraction.

“Watch your backs.” The nearest camera I had to their location was rapidly losing them. I couldn’t help them if I couldn’t see what was there.

What was with the cameras on this side? Most of the town had flimsy security but this side was battened down tighter than a skif at the CIA.

“Got him,” Locke said, but the tightness in his voice had me digging my nails into my palms.

“He’s—fine.” I couldn’t get a read on Remy’s tone, was he amused? Annoyed? Or just observant?

“You’re fine…” Locke said, as if belatedly agreeing. “We came to…”

“Save me?” McQuade said, the sarcasm ever present in his voice. “Good job. I’m all safe now.”

Anger struck a match inside of me. He was fine…

“Status?” It came out far more clipped than I cared to admit.

“Bruised, still ugly, and definitely not the best personality,” Locke offered his assessment. “But he took out two guys here. Getting photos for you.”

“I’ve got some info,” McQuade was saying—to them. Not to me. To them. Because he hadn’t turned his damn comm back on. “We should probably blow town for a bit. We might be compromised…”

“What happened?” Remy asked.

“TLDR—someone recognized me. I recognized them. We need to go. I’ll fill you in later.”

I tapped one nail against the desktop as I continued to scroll the images through town—there they were. They were moving at a relaxed, if brisk, pace back to the car. McQuade walked with his hands in his pockets and his chin down.

The air backed up in my lungs as they got closer to the car and I could see them onourcameras. Bruises marked McQuade’s face. There was blood on the corner of his mouth.

His comm was still off.

Then they were in the car and Remy took over the driving with Locke sliding in the back. McQuade was up front.

“We’re secure,” Remy said. “On our way back to you.”

“Brief us now,” Locke said. “She can hear us and she’s already working on a dozen other threads.”

McQuade sighed.

---