Page 103 of Critical Doubt

"There were three of them," the man said. "They've been here since Sunday. Paid me in cash. But both their vehicles are gone. Saw 'em leave last night. Never came back."

"Did you get a license plate on either vehicle?" Savannah asked.

"No, we don't do that here. No cameras in the lot, either. Our guests like privacy. But one was driving a big gray truck. The other was in a silver sedan, looked like a rental car."

"Thanks," Savannah said.

"I wish we'd gotten license numbers," he said, as they left the office.

"That would have been helpful, but we can check traffic cameras in the area to see if we can pick up either vehicle."

"You're always thinking."

"It's what I do."

"You're good at it."

"I have to be. Otherwise, I don't catch the bad guys," she said lightly.

He had to admit as pissed off as he'd been about her calling in Parisa before he had a chance to really talk to Todd, Savannah was a damned good partner.

They made their way up to the second floor and paused on either side of the door, guns drawn.

Savannah knocked on the door and said, "Room service."

There was no answer. She used the hotel key to open the door, and they moved into the room in perfect sync. There were two double beds and a pullout couch, all of which were unmade. There was a pile of junk food wrappers and bags on the table and empty beer bottles and energy drink cans on the dresser.

"Your friends are slobs," Savannah commented, as she tucked her gun into the back of her jeans. "Apparently, unlike you, they forgot their military training." She walked over to the table and moved a bag from Big Fat Taco to the side. "Wait a second." She pulled a piece of paper from under a taco wrapper. "Look what we have here."

He was at her side in an instant, peering over her shoulder at a road map. "That looks like a service road off the main highway." He studied the map with a critical eye. There were several Xs marked in various locations along the road. "They're setting up a perimeter. This is the intercept site."

"But how will they get the truck off the highway and onto the service road?"

"They'll block the highway in some way—a vehicle fire or a broken-down truck blocking all lanes. The only way out will be this road." He felt like he was back in the military again, assessing a target, calculating different scenarios, weighing the risks, the opportunities for success or failure.

"That makes sense. But the truck would certainly have other armed security besides Hank on board."

"That person could be in on it, too. If Hank is driving the truck, he could take the service road because of said blockage, which will make sense if someone checks the GPS. He could even radio in that he's taking a different route. He stops the truck. The rest of the team moves out at least some of the weapons, maybe not all. Maybe just enough to escape immediate notice."

"Or Mason will just tamper with the inventory. I saw inventory sheets on his desk. That's his job."

"Exactly."

"I need to call this in."

As Savannah got on the phone, he looked around the room, hoping for more clues, but there wasn't much else to see. There was one duffel bag on the floor. He guessed that belonged to Todd. He put it on the bed and riffled through it, pausing at two framed photos. The first one was of the team, taken probably three or four years ago.

He sucked in a quick breath at the sight of the seven of them, looking so young, so alive, so invincible. They'd been deployed to Afghanistan and even in the hot desert, they'd thrived as a team. It hurt to look at them now, to know that the dark-haired, dark-eyed Leo who had dreamt of being a pilot would never see that dream come true, that Carlos with his olive skin and laughing eyes would never laugh again, would never see his wife or his four young children, the oldest only eight, the twins only two.

And then there was Hank, bare-chested, as he always preferred to be, sporting a thick dark beard and sunglasses, Paul with his sandy-brown hair and boyish charm, Todd, with his dirty-blond hair, dragging on a cigarette.

His gaze came to rest on himself, on the warrior he'd once been: courageous, fearless, unwilling to look at any obstacle as anything but a challenge. He'd been their leader, their friend, their brother, their confidant. But maybe that's the way he'd seen it, and not the way they'd seen it. Because he realized now that he was a bit removed from the group, a foot of space between him and the next guy.

Had he always been just that little bit separate? Had he had his walls up even before his injuries, before the bells began to chime?

Frowning at that question, he moved on to the next photo and found himself looking at a very young Todd. He was probably ten in the photo, and he was sitting next to his mother in front of a very tall Christmas tree. She had her arms wrapped around him and was planting a kiss on his cheek. She was young, blonde, pretty, her face lit up with happiness.

This was the woman Todd had done this for—the mother he'd already lost to Alzheimer's but still felt a desperate need to take care of.

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