Page 66 of Shattered

“I tagged her.”

“Smart fucking kid,” Riley muttered.

“Pull it up, Jett.”

Putting a knee to the floor behind him, I stared at the mostly black screen. Seconds passed. Minutes. Then a map of the city popped up with a red flashing dot in the middle.

“Holy fuck,” I wheezed. “We’ve got her.”

It wasn’t exact, but it gave us a starting point for the search.

Riley lowered to his haunches in front of us. “Jett, send that link to my phone.” He rattled off a bunch of numbers, then his steely gaze found mine.

“I’m on this.” He opened his mouth to argue, but there was no way he’d win this one and he knew it. “I’ll call my boss if I have to. She’ll rain down holy hell, along with the full weight of the FBI, so fast your head will spin.”

“We do this right,” he acquiesced. “As much as I’d love to go in guns ablazing, we have to play it smart. My man is on his way to look at the security feeds. We need to know who’s behind this, then we’ll know why.”

“Agreed. But he better be quick, otherwise I’m vapor. And my guns won’t be blazing, they’ll be a motherfucking inferno.”

The hospital security office and the one next to it had turned into ground zero. A half a dozen SFPD drug task force officers filled the space within ten minutes of Riley’s call. There was enough firepower in these two rooms to supply a small army, not that it mattered. Nothing did until we had a firm location and the person responsible.

“Donotgive into the darkness, brother. Fight it back.” Keaton’s voice was hard to hear above the flurry of activity going on around me. “We’re on the way. Me, Henley, and Duncan will be there in less than four hours.”

“See you soon.” I hung up.

Four hours would be too late, though I didn’t need to tell him that. The chances of us finding her unscathed dwindled with every tick of the clock.

When the older man at the console pulled up the video from outside of the elevator, Jett practically shoved him outof the way. The kid was on a mission and far be it from me to stop him. Right then his determination was just about the only thing keeping my sanity in check.

All eyes were glued to the large monitor as Jett fast-forwarded through hours of video until he found what we needed. Then I watched helplessly while my Angel fought like hell against a man I’d never laid eyes on before. A man who’d regret the day he was born after I got ahold of him.

“I should’ve helped her.”

The scene continued to play in the background as I split my focus between it, and the sixteen-year-old who was on the verge of breaking.

“Are you seeing the same thing I am, kid?” Laying my hand on his shoulder, I squeezed. “Look at that monitor. There was nothing you could do except what you did. You came to me. And you did it smart. Slipping that tracker in her back pocket was fucking genius, Jett.”

“Wait. Back up.” Riley leaned close. “There was a clear shot of his face.”

The guy was solidly built with dark hair, cold eyes, and a nasty scar which bisected his left eyebrow.

“Son of a bitch.” He shoved away from the desk, turning to his second-in-command, Reed. “Get eyes on Macha. Now!”

“Macha?” It all started to click into place. “As in the leader of Los Tredos? Victor Macha?”

“Yeah. That’s Brian Sweets. He’s lower-level muscle for the gang.”

“This isn’t about me, is it?” The room went static with my question. I knew I’d hit the nail on the head when Riley flicked his head down, then left. I’d watched him do the same move hundreds of times when we were kids. I tookone menacing step forward, then another. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“I officially requested to have the investigation into Dad’s death reopened.”

“What else?” I seethed. “We both know Macha didn’t pull the trigger. Having some desk jockey looking into a ten-year-old murder wouldn’t even phase him. Certainly not enough to havemy wifekidnapped.”

“Clear the room,” he commanded.

Whatever he’d done, he hadn’t shared with his colleagues, which also meant it may have skirted the gray side of legal. When it was just the two of us left, he sat with his head in his hands. I joined him. My big brother. The man who cheered the loudest at my high school and FBI graduation ceremonies. This was eating him up more than anything I could ever do or say.

“Talk to me, Ry.”

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