Page 67 of Operation Heartbeat

Denver entered the building that appeared to be unoccupied at first glance. Con placed a hand on her spine, guiding her inside next.

She paused in the space. Darkness closed in around her.

Con’s voice brushed over her ear. “It’s okay, Sophie. We’re safe here.”

Safe. Why did that word feel so hollow? Was anything safe anymore? Not even Bayar, a criminal welded deep in this terrifying underworld, had survived.

She kept her gaze fixed on Denver’s back as he navigated several dark rooms. At one point, she caught the scent of something earthy, like dust settled in the crevices of old wood.

Finally, he opened a door. Light flooded out, and Sophie blinked, taking in a knot of men, all enormous and familiar to her. Their conversation stopped abruptly, and they looked from Denver to Con and finally at Sophie.

She was looking at Mason when his attention dropped to where her hand was joined with Con’s between their close bodies.

He flashed a smile at her that lit up his eyes. “Welcome to the safe house, Sophie. I’m guessing you’ll be sharing a room with our leader.”

* * * * *

Con poked his head into the kitchen and centered his gaze on Denver. His brother-in-arms was raiding the refrigerator.

“Good to see some things never change.”

Denver quirked a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. After the injuries he’d sustained in Italy just weeks before, it was no wonder. He had more healing to do, but fact was, on Blackout, none of them had much time for nursing wounds, physical or otherwise.

It still surprised the hell out of Con that he’d made his way back to them. None of them thought Denver would survive his injuries let alone make such a quick recovery.

Denver met his gaze. “When you grow up with so many siblings the way I did, you eat before there’s nothing left.”

Con flicked his head toward the door. “Meeting.”

His brother-in-arms crushed the top slice of flatbread onto his sandwich and gathered it off the plate to take with him.

Con led the way into the living area, the nerve center of the safe house. A battered coffee table sat in the middle of the room, encircled by a mishmash of chairs ranging from heavy leather upholstery to a rickety one that appeared to be hand-constructed of wood. Maps and satellite images were spread out on the table.

He joined his team that was already gathered around, waiting to hear the plan. When he dropped into a seat, Denver took one adjacent to him and dug into his sandwich like theydidn’t feed him in that hospital, but Con knew firsthand that Swiss hospitals tended to take very good care of American military.

He looked around, making sure that Sophie hadn’t slipped in when he wasn’t looking. He’d tucked her into bed with a lingering kiss between her brows and a promise that he’d return as soon as he could.

As he started to straighten to leave her, she’d gripped his shirt front and held him there. “When you come back, I would like some answers too.”

Who knew what questions his beautiful little professor had come up with. Even though he didn’t know what he was agreeing to, he nodded.

After he pondered the conundrum for a beat, he kicked off the meeting. He cleared his throat, and all eyes snapped to him.

On the coffee table was a map of Istanbul. Using a knife blade—all he had at hand—he pointed to a spot in the right corner. “This is where Bayar was recently found dead.” He picked up a photo of how the man was found.

Nobody winced or turned their gazes away from the photo. They were well accustomed to death and gore, but this was one example of why he didn’t want Sophie present.

“The CIA is investigating Bayar’s—”

His phone buzzed, cutting him short. He set the knife on the table to take the call.

The caller’s tone wavered. “This is Deniz.”

Con put the call on speaker. “Go ahead, Deniz.”

“I attended the concert as I was instructed. Nobody approached me there. No contact was made.”

“Yes, we know.”

---