Page 77 of Shea's Hero

“Right.” I give her a little smile. “And just think, since we ended up having to take the morning off, after this, we can go home and…”

Her lips lift. “Another shower? And mini-golf?”

Kane groans. “Guys. I’m right here.”

“What?” I ask innocently. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Right.” He shakes his head. “Like you’re just?—”

But he cuts himself off as the back door opens.

“Hey, guys.” Cole gives us a tight smile as he greets us. “Come on in.”

Shit. That’s the first sign that this isn’t good news.

As we walk inside, Shea blurts, “Is everyone okay? No one’s hurt, are they?”

Cole slows, glancing over his shoulder at Shea as he replies, “Everyone’s fine, Shea.” Regret flickers across his face as he adds apologetically, “I’m sorry you were worried.”

Her shoulders sag with relief. “No, it’s okay. I just… I started imagining the worst.”

“Understandable,” he replies. “It’s a stressful situation. I know I’ve jumped to worse-case scenarios myself in the past. But it’s not bad. I promise.”

I notice he doesn’t say it’sgoodnews, though.

By the time we get to the conference room, my patience is hanging by a thread. Normally, I don’t have a problem waiting for information—if I did, I would have gone crazy back when I was working for the CIA—but this time is different.

As we file into the large room, I spot Leo at the long wooden table, his laptop in front of him. He looks up, his expression solemn as he sees us, and he gives me and Kane quick chin lifts in greeting. Then he turns his attention to Shea, his features softening into a warm smile. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming in so quickly.”

We all take seats around the table, Shea to the left of me, and Kane on her other side. Cole sinks into the leather chair at the head of the table and picks up the tablet in front of him, flippingthe cover open and scanning the screen. A few moments later, once we’re all situated, he says, “Okay, I know you’re eager to hear what Leo found. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more info over the phone, but I think you’ll understand once you see it.”

He glances at Leo, and they exchange a quick look. Then Leo says, “Right. I’ll get right to it. You know I’ve been searching through security footage, trying to get a hit on any of the men involved. I’ve looked at the exterior security cameras around the Hop-less Horseman, doorbell cameras for the houses surrounding Shea’s, and traffic light cameras in both areas.”

Cole jumps in. “There are hundreds of cameras, and many of them required some… creative methods of access. But Leo’s been working at it every day.”

“Of course,” I agree quickly, glancing from Cole to Leo. “We know. And we really appreciate it.”

“Ireallyappreciate it,” Shea echoes.

“Of course,” Leo replies. “This involves everyone here. Not just because Elle and Jade were also involved at the Hop-less Horseman, but because you’re family, Shea. So we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe.”

Shea stares at him for a second. Her chin wobbles. Her fingers tighten around mine. In a low voice, she says, “Thanks, Leo. Cole. It really means a lot.”

Leo’s cheeks go pink. Then his gaze dips to his laptop, and he taps a few keys. “Cole. Can you turn on the screen? So I can show everyone?”

Cole reaches for the remote on the table. A moment later, the screen on the wall turns on, displaying Leo’s desktop on it. Another click, and a video appears, paused to show a vantage point from one of the traffic lights near Shea’s house in White Plains.The time stamp shows it’s from the day Shea was attacked, just about ten minutes past when she called me.

“Okay,” Leo continues. “So if you watch—” He unpauses the video. “You’ll see the truck coming up to the light…”

And just as he says, a delivery truck comes rushing up to the traffic light, obviously traveling much faster than the speed limit. Then Leo pauses it again, catching a freeze-frame of the van’s windshield and a man behind it. The lower part of the driver’s face is still masked by an obviously-fake chin and mustache, but his nose and eyes are fully exposed.

“Ideally, I’d have more of his face to go on,” Leo adds. “But this was the only shot I could get. So I ran the partial through my facial recognition software, hoping to get a hit.”

“And?” Leaning forward, I pin him with my gaze. “I’m assuming you found something?”

“It took longer than I would have liked.” He frowns as he looks at the screen. “I couldn’t get anything for days, which made me think he might be from another country.” He opens another window on his laptop screen and resizes them so the two are side by side. In one window is the partially disguised attacker, in the other, a man I’ve never seen before.

“Last night, I finally got a match,” Leo says. “This man. His name is Sergey Antonov. Last known location is Moscow. He’s a low-level criminal there, mostly hires himself out as muscle, intimidation, plus some occasional drug running.” He looks at me. “Do you recognize him?”

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