Page 18 of Power Term

So that means this man, one of the two who abducted me, is not only someone I know but someone who was on my protection detail.

Trey and T were right all along.

But it’s worse than a mole.

Way worse.

This agent wasn’t just leaking information.

He’s a damn traitor who wants me dead.

Chapter Five

Trey

“Come on, hurry the fuck up,” I demand as the elevator slowly descends toward the lobby. Worry-filled glances are exchanged among the few business-dressed men and women. My impatience and combat attire, plus exposed guns, warrant their unease.

Before the elevator can level off at our destination, I wedge my fingers between two doors and pry them open. An alarm goes off, but I ignore it and the whispers as I rush through the busy lobby and shove through the revolving door. The morning sun’s heat is already brutal in its assault as I step from the shade of the drive-through canopy and onto the sidewalk. Spotting Tank’s idling SUV parallel parked up ahead, I increase my pace, eager to hunt for Smith.

“The hell you wearing, Benson?” Tank asks as I slide into the passenger seat. I slam the door shut behind me with one hand and adjust the cold air flow toward my face with the other.

Before I respond, I shift along the leather until I’m comfortable and secure the seat belt behind my back in case I need to make a quick exit. “They brought the war to me, to my turf. Don’t expect me to get dressed up for their fucking funeral.”

He purses his lips like he wants to make another comment. I dare him with a sharp gaze to question the black cargo pants, black T-shirt, and combat boots. Sure, it’s not standard uniform, but neither are all the exposed weapons. But fuck protocol. Fuck uniforms. Fuck the Secret Service right now. I’m getting my girl back come hell or high water, in one piece, safe, and I’ll burn the world down to do it if that’s what it takes.

“No fucking way I could do what needs to be done in a suit.”

“Are you talking to me or yourself like your crazy girlfriend?”

Turning to the window, I smirk because honestly, I don’t know.

“What did you bring me for breakfast?” Tank asks, eyeing my empty hands as he weaves through traffic toward downtown.

Digging into a side pocket of my cargo pants, I toss one of the two granola bars onto his wide lap. Reaching to my other pant leg, I pull out two travel-size protein shakes. After setting both in the cup holder, I lean back and stare out the windshield.

“It’s all I had. Beth was busy feeding that guy from earlier.” I pause, thinking through the events of the morning for the thousandth time. “I think whoever took Randi would’ve doubled back after everyone was gone to make sure he didn’t leave behind any witnesses.”

“It’s a possibility.” Tank tosses his phone across the console. I snag it midair before it can hit me square in the chest. “Get someone to stake out the area after the scene is cleaned up to watch for any abnormalities.”

With more force than necessary, he flicks the blinker, signaling as we enter the highway.

Running a hand through my hair, I observe the trees and other cars whiz past the window as Tank speeds along the shoulder of the road to miss all the early morning traffic. “We need to be a hundred different places at once right now. Fuck!” I yell, pushing all my frustration into the one word.

“It’s why we have a team, Benson. A solid team. We’re doing the digging while the others are at the site working the investigation with the FBI and Homeland. From there they’ll peel off and search elsewhere. But we’re here. This is our focus. You’re no good to me, or her, scattered.”

A slight vibration along my thigh signals an incoming text or call on my phone I’d shoved deep into a pocket of my cargo pants before running out of the condo earlier. To miss a stalled car, Tank jerks into the HOV lane before weaving in and around the congested four-lane highway. One hand gripping the “oh shit” bar for dear life, I rummage around the few pockets in search for the now silent phone.

Flipping it one-handed, I press the side button to see who reached out. A text box appears from a number not saved as a contact with a thumbnail-size picture attached. Loving a distraction from Tank’sFast and Furiousstyle of driving, I swipe the screen and open the messaging app.

What fills my screen is so unexpected, I can only stare at it for a few seconds.

Everything shuts down. My lungs, my heart, my mind—every cell is nonfunctional as I fixate on the picture of the woman I love. Fear and shock resonate behind her hazel eyes. Blood soils her hairline and speckles her cheeks like red freckles. A blueish tint darkens the fair skin along her forehead down to her cheekbone.

“What’s going on?” I don’t respond to Tank. I can’t. “Trey, answer me.” Eyes wide, I rip my stare from the screen to look unfocused at the driver seat. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

It’s only now I realize trembles are racking my body, the phone in my hand shaking. Pitching forward, I rest my head between my knees and gulp down air to keep me from passing out.

“Randi,” I say between gasps. I hold the phone across the console for him to get a quick glimpse.

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