Page 23 of Power Term

A sharp ring blares through the SUV’s speakers, cutting my rambling internal thoughts on Smith and his life choices.

Both brows shoot up my forehead at the name listed on the display screen.

Agent Smith.

With a quick press of a button, Tank ends the near shrill ringing. Static crackles through the empty space before settling into silence.

“Smith.” Tank’s deep voice rumbles through the cab. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Unavailable. I just caught the news. Where do you need me?” If he can sense the impatience from Tank’s clipped words, he doesn’t let on. Hell, his even tone makes me think he’s bored, which pisses me right the fuck off.

“Why don’t you call your mom and get caught up to speed with her side of the investigation first?” I snap.

A long pause fills the car. I watch the little time counter tick up in seconds, waiting for him to respond to my jab.

His heavy sigh blows over the mouthpiece. “What all do you know?”

“Everything. She told us everything. Now get your motherfucking shit together, Smith, and help us find her.” A full-body tremor racks my body with the impatience racing through me. “We’re headed to check out that fuckstick of a secretary of state.”

“Good thinking. There’s something off about him,” Smith muses, clearly unruffled by my obvious anger.

“We have a witness who says one of the men running away from the scene was in a suit.”

“You’re thinking it was an agent and was in on it somehow.”

“We do. Any thoughts on where we should focus after we question Rosen?” I hold in a breath, allowing a slow burn to tighten my lungs. We need another lead, something other than a damn inkling from the Russian president.

“I do,” Smith responds calmly.

“Care to share?” Tank snaps, slamming the heel of his left palm against the dash, startling me. This man treats his SUV like his only child normally and never takes his anger out on it. Seems like it’s not only me with emotions running unchecked. “She’s running out of time.”

“She is. I’ll call you back.”

Without another word, the bastard ends the call.

Tank shoots a dark look my way, promising retribution on Smith for hanging up on us, before turning his attention back out the windshield.

As he drives us toward Rosen’s place, we use the downtime to talk over what we know and strategy for interrogating the secretary of state. By the time the large spacious estates with perfectly groomed yards and mature trees fill every window, we’re forty minutes from downtown and have a solid plan in place.

We’re still not moving fast enough. We need to be doing more, finding more. We’re racing a doomsday clock, the time seeming to tick faster as the hours pass without her in my arms. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running out of time. Thatshe’srunning out of time.

Stay strong, Mess. Stay strong and wait for me.

* * *

Unease churns my gut, twisting my insides as we speed down the pristine drive of Todd Rosen’s massive home—mansion, really. There’s no way this fool Rosen makes enough from his salary to afford something like this in this area. Before Birmingham pulled him out of obscurity, Todd Rosen was a nobody, so how does someone like him have all this?

“Family money?” I question, my hand hovering over the chrome door handle, readying to push it open the moment we come to a halt.

“Not that I know of. You know that tool would’ve mentioned coming from money when he made a try for our girl that time a couple years back when she was still VP. Remember that?”

“Don’t remind me,” I growl at my friend.

The SUV slows to a crawl as we round the front drive and come to a stop directly in front of the steps leading to the wide double front door. My boots slam onto the pristine white concrete drive moments after Tank shifted the SUV into Park.

I survey the entire area as I approach the steps and begin the short climb to the front door. Professionally sculpted hedges and brilliant flowers line the circular pull through. A high-tech security camera points directly at me with another two or three lining the edge of the brick home.

I squint, fighting off the late morning sun as it sears my eyes, making me regret forgetting the agency-issued sunglasses at home. “But the rest of that statement was true about him being a tool and flaunting his money if he had it. So then what’s all this?” I wave toward the colonial-style home, immaculate grounds, and… fuck, is that a fountain I hear nearby?

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