Page 35 of Power Term

Until all I want is for it to end.

Chapter Ten

Trey

We’ve got something.

Both feet bounce with anticipation, my knees bobbing relentlessly with the movement as we speed back across town. I rake my fingers through my disheveled hair for what might be the thousandth time today, my nerves maxed out with the news that was relayed only moments ago.

Good news.

Fucking finally.

We were just pulling out of Rosen’s estate after passing off the scene to the herd of FBI agents when the call came through, disrupting our original plan of posting up at Tank’s to dig into Whit’s background while we waited for a new lead. But that research will have to wait.

Because we have a fucking lead.

Tires screech against the blacktop as Tank swerves through the light traffic, slamming his hand on the horn, urging people to get the hell out of our way. The call came from one of Smith’s buddies at Homeland who was able to approximate a four-block radius from where the person was when they sent the photo of Randi to me.

The way this technology finds a location without the phone physically being on and with a more precise radius than ever before is new and only available to Homeland. Which means whoever took Randi didn’t know about it or they wouldn’t have sent the picture in the first place. It’s amazing—and a bit creepy—what Big Brother is capable of these days in its ability to spy on American citizens.

The shrill of an incoming call pierces through my rambling thoughts. The ringing blares through the speakers again, cutting off halfway when Tank answers the call with a push of a button on the steering wheel.

“What did you find?” No hello or how you doing, Tank’s no-nonsense wording mimics his cold tone.

“Nothing good.”

“Tell us,” I snap to the speakers, wishing it was Smith’s face. I swipe both clammy palms along my thighs, wiping the cold sweat onto the black fabric of my cargo pants. We’re close to finding her and those responsible. I can feel it.

“He wasn’t planning to stick around if he is the one associated with the abduction. I found two duffel bags packed, the kitchen cleaned out, and what I assume was a makeshift armory empty.”

“Prints?” It’s a wonder Tank can even follow along with the conversation with his full concentration out the windshield, making sure we don’t wreck or cause someone else to.

“Dusted a few doorknobs and switches. Sent the pictures over to my buddies. We’ll know more about him soon, but I don’t think that will help us find the president. If he’s a contract assassin, it doesn’t matter about his background, only where he is now. And nothing here tells me where he would’ve gone.”

“We’re headed to check out a lead now. ETA ten minutes.” The front right of the SUV comes within inches of clipping a semi’s trailer. Knowing he hates it when I react, I hold in my curse and death grip on the “oh shit” handle. “Make that seven,” I grumble. “Get us there alive, for fuck’s sake. We’re no good to her dead.”

Tank grumbles something I can’t make out as he leans against his door with an arm propped up like he hasn’t a care in the world.

“Text me the location and I’ll meet you there.” Static crackles down the line before the SUV is doused in quiet again. Well, except for Tank’s honking and the offended cars honking back.

“Bye to you too, motherfucker,” I mutter. “After everything we’ve learned today and seeing him in action the last year or so, I’m damn glad he’s on our side.”

“True. He could’ve ended up like the bastard we know as Ponder, taking what he learned at Homeland and using it for his own gain. I wonder if that happens more than we realize.”

“Maybe.” I yank a bottle of water from the side door and twist off the cap. “We need more than this lead though. I don’t think it’ll be enough for us to find her in the time frame we’re working under. Who knows how long she has?” Just saying the words causes my throat to close up with emotion.

His bald head dips in agreement. “There’s one thing we haven’t considered.”

“What’s that?” I ask incredulously. “I’ve gone over this so many damn times in my head it’s all I fucking know.”

“Her.”

“Her? Randi? What do you mean? She’s all I’ve been considering. All I’ve been consumed by since you called me. She is the only thing that matters in any of this.” The hand not holding on for dear life fists along my thigh.

“I’m saying we haven’t considered her as the hostage and what that means to all this. What do we know about her? What have we witnessed since we were assigned to her security detail?”

Inhaling deep, I fight the irritation at my best friend’s words and attempt to process what he’s suggesting.

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