Page 5 of Power Term

“I don’t know much, got here a minute before you. Plus I want our take on it all before I listen to their bullshit investigation.”

“Why?” I ask as I crouch low, pressing the tips of four fingers to the road for stability, and inspect the SUV’s undercarriage. Loose pebbles of asphalt crunch under my boots as I swivel in varying directions for different viewpoints.

“We know the standard routine when she visits you, but no one else does. We’re aware of how many cars, agents, the route, backup… that gives us different insight. Not better but different. Now tell me what you see.”

Damn, the man is smarter than most people give him credit for. With his large size, people think he’s all bulk and no brains. But he’s not in charge because of his size and past NFL record. It’s because of this, the way he processes things and sees different angles. On top of that, he’s observant and insightful, two of the main reasons he’s the alpha team lead and we all follow him with our full trust.

A few chunks of dark hair slide across my sticky forehead as I lean closer to the still warm blacktop. I’m no mechanic—I don’t even drive my own car to get serviced, it just magically happens—but the twisted metal beneath the lead SUV looks wrong.

“Did something explode from the ground?” I ask. Knee to the blacktop, I lean closer and inhale. “Smells like explosives, but hell if I know what kind.” Tank’s hulking figure settles beside me to see where I point under the front portion of the undercarriage. “Just there, it’s blackened and twisted.” I stand and step away from the two entangled vehicles to see the picture as a whole with this new slice of information.

“The blast point could be covered up by the debris,” Tank muses through a grunt as he shoves off his thick thighs to stand.

Rock fragments and other questionable material sprinkle from my dirty palm as I rake a hand through my hair.

“This was well thought out, meticulously planned, unlike the prior attempts.” Rounding the SUV, I pause on the other side. Blood drips from the gaps in the metal where the front passenger seat should’ve been. Grief grips my stomach like a tightening fist. I force my gaze away. There’s no need to know who was riding shotgun, or driving, or in the other SUVs. Only one thing matters now, and that’s finding the clues to locate Randi. Then murder the devil behind the abduction.

A vaguely familiar agent approaches, his wide eyes taking in the mess before him. “The FBI director will be here shortly, and ours is back at headquarters reviewing the information as it comes in.” At my side, he takes a deep breath and rests both hands on his hips. “Every single agent was shot in the head point-blank. A few appear postmortem. Whoever did this covered their tracks to make sure no one could identify them.”

“What about the new video surveillance we had installed?” Tank asks, his head on a swivel as he searches the lampposts for our cameras. He requested several to be secured along this route once we realized her visits to my condo would be a weekly routine.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I snap, clenching my jaw so tight the muscles ache. “What do you mean? There can’t be nothing.”

“Whatever stopped the lead SUV also disrupted the video feed. All signals are down in a two-block radius.” Tapping a pen against his palm, the agent takes in the surroundings. “What in the hell was the president doing in this area so early?”

Tank and I exchange a quick look. Neither of us is answering that loaded question.

Clearing my throat, I bring the topic back to the surveillance issue. “I’m no expert, but a sizeable explosion to halt a small motorcade coupled with an EMP of some kind isn’t normal.” I shake my head, trying to get the pieces of information we know to fit together somehow. “That is fucking sophisticated. Who are these assholes?”

I say assholes knowing full well this couldn’t have been done by one man. No, this was a team, a highly qualified and funded team with one objective: Randi, President of the United States. And now they have her. For what—

No, I can’t let my mind go down that dark path. I have to stay here in this moment if I want to help find her.

I swallow hard, my feet moving of their own accord before stopping in front of the open passenger door of the town car. Her flip-flops lie discarded on the floorboard, shimmering drops of crimson dotting the leather. Fear rakes like talons into my chest, stifling my breathing at all the blood. Leaning deeper into the interior, I examine the spray pattern. A spray of tiny droplets and chunks of something coat the back windshield and seat. It’s all covered in sprinkles of red except a small void where she would’ve been sitting.

I shift, turning to the front seat, where it seems most of the blood exploded from. A shouted curse slips as I’m met with a gaping, oozing skull cavity pointing at me from the front passenger seat.

Seeing the dead agent with the back of his head missing shouldn’t fill me with relief, but it does. Because the blood splatter isn’t hers.

It’s not her blood.

I make it a mantra to keep my focus from slipping as I examine the back seat again, hoping to find anything useful. A blinking light from the floorboard on the other side of the car snags my attention.

“Gloves,” I grumble over my shoulder and blindly stretch an open hand behind me.

The soft thin latex glove slapped into my awaiting palm is a complete contrast to the brutality of the incident I’m investigating. It slides easily over my fingers, catching on my sweaty palm. Reaching to the other side, I stretch as far as I can without disturbing the other evidence. With the tips of two fingers, I slide the phone closer until it’s within reach and duck back out of the town car with it carefully cradled in my hand.

With a press of the Home button, the screen flares to life, displaying the red battery in the right-hand corner, several unread texts, and ten missed calls from Taeler. The sliver of optimism that she’d somehow managed to keep the phone and the tracking device within on her through the wreck and abduction dissolves, feeding the worry about how in the hell we’re going to find her in time.

“It’s hers,” I say, dropping it into Tank’s large latex-covered hand.

Arms crossed over my chest, I stare into the dark car. There has to be something we can use; no one’s that good to not leave anything behind.

Diving back into the wreckage, I scour every square inch of the area void of blood splatter, looking for something, anything that will help us find her. If she was fighting, there could be hair, skin, clothing left behind. Unless she was unconscious from the impact of the SUV or drugged.

I shake that thought before it can fester and distract me from the task at hand.

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