Page 81 of Rogue Voice

Though his voice was calm, Rogue could smell the despair rolling off Thorne in thick waves.Fuck.He owed this man. He owed him more than he could ever repay. “Tell us,” Rogue said. “Whatever it is, we will see it through.” At least, he would. No matter what.

Four other heads nodded quickly. “You can trust us.”

Thorne inclined his head. “I do trust you. I trust you with my life. But this is more important than my life.” Thorne’s dark eyes went glassy. His hand curled around the wooden terrace railing as if to steady himself, in an uncharacteristic display of weakness. The man wasn’t used to asking for help. Dark moved one step closer but stopped just shy of touching Thorne.

Thorne’s voice was softer than they’d ever heard it before. “A long time ago, I was involved in a mission that resulted in an innocent woman’s death. She died in my arms, but just before she did, I promised her I would never stop looking for her son.”

Fuck.

Griffin was the first to react. “Where was this?”

A valid question, but Rogue had a more pressing one. “How long have you been looking for him?” he asked.

“The child was little more than a baby. Which would make him … eleven years old now.”

“Where, Thorne?” Griffin pressed. “Was this when you were with Interpol?”

Rogue knew why Griffin was asking. Interpol was considered a politically neutral agency—they didn’t usually get involved in issues that were military in nature.

Thorne shook his head. “Before that,” he said on a soft exhale. “When I was with the SIS.”

The Secret Intelligence Service. Also known as MI6.Well, that explains a lot.

Their handler had conducted overseas operations, providing intelligence to the UK government. Which went a long way towards explaining why he’d always been so careful not to speak of his past.

“If you want our help,” Dark said easily, “you’re going to have to give us some details.” Thorne released his hold on the balcony railing and took a deep breath.

“I know. My team and I were working in Somalia in 2013. Maryam was an aid worker at a camp for internally displaced persons in Mogadishu.”

“A refugee camp?” The question came from Slate. Thorne nodded.

“Maryam and I became close … no, not like that. But we were friends. She and her son had been granted refugee status. They were just waiting for their trip to be organized. Then one night, the covert paramilitary team we’d been training raided the camp. The children were taken. Even the young ones, the ones who could hardly walk.” Thorne’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I arrived too late to protect Maryam, but I promised her I would look for Modi.”

Shit.That was one fucked up situation.

“He’s still in Somalia?” Griffin asked.

“As far as I know, he never left the country. For years, I followed every single lead. There were so many lost children. Some, I was able to reunite with their families. But not Modi.”

“Ten years is a long time, Thorne. Even if you find him—” Dark didn’t need to finish that sentence.

“I know,” Thorne said. His eyes darkened. “I know. But I have to keep trying. His name is Modi Noor.”

Rogue’s mind was going a mile a minute. Thorne was well-connected in the international intelligence community. If he hadn’t been able to find the boy, doing so now, so many years later, wasn’t going to be easy. And the last thing he wanted was to get Thorne’s hopes up.

But Rogue wasn’t going to let it lie. He had to help Thorne. He owed this man more than his life. He owed him his happiness. And technology had evolved—there were things that maybe hadn’t been possible ten years earlier, but that might be possible now. There were things he had to check, and people he had to speak with.

“Give us some time to look into it, Thorne,” Rogue said carefully.

Thorne nodded, looking embarrassed now. “This is my problem. I shouldn’t?—”

“You’re the one who said we’re a team, Thorne,” Slate said, and though his tone was light, his blue eyes shone fiercely. “Have you changed your mind?”

Thorne’s hands curled into a fist. “No.”

“Then let us look into it,” Rogue said. Thorne stiffened as the door to the terrace opened and Bea walked outside. She was wearing dark blue jeans with an off-the-shoulder red top that highlighted her slim curves. She looked radiant, like someone who’d come into herself in the last few weeks.Like someone who can finally breathe freely.

“Hi,” Bea said.

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