Page 101 of Hunted, Season Three

“Oh, I thought that dumb shit was a rhetorical question.”He places his phone on a stand that gives us a profile shot of his face and runs both hands through his slightly shaggy, chestnut hair.“You know considering how I hacked into Pentagon level security to find outwhoandhowyour girl was taken.”

“Very fucking snarky for someone who just learned to ride their bike,” Garcia teasingly scolds on another sip of coffee.

“You just learned how to ride a bike?”Kid curiously asks, voice riddled with excitement.“Type?”

“Ducati Superleggera V4.”Zero energetically waggles his eyebrows.“The Lambo of bikes.”

“I appreciate the comparison, although I don’t appreciate that Ducati isn’t directly owned by Lamborghini.”

“That paperwork ismessssyyyyy,” croons the hacker in glee.“You should see their-”

“Can you two pause your fucking playdate for a moment, so you can trace where a call came from?”

Zero smirks, wets his lips, and says to Kid.“TBC.”

My fiancé happily nods.“TBC.”

Between Garcia’s glaring and mine, that shit’s about to stand for “To Be Cockblocked”.

“Number?”is asked alongside clacking of the keys.

Not recalling it by heart leads to me grabbing my phone.

Bringing it back up.

Scooting a bit closer to Kid as I read them out loud.

“Call originated from these coordinates,” he murmurs prior to reading out the address.“Property owned byAnnabelle Steel.Hosts weddings.Parties.A pony convention last year.”A couple more clicks bring up information we can’t even see a glimpse of due to being on a separate screen.“The sex kind, not the actual animal.”

In spite of my curiosity pleading with me to investigate that, I stay in my lane.“Can you get like a current aerial shot or view of the property or like a heat detection map or something?”

“What?You think I can just hack into some private company’s secure system,” mocks Zero during quicker and louder typing, “highjack one or two of their thermal imagining satellites,” things flashing on and off the screen we can somewhat see make it difficult to indicate if shit’s going right or wrong, “reprogram them to read that particular piece of land,” more seemingly frantic clattering, “and tell you there are nineactivethermal signatures of a human variety spread out across the main property with several smaller ones surrounding the space – most likely wildlife?”He tosses us an overly cocky grin.“Idono, my guy.Seems hard.”

Garcia hides his chortle behind a sip of his coffee.

Oh yeah.

These two fuckers are made for each other.

“That much heat – on a typically empty property – meansthat’swhere they’re held up,” I firmly declare.

“That means that’s where our girl is!”Kid prematurely flies to a better sitting position.“Let’s go get her!”

“Calm down, Superboy,” our attorney quickly insists.“We can’t just storm the grounds –the icy grounds by the way– of the property, halfcocked.We need a plan-”

“The plan is rescue her!”

“That’s not a plan,” Garcia corrects.“That’s anobjective.”

Irritation shoots from my future husband prompting me to rest my palm on his thigh once more.“Breathe, Kid.” The glare I’m given is immediately returned.“Now.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, ultimately whimpering through the agony.

“That,” I calmly reiterate.“Thatis why we need a plan.”

His body gingerly reclines back to its previous position.

“We’re tryin’ to minimize the risks of injuries and potential loss of our lives.”

---