Page 24 of Oliver

“Stubborn as hell?”

He smirked. “That too.”

I stood and walked over to him. Hesitated. Then hugged him.

Not because I’d forgiven everything.

But because I needed him. He was my father, and he was a Navy SEAL. And I love him. That’s who he was.

And maybe… he needed me too.

13

Oliver

Icalled the team the second I walked out of the sunroom.

This wasn’t just about Emery anymore.

Someone had orchestrated a clean, calculated abduction of a high-profile American athlete, deleted security footage, and buried a burner phone carrying evidence of a covert arms exchange.

And now we had a partial identity: a man with a scar over his left brow, possibly a former military personnel, with access to restricted facilities and international connections.

Whatever Emery saw? It wasn’t just sensitive.

It wasexplosive.

The Golden Team gathered in what we now call the war room at nightfall.

The war room was lit, the table stacked with files, laptops, and enough coffee to fuel a platoon. Cyclone was already pulling traffic cam data. Gage leaned over the back of a chair, eyes narrowed. Raven, sitting against the far wall, checked his gear without saying a word.

River stood at the head of the table, talking to Faron. “Alright, boys. What do we know? Has Emery remembered anything else?”

I stepped forward. “Emery opened a burner phone at her training facility a day before her abduction. She says it had a video showing what looked like a handoff between a U.S. military officer and a civilian with a foreign accent. Possibly arms or intel.”

“Time stamp on the video?” Gage asked.

“She doesn’t remember,” I said. “But she does remember this: one of the men watching her had a vertical scar just above his left eyebrow. Bald. Wore sunglasses indoors. Hung around the facility without talking to anyone.”

Cyclone’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Running facial rec off gym entry logs now. Pulling DOD crossover profiles.”

“We think it might be someone from inside,” I said. “Jason Blake agrees. Could be someone former military, maybe even someone tied to an old op he ran.”

“Damn,” Raven muttered. “So this wasn’t random.”

“No,” River said. “This was silencing.”

I nodded. “And it didn’t work.”

Cyclone glanced over. “I’ve got something. Security footage from the gym one day before she vanished—pulled from a traffic camera outside the back exit. One guy matches the description. Scarred face. Civilian clothes. Followed her out, stayed back, disappeared down the alley.”

“Facial match?” I asked.

Cyclone leaned in. “Working on it… got a partial.”

He hit a key and the screen filled with an enhanced image—grainy, but sharp enough.

Raven stood and stared. “I’ve seen that face.”

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