Page 8 of Gambit
I nod but offer no words of gratitude. If Rafe knows about this mess, he is in just as much shit as the rest of us if he doesn’t tell Damon and he finds out. Judging by the lack of a livid father storming the townhouse to rip us all to shreds, I’d say Rafe has kept quiet.
For now.
Finishing my descent, I join Tarquin, who is already briefing the trackers. His words are clipped and precise: “She knows how to handle herself, but time is against us. She was taken from the edge of the woods at the back of here, but all tracks will have dissolved in this downpour. We need eyes in the sky to find the car.”
“Got it,” one of the team acknowledges, and they start to gear up in the living room, preparing to sweep through the town with the efficiency of seasoned hunters.
“James.” Raphael’s murmur pulls me from the intense huddle. “Be ready.”
“Yeah.” Brushing past him, I take the stairs two at a time, every second dragging out longer than the last. Entering my room, I grab the case containing my sniper rifle.
The case clicks open with a sound that cuts through the tense silence of the room. I reach in, my fingers wrapping around the cool, familiar texture of the sniper rifle’s grip. It’s heavy, solid—like it’s part of me. It steadies my nerves and reminds me what I’m capable of. I snap the case shut, hoisting it under my arm as I pivot on my heels and hurry down the stairs.
“Got your back,” Raphael mutters when I rejoin them. His eyes are sharp, a reflection of the steel in his voice.
Moving into the living room to watch the surveillance team like hawks, leaving Raph to deal with his dad, I slide the case under a side table near the door and then sit back, tension coiled in my gut as I wait for any word of Eliza’s whereabouts. Tarquin is already peering over a guy’s shoulder at the laptop, his finger tracing the map on the screen as Oliver paces back and forth.
“Where are you, Eliza?” I mutter under my breath, feeling every second ticking by like a countdown to something catastrophic.
Rafe sweeps over, his presence heavy and demanding. “Boys,” he starts, his voice as commanding as ever, “remember the stakes. We find her, or we answer to Damon Hughes—and that’s not an option any of us want to entertain.”
I let out a brief, humourless chuckle. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”
He smirks at me and turns back to the screens, leaning over as his eyes laser over the screen. As much as I want to jump up and head out to find her, it’s pointless. This way is quicker but out of my hands. We have to let the team do their work so we can find our girl and bring her home.
5
OLIVER
I can’t sit still.The room is alive with the buzz of technology, screens casting a glow over the tense faces of Carver’s men. I’m pacing, steps measured, each one echoing my rising pulse. Eliza could be anywhere by now, and here I am, useless, wearing a path into the expensive rug that decorates the surveillance hub.
“Anything?” My voice cuts through the low hum of activity. Eyes flick up to mine, then away. They’ve got nothing, and it eats at me.
“Still looking,” someone mutters, their focus pinned on the large monitor where grainy images from the edge of town play in a loop. Trees stand like silent guards at the fringe of the woods, but they offer no clues, no signs of her.
“Zoom in there,” a guy murmurs, voice urgent, finger stabbing at a section of the screen.
It’s nothing. A branch swaying, maybe, or a trick of the light. Not Eliza, not the break we need.
“Keep looking,” I urge, my tone leaving no room for argument. “She’s out there somewhere.”
She’s out there somewhere—alone, in danger, and it’s all our fault. We let her out of our sight, and now she’s gone. Maybe weshould bring Damon up to speed and accept our deaths for being so stupid. Images of her, sharp and vivid, invade my thoughts: her green eyes that sparkle with intelligence, her defiance, her fearless stance in the face of danger. Eliza can take care of herself, but even the strongest have breaking points, and if that cunt has laid a single hand on her, I will chop them off and ram them up his ass.
“Anything out of place, any detail, report it,” I say, my tone clipped and urgent. The team responds with nods, their fingers flying over keyboards, rewinding, fast-forwarding, pausing. They’re good at what they do, the best, but right now, our best isn’t enough.
“We’re trying,” someone grits out, but I’m past the point of consolation. There’s no comfort when the woman you love is in danger.
“Try harder,” I snap. It’s all I can offer; all I can do. I’m not built for waiting, for standing by while she’s out there, alone, potentially... No, I won’t let my mind go there.
“We need to find her.”
The room hums with tension and silent prayers to whatever gods might be listening. My pulse hammers against my temples, each beat a tick of the clock, a reminder of the precious time slipping through our fingers.
“Wait.” A voice cuts through the haze of my anxiety. “There, stop the video.”
James, Tarquin, Raphael and I lunge toward the screen at the same time. On the monitor, a shadow flits across the background—a fleeting moment captured in pixels and data.
“Zoom in on that,” the leader of the team snaps.
