Page 120 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
“Five moves ahead.”
He looks at me like I’m speaking Cantonese. “What?”
In my mind’s eye, I’m at ten thousand feet, looking down at the game board, seeing all the pieces Søren has been moving, all the way back to the beginning.
“That’s what Tabby said about Søren. That he’ll always be five moves ahead of you, no matter how well you plan. Remember our talk about the margay? Søren knew Tabby would pretend to be a baby monkey in distress. He knew that she’d anticipate he’d come for her!”
Downs argues, “Why did he wait until now? He could’ve tried this any time over the last ten years—why now?”
Miranda shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“Downs, get her out of there!”
He snaps at Miranda, “Where is he hiding?”
“I don’t know! He would never reveal that to me, he’s not that stupid!”
I roar, “Get her the fuck out!”
Then his cell phone rings. He snatches it out of his pocket, holds it up to his ear, barks, “What?” He listens for a moment. Then he glances over at me, his eyes wide.
I already know what’s happened.
Thirty-Two
Connor
Hours have passed, and no one is any closer to answers.
The COM center has become government central. Representatives from the CIA, NSA, Homeland Security, the Department of Justice, and the FBI swarm around talking, arguing, theorizing, and generally holding their limp dicks in their hands. There are so many top dogs from so many different agencies, I can’t tell who’s in charge. I’m not sure they know either.
Since all the security cameras were down at the remote detainment center Tabby was taken to, there’s no visual record of what happened inside. And—big fucking surprise—the orbiting satellite was down too, so there are no visuals of what happened outside. All they’ve got so far are seventeen dead guards riddled with bullet holes, one unidentified man in a coma brought on by a traumatic head injury, and a whole bunch of interior steel doors blown apart by small C4 breach charges.
In other words, fuck all.
I’ve been interviewed—again—by everyone. So has Ryan. So has Miranda, who was finally taken away in tears. The entire studio has been shut down. New specialists from every agency are combing through the network and all the data from the phone call between Tabby and Søren, trying to find anything new.
And I’m losing my fucking mind.
“It’s gonna be okay, brother. We’re gonna figure it out,” says Ryan, watching me with worried eyes as I stalk clockwise around and around Tabby’s computer station like a maniac with a severe case of OCD.
“What are we missing?” I ask for the hundredth time, dragging my hands through my hair. “We have to be missing something! She can’t just be gone!”
Agent Chan, sitting despondently at the next station over, says, “It appears that’s exactly the case.”
I swing around and glare at him. Ryan mutters, “Great job, Chan. Wind him up a little more, why don’t you.”
“I’m sorry, but if there were any clue as to her wherea
bouts, we’d have it by now.” More quietly, he adds, “He thought of everything.”
“No. I won’t allow it,” I snarl, making another circle around the desk. “I won’t allow him to just take her like this. I won’t allow him to win. I will not allow him to—”
Tabby’s computer emits a soft, electronic ding.
I abruptly stop and stare down at it. All three monitors are dark, but I know I heard a noise.
Ryan says, “I heard it too. Sounded like an incoming email or something.”
