43. Fault Lines
43
FAULT LINES
Maya was already reading Richardson’s body language as he swept into the tactical room. Seven years in Homicide had taught her to catalog the subtle tells—the too-precise timing of his concerned expression, the calculated urgency in his stride, the way his eyes flickered over tactical displays before settling on the admiral.
“John.” He gripped the admiral’s shoulder. “What do you need? Sentinel resources are at your disposal. Sky’s the limit.”
Through the surveillance feeds, Maya watched Jack’s team silently securing positions around the building’s perimeter. On her tactical display, Star’s fingers flew across keys, manufacturing the appearance of desperate search patterns.
“First,” the admiral gestured to the screens, “I need to understand what happened with Pantone.”
Richardson’s pause was microscopic. “Awful business. Internal investigation is ongoing, but I haven’t had direct contact with him in weeks. Man went completely dark on us.”
Maya caught her father’s subtle head tilt—he’d spotted something too. Richardson’s right hand tapped twice against his leg as he spoke. Classic tell.
“The biological passport situation,” the admiral said. “We traced it back to him.”
Richardson’s mask slipped for just a fraction of a second. “I ... what situation?”
As the admiral outlined their findings, Maya noticed Axel go rigid by the window. His face had drained of color, eyes fixed on Richardson with shocked recognition. Before she could move, Austin had positioned himself nearby, ready to intervene.
Then Maya saw it—a pattern in the data scrolling across her screen. Encrypted transmissions piggy-backing on Richardson’s arrival signal. She glanced at Ronan, saw him tracking the same anomaly.
“The important thing now,” Richardson pivoted smoothly, “is finding Minerva. Have the kidnappers made any demands?”
“They have,” the admiral said heavily. “Very specific ones.”
Richardson leaned forward, concern perfect except for the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Tell me everything. Maybe I can help negotiate ...”
Knight looked like he’d just aged decades. “They want Quinn, Reinhardt, and Detective Chen. That’s not going to happen.”
“John.” Richardson’s voice carried careful concern. “That’s poor tactical thinking, my friend. Think about what you’re saying. Your wife’s life?—”
“I won’t hand innocent people over to kidnappers.” The admiral’s tone was steel.
Despite Knight’s refusal, Jack’s team shift subtly closer to their positions. Christian blocked the exit while Jack, Austin and Ethan separated her and Ronan from Axel and the rest of Ronan’s team.
She went cold.
An act, right?
Richardson crossed to the tactical display, his concern sharpening to something harder. “Who says they’re innocent? Have you seen the evidence against them? Because I have. Even if they’re innocent of the charges, which I highly doubt, they’re only going to compromise this rescue. Look at them, John. Really look. Quinn’s running a fever that should have him hospitalized. Detective Chen’s emotional involvement has compromised her judgment. And Reinhardt ...” He gestured at Axel’s rigid stance by the window. “I read the man’s file. He’s clearly unstable.”
Knight looked like he’d swallowed dirt. “You’re out of line, Buck.”
“Am I?” Richardson’s mask slipped, showing something cold beneath. “Or am I the only one willing to state the obvious? You have three compromised operatives making increasingly dangerous decisions in a hostage situation. Operatives who could be used to save your wife’s life. You need to be clear here, John.”
Maya saw Jack’s team continuing their careful repositioning—subtle movements that looked random but were cutting her, Ronan, and Axel off from the rest of the room. Professional. Practiced.
“Secure them.” Richardson’s authority filled the room. “Now. Before their instability gets someone killed.”
“How dare you—” Victoria started forward, but Austin smoothly intercepted her, gripping her upper arms.
Richardson’s hand moved to his jacket pocket. “Think about your position, John. We’ll do our best to rescue Minerva without having to negotiate, but what if we fail? Can you really tell me you’re not willing to trade these … folks … for your innocent wife?”
Maya watched the trap closing. Saw the team’s growing tension as they recognized what was coming.
“But I’m jumping the gun here. All I’m saying is they need to be contained until we see where this goes,” Richardson continued, voice hardening. His eyes locked with Knight’s. “Make the hard call, John. Before someone else makes it for you. Your wife is counting on you. So is your team.”
Christian clapped his hands together, shooting Richardson a heartfelt look. “Copy that, sir. If these three are dirty, we’re gonna look like fools.”
“Or co-conspirators,” Richardson added ruefully. “You’re better than that. All of you.”
The Knight Tactical operatives in the room jumped on that, each playing to Richardson’s point, showing shock. Anger. And in a brilliant touch, disappointment in their leader.
And concern. The kind you showed for a doddering uncle long past his prime.
The silence stretched razor-thin. Then the admiral broke … or pretended to break.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She lifted a prayer for their safety. And for Mrs. Knight. Because if Admiral Knight wasn’t the best actor she’d ever seen … she and Ronan and Axel might well not survive this.
Shrinking before her eyes, Knight gestured weakly. “Jack.”
“Sir?”
“Secure Quinn, Reinhardt, and Agent Chen.”
Maya’s father stepped forward, face thunderous.
“John, no—” Victoria’s protest cut through the room.
“Either shut up,” the admiral’s voice could have frozen flame, “or you can join them. In fact, you need to be secured. Maya’s father, too.”
“I’m on it,” Ethan announced, shoving back from the table. “Ma’am?” He gestured toward the exit. Ronan’s mom shot him a deadly look before flouncing out ahead of him.
“Put those two vets with them,” the admiral called out after him.
Jack and Christian stepped forward to secure the three of them while the others watched Ronan’s friends for any signs of heroics, but none of his people moved. They managed to look both concerned, and relieved.
At least she hoped their expressions were acting.
Christian whispered, “Be ready for anything,” as he secured her wrists.
Richardson swept the three of them with a critical eye before clapping his old friend on the shoulder. “That’s the right move, John. Trust me.”
Gaze haunted, the admiral pressed a hand to his belly, as if trying to tamp down a wave of nausea. Which, given the circumstances, could be all too real. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
Richardson’s satisfaction was palpable now. But he missed what Maya saw—the team’s silent communication, their practiced movements, their absolute trust in each other and their leader.
“Look,” Richardson continued. “We don’t necessarily have to turn these three over. Between your operatives and mine, it’s likely we’ll be able to rescue Minerva without making the exchange. Or my people could locate her first. Don’t give up hope.”
Knight managed a sickly smile. “Thanks for that.”
“My pleasure.” He spun on his heel, heading for the door. “I’m going to need a secure line. I want to bring my people up to speed.”
The air instantly returned to the room. The man sure did love the sound of his own voice. If things went to plan, he’d have decades to hear himself talk. Alone in a Supermax cell.
She and Ronan and Axel might be zip-tied, but they weren’t alone. Whatever game Richardson was playing, he’d just made his first serious mistake: underestimating the loyalty of a tactical team. Even a frayed one.
Hands behind his back, Ronan swayed slightly. His skin had gone even grayer. He looked long past done.
Maya sent up a silent prayer wishing, not for the first time, that he could feel its comfort—that sometimes the strongest thing you could do was admit you couldn’t do it alone. But Ronan Quinn had spent his life relying on nothing but himself and his training. She just hoped that would be enough. Because the way Richardson was watching them, like a cat with cornered mice, told her the real fight was just beginning.