Chapter Twenty-Seven
Blade
A lpha fucked with his cell for a few minutes before he spoke. “You’re still looking for answers about your brother.”
Not a question. Didn’t need an answer. I turned north on A1A.
A text came through on Alpha’s cell, and he typed a reply before pointlessly adding, “So am I.”
Alpha’s six-month teaser deal had come and gone a long damn time ago, but I was still here. He knew I stuck around because I hadn’t given up looking for Church. My motivation wasn’t a damn secret to Alpha. But I didn’t broadcast my shit to any of the other Teams guys at AES. I didn’t broadcast it to anyone, period.
But two years at this was too damn long.
Not to mention Alpha’s inability to find even one shred of intel to run with. Which meant either Alpha was lying to me or Church’s death went deeper than Alpha’s White House connections.
Or maybe he was just fucking dead.
At this point, I didn’t know what the fuck to think or who to trust. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Alpha about the call I’d gotten earlier.
“No comment?” Alpha glanced up from his cell.
Following the GPS, I made another turn. “You got a point, get to it.” I’d erased my footprint as soon as I’d run the trace on that call, but that didn’t mean November hadn’t caught it. If Alpha had something to say, he needed to fucking say it.
“You received a call a few minutes ago.”
There it was. “And?”
“You tracked the number.”
Fucking Christ . “We playing this game now?”
Glancing back at his cell, he quickly typed. “You tell me.”
Pulling up to the bullshit oceanfront destination on the GPS, I drove through an unsecured gate that did shit for protection when it was left wide fucking open. Parking in front of a concrete-and-glass rectangle, I leveled Trefor with a look that said all I needed to say about this conversation.
The fucker pocketed his phone, then met my glare and said the last thing I was expecting. “I got a text from Baghdad once.”
Assessing, I didn’t say shit.
“Want my advice?”
Knowing I was gonna hear it whether I wanted to or not, I tipped my chin.
Predictable in only the ways that mattered, Alpha let me have it. “Don’t run to your death tracking the wrong intel.” Fucker got out of the car.
Eyeing the burner in the console, I thought about it.
Dump the SIM, take my former Team leader’s advice, and forget about that fucking phone call.
Half a second later, I was grabbing the burner and shoving it in my pocket. Palming my Sig, I dropped the magazine out of habit.
Fifteen rounds plus one chambered.
Slamming the mag home before sliding my 9mm into my SOB holster, I took a quick scan of the property.
Then I followed Trefor.