42. Quaid
CHAPTER 42
QUAID
L ike every day the last week, she lies in the bed without moving. I stare, waiting, and when her chest rises and falls, I can finally sit. Her silky dark hair fans out around her pale face. What I wouldn’t give to see her forest green eyes shooting sparks at me. With a sigh, I pick up my book.
Beckett comes in and raises an eyebrow, but I shake my head. His mouth turns down, and he quietly leaves the room. Jax swings by and drops into the chair on the other side, then turns the TV on.
I scowl at the little shit. He knows this is my time slot. “Get out.”
He flicks an unimpressed glance in my direction, then continues to flip through the channels. “She’s probably bored to death with you in here. What are you reading? Some dry ass book on war strategy?”
I tuck the book into the chair to obscure the title, but the smirk on his face tells me he knows. “Have you carved out a place for the range?”
Beckett found us a place in the wilds of Wyoming. With the Grand Tetons on one side, and flat range on the other, it’s the perfect place to hole up while the shit dies down. The old ranch has a ton of habitable outbuildings that we’re slowly turning into quarters, a mess hall, and an equipment and weapons depot. Operations and the war room are located here in the main house. Along with Greer.
He waves a hand. “Of course.” His chin drops to her. “Why hasn’t she woken?”
There’s a note of worry I don’t think I’ve ever heard in his voice. I shrug. “Pulling on our powers overloaded her system. We’re used to wielding a lot; she’s not. When her body has rested, she’ll wake,” I explain confidently, although I’m purely guessing at this point.
With the volume lowered, he stares at the screen, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. The same as the rest of us. Although she only drew power from Oliver and me, all the marked felt a bond snap into place on that field. One born of power and blood. But why was Greer the catalyst?
He abruptly sits up and increases the volume.
Irritated, I glare at him. “Turn it down.”
“Look,” he fires back, pointing to the TV. “Hightower’s holding a press conference.”
Oliver comes racing into the room, along with Beckett, but they stop when they see the TV on. “Turn it up.”
Jax looks at me. “I was just about to.” He punches a button on the remote, and the newscaster’s voice fills the air.
“If you’re just joining us, armed men burst into Simon’s, a well-known dining establishment for members of Congress, and kidnapped Senator Jack Harrison at gunpoint. We have few details right now, but we’re hoping Senator Thomas Hightower can shed some light on the situation,” she announces, turning toward the cameras. “We’re going live at Capitol Hill.”
The scene changes to the Capitol building, where Hightower is standing at a podium. “At this time, we know very little. Senator Jack Harrison was dining alone at Simon’s. He was the only target. We have received no ransom demands. That’s all we have to share right now.”
“Bastard,” a weak voice spits out, jerking our heads in her direction. “Help me sit up.” Her hand reaches toward me, but I ignore it and wrap my arms around her back and gently pull her up into a sitting position.
“Welcome back,” I say gruffly, relief filling every cell in my body. “That’s it. Give him hell.”
Her eyes, full of hatred, turn back to the TV.
I sit down and look over at Oliver. This is hitting him hard. Not just him. Hell, we’re all feeling ambushed and pissed off.
After a barrage of questions that give us few answers, Hightower steps away from the podium to join a group of men. With a wave, they turn and head back inside the Capitol.
Oliver drops into a chair and rubs his hand down his face.
We’ve been waiting for them to make a move, but we never expected this to be it. Not once. Hightower has balls. Kidnapping a fellow senator of the United States. There isn’t any line he won’t cross to win this war. He must think taking out Jack will cripple us, but now that we’ve left the Army, we have a lot more options.
“Wait… rewind!” Greer suddenly yells. Her eyes are glued to the screen. Fingers white with tension grip the sheet. Jax rewinds it back to the podium, then hits play. “Stop. Right there.”
We all look from the screen to her and back again. “What is it?”
“It’s Trent,” she says, her voice barely audible. When none of us says anything, she narrows her eyes. “I’m not crazy. It’s him. Can you zoom in or something?”
“Nash!” Jax shouts, and we hear feet running from across the house.
Breathless, Nash walks into the room. “What? Where’s the fire?”
“Can you zoom in on that group of men?” Jax asks, pointing to the screen.
Nash curses and flips off Jax. “Let me get my laptop.”
He returns and grabs a seat at the small desk in the room. Fingers fly over the keyboard as he finds the broadcast, splices it up, then loads it to another program. He clicks on the images on the screen to zoom in closer. “Done. Let me put it on the TV.”
We all watch as Senator Hightower leaves the podium and crosses over to the group of men. He places his hand on the back of the one next to him. A familiar gesture, but it tells us nothing.
Nash clicks through to the next frame and zooms in. The man next to Hightower turns and looks back at the camera, perfectly capturing the features of the good looks he got from his Italian mother.
“Son of a bitch,” I say, staring in disbelief at the face on the TV. “I completely missed it.”
She grimaces. “I wish I had. It’s hard to forget the face of someone you’ve killed.” She swallows hard. “You know what this means?” When we all look at her with confused expressions on our faces, she huffs. “He’s one of us. Which means one of his parents is, too. The mother, maybe? Or Hightower?” Her voice drops as she considers the ramifications.
We all share a look. “Are you sure you killed him?”
“I snapped his neck. When I woke up the next morning, he was still lying on the ground next to me, eyes open, staring sightlessly at the sky,” she recalls. “But there was a moment when I reached the top of the cliff where I thought I saw him smile.” She blows out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. Damn it.”
“We’ll look into it, but first, we need to rescue Jack,” I say with a frown, turning toward Oliver.
Oliver’s head rises, his eyes flashing a dark stormy grey. “I should have seen this coming. For some reason, I thought my father’s position kept him safe. Fuck Hightower. The gloves are coming off.” He stands and starts pacing. “We’re not going to win this battle in a direct fight. With the government behind him, he has access to endless troops.”
“We’re not stopping the rescues, right?” Greer butts in, her lip between her teeth.
I reach over and pull it out. “Hell no. We’ll find a way to infiltrate the facilities from the inside. Right now, we need to let things die down. Throw him off the scent. We need new plans.” My mind buzzes with the possibilities. “We need to take down the foundation under Hightower’s feet.”
Oliver’s determined face nods in agreement. “My father has a few trusted men who I can tap into for intel. Up until now, he’s made all the calls. It’s time for us to make a few moves.”
“With me included. I’m done sitting on the sidelines,” she says, her eyes shifting from me to Oliver, knowing we lead the team. “I have a few ideas on how to expand this group of ours. Create a larger network. All they need in return is hope.” She raises her hand, and the water arcs out of the glass by the nightstand, freezes mid-air, then returns, proving her ability to wield and control the element. “After we find Oliver’s father.”
Oliver comes over and picks up her hand. “And kill the bastards who took him.” He leans down and stares into her eyes, then his gaze darts to mine with a command. I subtly turn my head to look deeper into their green depths, and that’s when I see it. Two slivers of color—blue-grey and amber.
Stunned, I look at him, wondering what the hell it could mean.