Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
J asmine paced the length of Patrick’s office, her hands clenched into tight fists. Her pulse hammered in her ears, her stomach twisted in knots. Where was Ryan now? What were they doing to him?
He was just a kid. He didn’t deserve any of this.
Had the agents from the FBI made any progress tracking the vehicle? She was desperate for news.
A knock at the door startled her. She turned as Anna stepped inside, carrying a steaming cup of tea.
“I thought you might need this,” Anna said softly, holding it out.
“Thank you,” Jasmine murmured, wrapping her hands around the warm mug.
Anna smiled. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Anna, Logistics Manager here at Blackthorn Security.”
Jasmine forced a weak smile. “Jasmine. Former hostage, current terrified mother.”
Anna sat beside her. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but if it’s any consolation, these guys are the best. My husband, Cole, he’s one of Pat’s operatives. If anyone can bring Ryan back, it’s them.”
“I hope so,” she whispered, gripping the cup like her life depended on it.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” Anna turned to leave.
“Do you have kids?” Jasmine asked. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts.
“One. A little boy, he’s almost two now.” Anna’s smile softened.
Jasmine inhaled shakily. She could barely focus, but forcing herself into conversation was better than letting the panic win. “Have you worked here long?”
“Almost three years. Pat poached me from a field office in Venezuela where I was handling logistics and sent me into the field as an undercover operator. That’s where I met Cole.”
Jasmine frowned. “I don’t think I’ve met him.”
“He’s away on assignment.”
Jasmine hesitated. “How do you cope? Knowing your husband is constantly in danger?”
Anna gave her a knowing look. “You get used to it. At first, I didn’t think I could handle it, but a life without him was worse than a life spent worrying about him.”
Jasmine exhaled. “I guess you can’t choose who you fall in love with.”
For some reason, her mind flashed back to Patrick.
Anna gestured to the door. “I’d better get back to work. Sounds like the meeting’s wrapping up.”
“It was good meeting you, Anna.”
She smiled. “Likewise.”
Through the glass windows of Pat’s office, she could see the open-plan office. A stream of serious-looking men in suits marched past. She blinked in shock.
Was that the Secretary of Homeland Security?
Wow. Patrick’s team had serious clout.
She watched as he shook hands and nodded. He seemed calm, collected, and powerful. Last night, she’d been wrapped around that body, crying out his name as he brought her to climax over and over again.
How much had changed in such a short space of time.
Now she was drowning in fear. The person she loved most in the world was in the hands of a monster, and she had to trust Patrick and the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division to bring him back alive.
She exhaled sharply and pressed her lips together, swallowing the panic.
Ryan will need you in one piece when we get him home.
Patrick’s words echoed in her mind.
He was right. She had to stay strong. For Ryan.
Desperate for distraction, Jasmine stood and wandered around Patrick’s office. She stopped at his desk, where two framed photographs sat.
The first was of an exotic dark-haired woman with unusual blue eyes and a wide, infectious smile. She looked vaguely like Izzy.
It must be her mother, the one that Amir had driven off the road.
The second was of a slender brunette with soft dark eyes and a wedding ring.
Pat’s late wife.
Two women he’d loved. Two women he’d lost.
Her heart tightened. What a tragedy. Like Izzy had said, he’d been through a lot.
Then her gaze fell on a third photo.
It was smaller, older, in a worn frame. Unlike the others, this one looked well-handled—picked up, touched often.
A young man in military fatigues stared back at her, wearing a maroon beret, his dark eyes solemn and proud. Jasmine turned the frame over.
Joe Burke. Killed in action.
Her breath hitched.
Patrick had lost his son, too. Strange how he’d never mentioned that. Then again, military men often weren’t big talkers. They tended to keep things bottled up inside, which is why they didn’t always get help when they needed it. She saw it time and time again with her patients. Brave men, willing to die for their country, but not willing to ask for help.
Loss after loss, yet Patrick was still standing. Still fighting.
Was that what fueled him? What kept him going?
She was so deep in her psychoanalysis of the man she was sleeping with, she almost didn’t hear the ping of her phone.
It was an unknown number.
Heart racing, she read the message.
Go to the police, and we’ll kill your son.
She glanced at all the law enforcement officers, admin staff, and operators milling around.
Too late for that.
Attached was a photo of Ryan. It was a proof of life. His eyes were wide with fear, his mouth taped shut, his hands bound behind his back.
She gave a strangled cry, then bolted from the office to find Patrick.