Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
P at slept for a few hours, then got up to check his phone. Still nothing on the kid.
Shit.
He checked in with Thorn, who was nursing a mild concussion at home.
“I’m so sorry, boss,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “They got the jump on me. I thought we were in the clear.”
“We’ll get him back,” he said grimly. Maybe if he said it enough times, it would be true. “Rest up. I need you back as soon as you’re ready.”
“Copy that,” she said, then hung up.
Pat sighed and glanced at the couch. Jasmine was curled on her side, her blond hair spilling across the pillow. In sleep, she looked peaceful—something she hadn’t been since this nightmare started.
He left her to rest and padded barefoot to the communal changing rooms. He’d had them installed shortly after they moved into the building, considering the wacky hours they kept. A blistering hot shower helped ease the tension in his muscles. Jasmine’s scent still clung to his skin, a mix of warmth and wildness, and he forced himself to scrub it away.
Last night had been insane. No foreplay, no hesitation, just raw need, all teeth and nails and heat. He’d recognized that look in her eyes. The same way he’d seen it in his own reflection after a mission had gone sideways, after too much blood and too many ghosts.
He’d buried it in alcohol and one-night stands back then.
She’d buried it in him.
And damn it, he didn’t regret it.
Grabbing a fresh shirt from his locker, he shrugged it on, then pulled on the same pair of jeans he’d been wearing earlier. His razor was back at home, so there was no taming the five o’clock shadow that was now more like a 5 AM shadow.
After running a towel through his hair, Pat crept into his office, picked up his laptop, and moved into the open-plan working area. At this time, there were plenty of free desks.
The comms officer on the night shift glanced up from her screen. “Nothing on the kid yet.”
Pat clenched his jaw. “What about Al-Jabiri?”
“Restless all night. Pacing around like a lunatic. He turned the TV on at one point, then just sat there, staring at the wall.”
Another panic attack, maybe?
Except there was no Jasmine to calm him down.
Pat smirked. Served the bastard right.
He checked in with the surveillance crew watching Gemini. The Waheed brothers had apparently been up late playing Call of Duty , according to the field operative stationed outside their house. They hadn’t bothered to draw the blinds, a sign they wanted the law enforcement officers watching them to know they were home.
“Totally rubbish at it,” he added with a smirk.
Pat chuckled. “Figures.”
As the orange sun rose sluggishly outside the tinted windows, Pat reviewed the counter-terrorism plans for the stadium attack, checked in with Garretson and Mercer, and again with Ed Hollis, who, despite working through the night, didn’t have any leads on the kidnappers.
Just before seven, as the office was coming to life, Jasmine emerged from his office. She was dressed, although her hair was mussed, her buttons were done up incorrectly, and she had a faint smudge of mascara beneath her eyes.
“Hey,” she said, coming over to where he sat at one of the hot desks.
“Hi, I thought I’d leave you to sleep.”
She shook her head. “I woke up and for a moment I thought it was all a terrible nightmare, but then I realized it wasn’t.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. There’s still no news.”
She gave a tired nod. “I think I’d like to go back to your place, Patrick. Do you think someone could give me a ride?”
He frowned. She’d been so adamant to stay yesterday. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’d just love a shower and to freshen up. Besides, I’m just in the way here. I haven’t been any help finding out who that woman was.”
“You still have some mug shots to go through,” he reminded her, suddenly not sure he wanted her out of his sight. Sure, he could assign someone to guard her, but it wasn’t the same as knowing she was safe, with him.
“I’ll check in later,” she said, with a weak smile. “I promise.”
Maybe it was best. It was going to be a stressful day anyways, and she was probably better off out of it. “If Al-Jabiri does contact you, let the operator with you know. We’re in constant contact.”
“Of course.”
He nodded, feeling a strange sense of unease, like he was doing the wrong thing by letting her go. Maybe that was just his paranoia talking. It had been a long few days with not much sleep.
“I’ll get someone to take you home,” he said, gruffly.
“I’ll just say goodbye to Anna. I see she’s just arrived.”
“Ready?” he asked, a short while later.
Jasmine gave a little nod. “Yeah.”
He walked her to the underground parking lot, along with one of their best undercover operators who’d recently returned from Colombia. “Ghost will take good care of you,” he said, patting the young man on the shoulder. “He’s been briefed on the situation, so he’ll know what to do if you hear from Al-Jabiri.”
“Ghost?” she questioned, glancing at his latest recruit.
“You can call me Dom, if you’d prefer, ma’am.”
“Ghost is fine.”
There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. Not with Ghost waiting with the car door open. Pat’s phone buzzed, and he shot her an awkward smile.
“Got to go. You take care, and I’ll call you later.”
He wouldn’t be home until this was over, they both knew that.
She seemed strangely composed, and he hoped she hadn’t given up. “We’ll get him back,” he said, one more time.
All he got was a faint nod. “See you, Patrick.”
And the door closed.
When Pat got back to the office, a heaviness had settled on his chest. He wasn’t even going to entertain the possibility that they wouldn’t find Ryan. Not yet. There was still time.
The phone message had been from the lead tactical officer from the CTD, Colonel Brett Farrow who wanted Pat to call him to discuss the joint operational procedure at the arena. Anna waved to him, but he bypassed her pointing to his phone.
She nodded and turned back to her computer.
Pat called a briefing in the boardroom, and everyone who wasn’t on surveillance duty was present, apart from Anna, who was mobilizing all available operators for tomorrow’s targeted operation.
“The CTD will have twenty agents embedded in the crowd,” Pat explained, fixing his gaze on them. “All seasoned undercover operatives. You won’t know they’re there unless they ID a threat. If they do, they’ll either neutralize it or call for backup.”
“What about Garretson’s Joint Terrorism Task Force?” Blade asked, referring to the Commander who’d come in with the Secretary of Homeland Security.
“They’ll be positioned at key choke points,” Pat confirmed. “Four teams covering every entrance. They’ll be fully kitted—Kevlar, NVGs, suppressed carbines, sidearms. If a bomber makes a move, they have shoot-to-kill authorization.”
“And stadium security?” Viper asked. He’d flown in last night, running on fumes but sharp as ever. Apart from a raw graze on his neck—a souvenir from his last op in Central America—he was good to go. Pat had offered him a day off, but he’d refused.
“You need me, boss.”
He hadn’t argued.
“They’ve been briefed,” he told them. “Every entrance will have metal detectors, bag searches, full pat-downs. Male and female officers on duty.”
“What about alternative access points?” Viper asked. “No way in hell those guys will walk through a front gate with an explosive device. They’ll find another way.”
Pat gave a grim nod. “Agreed. There are always blind spots—maintenance tunnels, loading docks, unsecured sections of the perimeter. We will be covering every weak point. Every available operator is being called in as we speak. Anyone trying to sneak in gets taken down.”
“Understood,” Viper said.
“Do we pull Phoenix and Cole off surveillance?” Blade asked, referring to the team monitoring the Falcon, his cousin, and the video gamers, Gemini.
“Yeah,” Pat confirmed. “Counterterrorism is stepping in. They’ll try to grab the Waheed brothers before they even get near the stadium. Al-Jabiri and Riad are priority targets. They move, we take them.”
The room was silent for a beat. The plan was as tight as they could make it, but Pat knew better than anyone, no op was seamless. They had to be ready for anything.
Back in the quiet of his office, Pat let his mind drift back to Jasmine. He’d been so busy, he hadn’t had a chance to check in with her like he’d promised.
Picking up his phone, he scrolled to her name and hit call. It went directly to voicemail. That was odd. She’d be keeping it on in case Al-Jabiri called her with ransom demands.
Maybe her battery had died. Worried, he called Ghost, who as expected, answered on the first ring. “It’s Pat,” he said without preamble. “Is Jasmine with you?”
“She’s sleeping, boss,” he said. “Said she needed to take a nap.”
Understandable.
“Her phone’s diverting to voicemail.”
“Oh? She said she was going to keep it next to her in case Falcon rang.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Go check on her, won’t you?” A bad feeling was gnawing at his gut. “I’ll hang on.”
“Copy that.”
He heard Ghost’s heavy footsteps going upstairs, and then a knock on the door.
“Jasmine?” the operator called.
No answer.
He heard Ghost call again. “Excuse me, ma’am. Is it okay if I come in?”
The door creaked open and then?—
“Fuck! She’s gone.”
Pat launched out of his chair. “What?”
“She’s gone boss. There’s nobody here.”