Chapter 24
Tyrone tightened his arms around Glenna.
How the hell could this have happened? They’d worked damn hard to secure the whole fucking property when the White Shadow fuckers had stormed their stronghold just a few short months ago and kidnapped Jules and Ember.
If he had to pay Caius Mercier to buy Kelsey back again, then he’d empty every single one of his bank accounts without a second thought.
The war-room buzzed with activity. Keyboards clacked, and Gunnar barked orders into his phone as he rallied the troops. But all he could focus on was the way Glenna’s nails dug into his skin as if she needed something—anything—to hold herself together.
“Zipper, I need a plate, a make. Damn it, give me something.”
Remi didn’t look up from his screens. “Working on it. The angle’s shit. All I have is the dark sedan, and the asshole who grabbed her. I don’t even have a clear shot of the driver.”
“I’m in the traffic cams now,” Jorja called over her shoulder, “but until they hit a main road, unless they trigger one by speeding through a red light or something, I won’t see anything in town.”
FUUUUCK.
Gunnar ended his call and strode toward them, his expression grim. “Carabinieri are on alert. All teams briefed. Mojo’s in the air, ETA under an hour. We will find this bastard. I swear it.”
If Mojo was going to be here from Agadir in under an hour, he’d already been in the air when all the shit hit the fan.
Tyrone couldn’t worry about the reasons or mission that was bringing the 2IC, second-in-command, from the Four X’s group base in Morocco to Italy.
If it was another mission, then it would just have to take a backseat to this one.
His mission to recover Kelsey alive had to trump everything, or shit was going to fly.
Tyrone nodded, but his grip on Glenna didn’t loosen. She was still gasping, her breathing hitching like she couldn’t get enough air.
“Glens.” He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “Breathe, baby. Slow. Like this.” He inhaled deeply, counted for four, then exhaled for four, his thumb brushing her cheek. “That’s it. Match me.”
She tried, her chest rising and falling in jagged bursts. “She was right there,” she whispered. “I turned my back for two minutes?—”
“This isn’t on you.” His voice was steel. “This is on him. And I’m gonna make him pay.”
The war-room door burst open. Petra, Siobhán, and Serena rushed in, their faces pale. Petra didn’t hesitate—she pulled Glenna from Tyrone’s arms and into her own, murmuring something low and fierce in Finnish.
Glenna clutched at her. “I can’t lose her again. I can’t?—”
“We won’t let that happen,” Siobhán said, her voice steady. “You hear me? We’ve got you.”
Tyrone stepped back, giving them space, but his eyes never left Glenna. The women surrounded her, a wall of warmth and strength, but it was his name she whispered when her knees buckled, and he caught her before she hit the floor.
Remi cursed. “Lost them. They must’ve turned off the main drag, because there are no hits on the cams.”
Jorja slammed her fist on the desk. “Damn it.”
Gunnar’s phone rang again. He answered with a sharp, “McKinley.” A pause.
“Copy that, Midas. Lock it down.” He hung up.
“Airspace is secured. There’ll be no private flights out of La Spezia without clearance.
” He glanced at his brothers. “Tal, you have the marinas and harbor traffic. Remi and Jorja have all the major roads. Colt, you alert the rail station; when that’s done, map me potential border routes. ”
Tyrone’s jaw tightened. “Not good enough.”
Gunnar’s gaze flicked to Glenna, still trembling in Petra’s arms. “We’ll find her.”
“No.” Tyrone’s voice went cold. “I will find her.”
Petra helped Glenna into a chair. The other women clustered around her, but Glenna’s eyes found Tyrone’s.
He fucking hated to see the pain inside him reflected in her eyes and crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees.
“Listen to me. I will bring her back. No matter what it takes.”
She swallowed hard. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” His fingers flexed against her legs. “Because I’m not coming back without her.”
Gunnar clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Zipper’s pulling satellite feeds. We’ll have eyes on every road out of here.”
He pressed a kiss to Glenna’s temple, and the women guided her out of the war-room, their voices a low hum of reassurance. Tyrone watched them go, then turned back to Remi.
“Satellites?”
“Already on it.” Remi’s screen flickered with live feeds. “But if they went to ground, we’re blind.”
“Then we make sure they don’t.”
He wanted to be out there. He needed to do something—anything, damn it. Instead, he had to make do with pacing behind Remi’s chair like a caged animal.
Colt leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes tracking Tyrone’s movements. “You sure Sullivan didn’t have a hand in this?”
Tyrone stopped dead. “What?”
“Think about it.” Colt pushed off the wall. “He shows up today. Out of the blue. Right when Kelsey gets grabbed. That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
Tyrone’s molars ground together. “Sullivan was with us when Dwight died, remember? You were there. Besides, he didn’t know about Glenna or Kelsey until I called him when Kelsey told me about Dwight’s magic bird tattoo.
” His hand went to his shoulder to rub over the spot where his own tattoo had pride of place on his skin.
“Or so he says.”
A muscle in Tyrone’s jaw twitched. “You calling him a liar?”
Colt’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m saying we don’t know. And right now, we can’t afford to trust anyone.”
Logically he knew that. Yet, he couldn’t wrap his head around what Colt was saying. There was no way his former CO was involved. It just wasn’t possible.
The door to the war-room swung open. Mojo strode in with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his usual easy grin faded as he took one look at the room, and he dropped his bag. “The hell’s going on?”
Gunnar didn’t sugarcoat it. “Kelsey’s gone. Grabbed less than an hour ago.”
Mojo’s expression darkened. “Shit. What do you need from me?”
“We need everything,” Remi said, not looking up from his keyboard. “Sat feeds, traffic cams, anything that gives us a vector.”
Mojo moved to the empty station beside Jorja, pulling up a chair. “Talk to me.”
Tyrone filled him in with everything from the kitten to the sedan. He even included Sullivan’s sudden appearance, because leaving out intel, no matter how unlikely it seemed, just wasn’t something he was trained to do.
Mojo’s fingers stilled over the keys. “Sullivan knew about Glenna and Kelsey before Dwight died?”
“No.” Tyrone’s voice was flat. “He didn’t.”
Mojo turned in his chair, pinning Tyrone with a look. “You sure about that?”
“I told you?—”
“Yeah, you did.” Mojo cut him off. “But what if he did know?
Why the fuck were they all focused on Sullivan? Were they trying to piss him off? His gut twisted. Sullivan had been their Commanding Officer. Their brother. But Mojo was right—if there was even the slightest chance he’d been playing both sides…then they were all right, and they needed to check.
“Go for it. But you won’t find anything.”
This is a waste of time, time that should be spent chasing the fucker who took Kelsey.
“I’ll dig into Sullivan’s financials,” Mojo said. “I’m not as good as those two,” he jerked his thumb toward Remi and Jorja. “But if he’s dirty, I’ll find it.”
***
Hours—they’d been searching for hours, and the war-room’s glow bled into Tyrone’s retinas.
Hours where they should have been chasing Kelsey.
His fingers ached from gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white.
Hours of digging, of chasing ghosts through digital shadows, and they had nothing.
Gunnar’s voice cut through the haze. “We’re missing something.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Tyrone barely managed to bite back the words. Being a dick to the people who were doing the majority of the grunt work of hunting wasn’t useful to anyone. He pushed away from the desk, the chair rolling back with a sharp scrape.
Colt caught his arm as he passed. “Where you going?”
“To get some air.” He needed to see Glenna. He had to make sure she was okay. Because standing here looking at screens was a kick in the balls when you wanted to rip the world apart, or strike a match and burn it all down to find the child who had carved her own little niche in your heart.
Colt’s grip tightened. “You’re not thinking straight.”
Tyrone jerked free. “I’m thinking just fine.”
The door shut behind him, and he was more than a little grateful to find the courtyard was empty. His feet carried him toward the family suite, toward her.
Serena answered before he could knock, her face drawn. She didn’t speak, just stepped aside. Glenna was curled on the couch, a throw blanket tangled around her legs, one arm draped over her face like she could block out the world. The TV flickered silently with some mindless sitcom.
“She cried herself to sleep. She doesn’t want to stay here until Kelsey is back. She can come to mine and Remi’s.”
“She’s coming to mine.” Tyrone’s throat tightened as he stepped forward, slid his arms beneath Glenna’s knees and shoulders, and lifted her.
She stirred, murmuring something incoherent, but didn’t wake.
Her weight against his chest was what he needed to cut through the adrenaline and frustration clogging his veins.
Serena pulled a blanket from the couch and draped it over Glenna’s shoulders as he turned for the door.
The walk to his Operator suite was a blur. He understood why she didn’t want to stay in the family suite. That was Kelsey’s space. He didn’t want to be there without her either.
His door unlocked with a quiet beep. Inside, the space was sparse and efficient, just how he’d thought he liked it… until now. He laid Glenna down carefully, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She rolled onto her side, her breath hitching once, before settling into the slow rhythm of sleep.
Tyrone stripped off his boots and the holster at his hip, but didn’t bother with the rest. He just toed off his socks and climbed in beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight.
He should’ve given her space and probably should’ve let her sleep in Serena’s house, surrounded by the women who’d become her makeshift family. But he was selfish. He needed her.
The silence in the room was loud as he stared at the ceiling, the shadows shifting as the moon crept across the sky.
Glenna rolled toward him, her hand finding his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
A shuddering breath escaped her, and he knew the moment she woke, because her entire body melted against his, like she’d been waiting for this, for him, without even realizing it.
“Tyrone?” Her voice was rough, thick with sleep and sadness.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t ask where they were or how she’d gotten here.
She just burrowed closer, her forehead pressing against his collarbone, her breath warm through the cotton of his shirt.
He wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other splayed across her back, holding her because she was the only thing keeping him from shattering.
They didn’t speak. What was there to say?
I’m sorry wouldn’t bring Kelsey back.
We’ll find her.
Both of which sounded hollow after hours of failure. I need you was too raw, and too much like admitting he was drowning and she was the only thing keeping his head above water. So he just held her.
Glenna’s fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, her nails catching on the fabric, the occasional hitch in her breathing the only sign she was still awake. He could feel the moment her tears started, and the quiet, devastating tears broke his heart and drew his own to the corners of his eyes.
He tightened his hold, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the nape of her neck, his other hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, anchoring her to him.
She turned her face into his throat. He tilted his head, his mouth finding her temple, her hair.
He didn’t say the words he wanted to say so badly out loud.
How could he promise her everything would be okay, when every hour that passed was an hour they failed to find her daughter?