Chapter 25
Tyrone’s phone vibrated against the bedside table, pulling him from a restless doze. He reached for it, squinting at the screen.
Grizzly: W-R STAT.
Zorro: Roger.
He gently disentangled himself from Glenna, who stirred but didn’t wake. Her face, etched with lines of exhaustion, reminded him of his promise to bring Kelsey home. He picked up his socks, boots, and holster and moved to the door.
“Where are you going?” Glenna’s voice cut through the dimness, each word heavy with the fatigue of fear.
“War-room.” Now that she was awake, he dropped into the chair to pull on his socks and boots. “Gunnar just sent a text.”
“I’m coming.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got to her feet.
“Glenna...” Tyrone started, but her expression silenced him. Tension drew lines across her forehead, but underneath it was the determination of a mother whose child was missing.
“Do you think I’m staying put while you all gather information? Because if you do, you’ve lost your mind.”
He understood why she wanted to be there. She’d loved Kelsey for all of her life. She’d carried her, birthed her, and he knew there wasn’t a hope in hell he could stop her.
“Okay, but if Grizzly says you need to leave, then you need to leave.”
“Sure.”
He could already tell that wasn’t going to happen. She’d fight tooth and nail to stay where she could know what was going on.
The compound was eerily quiet, without the sounds of children playing or the wives chatting. “Do you think they found her?”
“I don’t know. But whatever they have, it’s important enough to get me back there now.” He pushed open the door that led to the main kitchen and stepped through, shutting it after them, then tugged her to a stop and peered into her eyes. “Whatever it is, we will deal with it, okay.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“I got you.”
“And I got you.”
He blinked for a second. Other than the men he called brother, when was the last time someone ‘had him’?
“Yes, you do.”
***
The war-room buzzed with activity and the faint hum of tactical chatter. Remi glanced up as Tyrone and Glenna entered.
Gunnar stood near the board with his arms crossed like a general preparing for battle.
“Glenna, you’re here.”
“I need to know what’s happening. Not knowing is…worse.”
“SITREP,” Tyrone demanded, his mind already spinning with every worst-case scenario that popped into it on their way from his Operator suite to the war-room.
Remi was the one who broke the silence. “Mojo found something in Sullivan’s emails that you gotta see.”
Shit. That doesn’t sound good.
He opened his mouth to deny that John Sullivan could have anything to do with this, but snapped it shut again. Gunnar and Remi knew him well; if they said he needed to see it. Then he needed to see it.
“I’m not leaving until we have her back.” Glenna’s voice, though soft, echoed with unbreakable resolve. In that moment, had anyone doubted her before, they didn’t now.
Tyrone felt her presence like a promise of strength at his side. Kelsey’s return was the only outcome he’d accept. His resolve hardened to iron, each heartbeat a countdown to bringing their girl home.
Mojo, usually so easygoing, radiated an intensity that felt almost predatory. He glanced at Tyrone and quirked up an eyebrow.
Tyrone glanced at Gunnar, and the grim set of his expression didn’t exactly give him a bunch of warm, fuzzy feelings.
Shit. Just shit.
He could already tell this briefing wasn’t going to go well.
He pulled out a chair for Glenna, guided her into it gently, and settled into the one next to her.
Even without words, a silent pact forged in shared anxiety passed between them; her fingers tightened around his, her knuckles turning white as if squeezing him could stave off the tide of fear threatening to engulf them.
He was using her strength as much as she was using his.
Gunnar cleared his throat, cutting through the brewing silence. “Alright, listen up. Mojo’s got the floor.”
Mojo tapped a key on the keyboard. The main screen flickered and divided into three sections. The first displayed a series of emails. One in particular caught Tyrone’s attention; the subject line glared back at them:
FROM: DWIGHT JENNINGS
TO: JOHN SULLIVAN.
His stomach dropped as an uneasy sensation coursed through him. The first email was dated six years ago and had the subject line: She’s here!
Mojo paused with his mouse on the email. “Ready?”
Tyrone and Glenna exchanged a glance before he nodded to Mojo. “Go for it.” He held his breath while the email thread opened, and his heart sank as he read it.
Sir,
Glenna had the baby. Kelsey Anna Jennings. 7 lbs, 3 oz. Healthy. Glenna’s doing good. I’m… I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m a dad.
I know the rules. I know we’re not supposed to have ties. But I had to tell someone, and I trust you. If this means I have to leave the team. Then I’ll leave.
—Jennings
Holy fucking shit. The bastard knew.
Mojo scrolled down to Sullivan’s reply, the coldness of it standing in stark contrast to Dwight’s heartfelt sentiments.
Jennings,
Congratulations, son. That’s big news. But you’re right—we’re not supposed to have ties.
The next few months are gonna be hell. Kunar Province isn’t a place for distractions.
You know how it is up there. Tribal loyalties, Taliban sympathizers, al-Qaeda holdouts.
If the wrong person gets wind of your family, they’ll use them against you. Against the team.
Keep your head down. Keep your family safe. And for fuck’s sake, don’t tell Power. That man’s got a hero complex a mile wide. He’ll do something stupid.
—Sullivan
Jesus, Dwight. What the fuck were you thinking?
With the grip he had on Glenna’s hand agonizingly tight, he could feel her pulse racing, and her heart drumming in tandem with his own. The tension in the air thickened, wrapping around them like a vise.
Mojo scrolled to the next email, dated just two weeks before Dwight’s tragic death.
Sir,
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep them a secret. Glenna’s struggling. Kelsey’s getting older. She asks about me. I want to tell the team. They’re my brothers. They’d understand.
I’m done hiding.
—Jennings
Once again, Sullivan’s response was terse and devoid of warmth.
Jennings,
You signed up for this life. You knew the risks. If you tell them, you put them in danger. You put your kid in danger. Think about that before you open your mouth.
—Sullivan
“I—” Shit, he didn’t even have words to describe the betrayal that slammed into him.
None. “How…” He pulled his hand free of Glenna’s and got to his feet, then moved closer to the screen.
Maybe if he was close enough, the words would change.
His heart raced, thrumming loudly in his ears, drowning out all other sounds.
Gunnar placed his hand on his shoulder and nudged him away from the computers. “That’s not a man covering for a friend. That’s a man issuing a threat.”
Mojo leaned forward and caught his eye. “There’s more.” He flicked open another screen, revealing a transfer of funds. “Sullivan’s got a gambling problem. A big fuck-off-sized one. We’re talking multiple six figures, with an Uzbek online bookie linked to the White Shadow Collective.”
Glenna’s breath quickened, panic surging through her like wildfire. “You’re saying he’s the reason Kelsey was taken?”
Tyrone felt reality fracture around him. How the hell was this possible? How? John Sullivan had spent most of his life in Special Operations. But as the pieces clicked together in a horrific alignment, it ignited a firestorm of anger in his chest.
Sullivan, with his calculated reappearance.
Mojo cut through the mounting tension, his voice direct and unwavering. “If we’re right and he sold her once, there’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t do it again.”
Remi’s voice broke sharply, drawing their focus back to the cause at hand.
“Jorja and I’ve been digging into the Oregon foster system.
Kelsey’s placement wasn’t random. The family she was with?
They’re connected. Distantly, but it’s there.
A cousin works for a shell company that funnels money to Qasos.
We already know where Qasos started. The bastard running it is the brother of one of the White Shadow assholes we put in the ground. ”
He needed to punch that fucker in the face, right the fuck now. It took more than a little effort to keep his cool and his voice even when he asked Gunnar. “Where is he now?”
“He clocked in through the checkpoint at Vicenza just over three hours after talking to you, me, and Colt, and boarded a C-130 cargo flight to Dover.”
Damn, it was at least a three-hour drive up to Vicenza; there was no way Sullivan had time to do an exchange along the way. “I want?—”
“What was the op that prevented your team from having ties?” Gunnar pinned him with the glare of a former SEAL commander and spoke over him. “Because we all know a hell of a lot of Operators that have spouses and kids.”
“I can’t?—”
“I’ll call POTUS for clearance if I have to,” Gunnar growled. “Explain without breaking OPSEC.”
Operational Security, be damned. If it got them Kelsey back, he’d break every single NDA he’d signed.
“We were heading into a valley in Afghanistan. You know the one; it’s run by a whole bunch of warlords who are all affiliated. A brother in the Taliban, a cousin in al-Qaeda, and half a dozen more relatives who are loyal to any number of warlords.”
“Kunar.” Gunnar muttered. “We all know it a little too well, considering that’s where Remi’s bird was shot out of the sky.”