Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“With the president’s approval,” I point out, since Jonathan Alexander is the one who made all this possible.
“That’s off the books,” Saint points out. “And even if it weren’t, we can’t put that on his doorstep.”
“What can we do to get him to talk?” I ask. I’m hoping waterboarding is on the list.
“Not much,” Kynan replies with a slight amount of bitterness. “Sleep and food deprivation. We’ll keep him uncomfortable… hence the cold room.”
“What about sodium thiopental?” I suggest. It’s a drug that slows down the brain to make performance of high-functioning tasks difficult. Some call it a truth serum, but it doesn’t actually make people tell the truth. It just makes it extremely difficult to keep up a stream of believable lies.
“Nope,” Kynan replies. “Not only do we not have access to that, but that would also be considered a physical assault by the authorities.”
“Can he be offered a reduced sentence in exchange for information?” Saint asks, which is also a good question.
Kynan shakes his head. “Not right now. This man’s a ghost to law enforcement. We don’t have access to that type of authority.”
“So essentially, it’s a wait-and-see type of thing,” I mutter, scrubbing my hand through my hair. I glance over my shoulder at the door, wanting just a few minutes alone with him.
A thought strikes me, and I turn to Kynan and Saint. “Either of you bothered by the fact this guy is American?”
“It crossed my mind as odd,” Kynan admits.
“It is, given the original chatter was in Oman by two Middle Eastern arms dealers,” Saint adds. “Spire refuses to identify the driver, though.”
“Driver was blond,” I tell them, “so most likely American, too.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a foreign government or organization,” Kynan interjects as he starts leading us back to the elevator. “They could have hired Americans for this part to throw us off.”
That’s plausible.
But that’s all we have at this point—supposition.
“Whoever hired these guys has to be nervous we have one of them,” Saint says as we reach the elevator. When he opens the metal gate, we step in. “It could mean they’ll back off.”
“Or…” I suggest a different alternative. “If they really hired two guys to do the kidnapping but kept themselves anonymous, they’ve got nothing to worry about. They’ll come after Barrett again.”
“You’re safe here,” Kynan assures me as we start to ascend upward.
I consider his words for a moment, but they don’t sit right. “No offense to what you’ve got here, but I’m not sure we would be safe. Too many people already know the strings that were pulled to keep Spire in our custody. The police on scene, the Secret Service agents, and the ambulance transport. And while I know this facility is secure, we don’t know the lengths to which these people will go to get their hands on Barrett. Despite their first poor attempt at snatching her, we have to assume the worst. That because her knowledge is worth a lot of fucking money, they’d be willing to do whatever it takes to get her. They’ll step up their game.”
“What are you saying?” Saint asks.
The elevator comes to a lurching stop on the first-floor level, and we exit. I turn to face them. “I’m saying I’m not going to put the people here in jeopardy. Say they send in an advanced strike team… assault with RPGs or some other type of explosives to blast their way in. Too many people are at risk.”
“That’s highly unlikely,” Kynan drawls.
“Agreed,” I say, tilting my head in acknowledgment. “But are you willing to put Joslyn at risk?”
His face clouds, then darkens before he grits out, “Point taken.”
At that moment, his phone chimes a text and he pulls it out for a quick glance. His lips curve upward. “Speaking of the hottie, Joslyn says we need to head up for dinner.”
“I’m starved,” Saint says, and I add a grunt of agreement. I drove straight here from D.C. without stopping except for gas.
“Where’s Bebe?” I ask as we head over to the other elevator that will take us up to the inhabited space.
“Went home a little bit ago,” Kynan replies. “It’s Aaron’s birthday.”
“Shit,” I mutter, having forgot that little tidbit. I’d planned to buy him a few Xbox games, but it totally slipped my mind with everything going on with Barrett.
“Joslyn covered you,” Kynan says with a grin.
I let out a sigh of gratitude. “I could kiss her.”
“I could kill you,” Kynan replies with an evil smile.
I grin. “Noted.”
In the communal area of the fourth floor, we find Joslyn pulling a bubbling lasagna out of the oven and Barrett mixing up a salad in a wooden bowl. She shoots me a worried look, and I jerk my chin to indicate I want to talk to her privately.
She puts the salad tongs down, then wipes her hands on a towel. Kynan moves around the corner, giving her a nod of greeting before going to Joslyn and wrapping her in a hug while she irritably snaps she’s going to drop the lasagna. Saint just heads to the fridge, then snags a beer.