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“What’s up?” Tai asked as he set down the pile of dishes.
Heart in her throat, she picked up the phone and swiped open the message. As she read, the blood drained from her face so fast she swayed, hipbones pressing into the counter.
Tai grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Tenaya just turned the phone so he could read the chilling words on the screen.
Welcome home, babydoll. Tell the new hubby I don’t like other men touching my girl. If he knows what’s good for him, he should sleep with one eye open.
22
Bridger stepped over the thick wires snaking across the floor of the empty apartment across the street from Tenaya’s high-rise and grabbed the last carton of kung pao chicken. He shoveled the remaining bits onto his plate and settled onto the couch crammed between banks of computers and surveillance equipment. Despite the fact that they’d already planned to draw Zhezhnov to the gala tomorrow, the stalker’s new threat added more weight to the plan. He could literally feel the crazed killer getting more desperate.
The man would kill again, soon. He only hoped the psycho went after Tai or Tenaya this time, rather than a random innocent he and the team had no way to protect. Evil as the man’s latest communication had been, it meant they were making progress. They had his attention. Now they just had to push him over the edge.
Around him, the rest of the team sprawled on folding camp chairs or makeshift beds, cleaning weapons and gearing up for tomorrow night’s gala. The mouthwatering aromas of Chinese food still filled the sparsely furnished safehouse, courtesy of Mason tracking down an amazing hidden gem of a restaurant featured in some fancy food magazine. Bridger smiled, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. Leave it to their resident chef to ferret out the best Chinese in LA during an intense manhunt.
He chewed slowly, gaze drifting to the windows overlooking the city. Out there somewhere, a psychotic killer stalked the darkened streets. And somewhere farther north, a tiny desert town nestled against towering peaks.
Home.
He tamped down the visceral pang of longing. Just a little longer until he could get back to Jane’s smile and Kellen’s exuberant energy. Back to familiar trails with the clean scent of sage in the air.
First things first, though. Zhezhnov needed to be locked up, ASAP. After that, nothing mattered but making it home and getting through the next three and a half weeks until he could slip that wedding ring on Jane’s finger.
And now, finally, they had proof that they were getting closer. It hadn’t taken Paige ten minutes to figure out the frightening text had come from within five miles of her condo. The creep was savvy enough to use a burner phone. Nothing Bridger wouldn’t expect from a seasoned mob leader, but at least they had proof the man was within striking distance. A fact they’d passed on to the LAPD detectives handling the murder case.
Graham passed by on his way to check the ammunition supplies, pausing to squeeze Bridger’s shoulder. “Almost done, son. Then we’ll get you back to your bride.”
Bridger huffed a soft laugh. The former Gunnery Sergeant always could read him like a book. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”
At Graham’s knowing look, he amended sheepishly, “Okay, maybe a little homesick.”
Graham’s weathered face creased in a grin. “She’s got you good.”
Fenn waggled his dark eyebrows. “Sure it’s not just indigestion from Mason’s dinner?”
On the other side of the room, Mason made a skeptical noise. “Wang Chow’s is one of the top ten Mandarin Restaurants in the country, you heathen.”
Fenn raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not complaining, bro. I ate enough for three guys tonight.”
Mason glared at the slender espionage expert. “You sure did. Don’t think I didn’t see you hogging the man yu.”
“Sure was go-ood.” Fenn rubbed his flat stomach. “What’s man yu, anyway?”
Mason paused as he gathered up the empty cartons. “Eel.”
Fenn blanched, swallowing hard. “Good to know.”
Graham shot Bridger an amused look. “Since when did these pups become gourmets?”
Bridger pointed at Mason. “Since the Big Man here decided cooking calmed his nerves.”
“There’s a no-brainer,” Fenn said. “Mason loves knives.”
Mason feigned annoyance. “At least I know how to use them, Spy-Guy.”
“Words are my weapons,” Fenn joked back.
