“Or someone learned from him,” Younger added.
Cannon shook his head. “We’re connecting dots that aren’t confirmed. Right now, it’s all speculation.”
“Why move it now?” Archer asked.
“Because someone was patient enough to wait until now.”
“Or smart enough to hide it until it was the right time.”
Their gazes met. That fit Cipher’s profile too well. The terrorist knew when to strike to cause the most damage.
Cannon pushed out a breath. “Did you hear anything about arms deals while you were undercover? Any chatter at all? Smuggling routes, broker names?”
Archer shook his head slowly. “I heard talk, but mostly names of people he wanted to leverage. Men he knew he could turn or wanted turned. He tried to put the squeeze on me…” Again, he could feel the phantom pain of a chain cutting into his leg. “I was afraid my disappearance would look like I’d turned.”
Part of the reason the scar on his ankle was so prominent was because he’d caused it—to make damn sure he could prove he was held against his will if the question ever arose.
Cannon listened without interrupting.
“They knew exactly what I was worth. I had all the clearances Cipher loved to take advantage of. The training andthe contacts. He thought if he could break me, I’d be an asset.” He met Cannon’s steady stare. “And he came close enough to scare me.”
Cannon exhaled slowly. “Hell.”
Silence fell between them again. The sound of someone in the gym racking weights was the only noise in the office.
Cannon bobbed his head as if he’d gained all he needed to know.
“Archer, it’s time.”
He stilled. This was about Jolie.
“Is this because of the shower?”
He pushed out a breath through his nose. “No. The shower makes me think it’s past time. We have to get her back to her world. Because now you’ve got something to lose.”
The truth was a blade jabbing between his ribs.
He’d survived torture, captivity and a man who’d tried to break him.
But the order to let her go was the first command he wasn’t sure he could obey.
* * * * *
The energy on the base had changed overnight.
The place usually ran on rough humor and constant motion—boots in the halls, doors banging open, voices echoing from room to room. Today the humor was gone. Men moved fast, spoke in low, clipped tones and shut doors behind them.
She couldn’t shake the feeling the team had gotten a midnight call with bad news—and she wasn’t included.
She also couldn’t ignore how scarce Archer had made himself since Cannon caught them together in the shower.
Had he been pulled into a crisis, or was he choosing to put distance between them?
He’d passed her once outside the common area, brushed his hand over hers and leaned in to whisper he’d find her later.
Later had come and gone.
So she sat in her room, leafing through the old magazines, skimming outdated fashion spreads and an article on winter skincare she didn’t give a damn about. Every time footsteps grew louder, she looked up, waiting for Archer’s big body to fill the doorway.
