They didn’t want to give Devon Slater a reason to celebrate.
Fuck.
That.
The man could kick rocks off the side of a steep cliff. The less the media got hold of regarding them, the better off they all were.
At that moment, Vivian had been washed off, and she was being autopsied.
They knew Chris was likely handling it, using protocols to keep them all safe. While she wasn’t evidence, the roses and that card were.
Because he could have hidden a clue in them, Chrissy was handling them carefully, but already, they were worried what they’d find.
Or not find.
They needed a way to track the man, to end this game.
The asshole was just too careful, and it was looking like possibly too clever, too.
As they were parked at the field, they saw the jet coming in, streaking through the skies in all of its black glory. It had no marking and was officially her jet.
Not the FBI’s.
Not Callen’s.
Not Chris’.
But hers.
Normally, it sat in a hanger, never used. It was unmarked and untraceable for a reason.
Official FBI duty.
They kept it in case they needed a backup way to leave an area, or if she needed it. Despite not wanting one, they were grateful she had it.
The big, luxury bird was safe, and that was the most important thing. Next to Air Force One, this jet was the next best thing. With MATE onboard and all the luxuries they’d need if they had to stay up in the air for an extended amount of time, it was a flying fortress.
Of sorts.
Leonard Industries had made sure of that.
As it landed and rolled to a stop not far away, the door only opened when Ivan got out of the front seat. Then, and only then, did the stairs descend.
That’s when Uriel popped out. He was in body armor, and his hand was on a gun as he scanned the area.
“We checked,” Ivan said. “We’re good. This location is off the radar and clear.”
Well, that was good.
It took a lot of money to get something this big removed off of online searches and maps.
But it was worth it.
An unmarked bird.
An unknown flight plan.
Oh, and a specially built field.
