Page 31 of Freeing Lark

Baker continued. “Here’s another interesting piece.” A document appeared. “Calloway was a last-minute addition to the PSG team before your Afghanistan operation.”

Hoot’s chest tightened. Flint didn’t move. “Why?”

“That’s the problem.” Baker tapped the screen. “Officially? He was added in a consulting role.”

“And unofficially?”

“Hard to say. I’ll need to dig deeper.”

Hoot stared at Calloway's photograph. The man looked ordinary. That bothered him. Men who operated in shadows were rarely supposed to look dangerous.

Baker leaned toward his camera. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

“One branch of PSG has been moving money through several shell foundations.”

Haley leaned forward. “How much?”

“Enough.”

“Can you trace it?”

“I’m working on it. It’ll take some time.”

Flint nodded. “Keep digging.”

“Will do.” The screen went dark just as a ping sounded from Haley’s computer.

“Son of a bitch,” she spat.

“What?”

“Jester sent a message.” Jester was a mystery and Haley’s nemesis. Jester’s true identity remained unknown, yet he always seemed privy to their operation activities.

“What is it?” Flint asked.

“A new update to the gala guest list. One name.”

“Who?”

She stared at the screen. “Shit,” she cursed then looked directly at Hoot. He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, certain the name she was about to utter would be bad news.

“Lark Meadows.”

Hoot went completely still. Voodoo slowly turned toward him. Eggs raised his eyebrows. Spark muttered, “Well, that’s unexpected yet convenient.”

Hoot stared at the screen. Lark Meadows. A new name… added to the guest list they were picking apart. The same woman who’d been standing beside Bradley Whitmore in photographs. The same woman Hoot had been trying very hard not to think about.

His instincts screamed. This couldn’t be good. Something was wrong. He just didn’t know what… yet.

CHAPTER 9

With the gala date looming, Lark’s dread intensified. Seeking to divert her attention from the gnawing unease, she set off for the island to work on the bell. It was a stroke of luck that a kindhearted stranger happened upon her vessel and subsequently brought it back to her.

But before she set off, she needed coffee… and maybe a muffin or two. Or maybe she should just buy a dozen muffins to get through the next couple of days.

Two days. Lark had two days until the gala. Two days until she had to fly back to Washington, put on whatever ridiculous gown her mother had selected, smile at people who had spent years judging her, and pretend she was perfectly comfortable watching her eighteen-year-old sister parade around with a man Lark had once been expected to marry.