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BEXLI
“Wilder said they’ve just landed on the main island,” said Wren, studying her mobile in the same way I was.
“I just heard from Cayman too.”
After we’d arrived at Whittaker Abbey and were greeted by Shiver, Losha, and their two children, Kazmir and Lilliya, Wren and I begged off lunch, saying we were both exhausted, which was true.
Since, we’d been brainstorming who Pharaoh could be. In actuality, I’d been listening while Wren brainstormed.
“How in the hell did this guy live on the planet so long and not have any photos taken?” she groaned after running Moretti’s photo through a facial recognition software and not getting any results.
“I have one of him,” I said, then remembered I no longer had my mobile. “Wait. I don’t, but Cayman might.”
“This one?” she asked.
I stood and looked over her shoulder at the image on the computer screen. “Yes. That’s it.” I studied my likeness more than I did Moretti’s. I looked happy, thinking I was so clever to capture a photo of a man who refused to allow anyone to take one.
It wasn’t long after this I realized how wrong I’d been about him. The same day he’d called me a whore for the first time, he took my phone, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it until there was nothing left but bits.
“Are you okay, sweetie? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you look at it.”
“I’m all right. I just can’t believe how bloody stupid I was.”
“Who is she?” Wren asked, pointing to the woman standing to Moretti’s right. The image was so blurry it was difficult to make out.
I leaned in closer, but it didn’t help. “I’ve no idea.”
“Where was this photo taken?”
“In the lobby of a hotel. We were waiting for the lift. I vaguely remember her saying something to Moretti and the two walking a short distance away. I was standing by a mirror at the time and caught their reflection. I was just thinking how clever I’d felt at the time, since he refused to have his photo taken.”
“Bexli, I need you to think very hard and tell me every single thing you can remember about this woman.”
28
CAYMAN
If it were after dark, I’d feel a sense of déjà vu, sitting in the SUV, waiting for the other three teams to alert us they were in position and to give us the all clear to move in.
Then, I’d been overcome with worry and fear for Bexli. Tonight, I felt anger coupled with a steely resolve to put an end to the horrors Mithras had inflicted on God knew how many women. Maybe men too. And children.
I watched the split screen on my mobile. On one side was the video feed from the overheads. On the other, an infrared view of every living person within the boundaries of the property plus a quarter-mile radius outside its perimeter.
Those on our teams appeared in blue, everyone else in red. The differentiation was from a small piece of plastic we each wore in the pocket of our gear that sent a signal to the satellites collecting the video data.
By my count, Mithras was accompanied by a total of six guards. The image showed movement from each of them, but only slight.
In comparison—with the addition of five who’d remained in Malta, as well as Fucile and Sognatrice, who had arrived earlier from Italy—our team numbered twenty-four.
Ares, Nem, Z, Puck, and I were in the SUV, waiting for the go-ahead, while the others got into position.
Watching their movement, I anticipated it would be less than sixty seconds before we moved out.
“Clear.” Zeppelin was the first to check in. Magnet followed, then Oleander and Poseidon. After hearing from Wilder, the last to report, we exited the vehicle and made our way to where we knew Mithras waited just outside the villa’s entrance. He stood behind the chair where Francesca Vella was seated. The barrel of his gun was pressed against her head.
“Lorenzo Moretti, I wish I were able to say it’s a pleasure to finally meet you; however, being even this close to you sickens my stomach.”
The man sneered. “Where are you hiding our Bexli,Cayman? Nonna and I were so looking forward to seeing her again.”
