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Albrecht pointed to the open garage door. The double bay was empty. “Yet presumably, she’s driving now.”
Shit, the kid wasn’t as dim as he seemed.
“Forget the bullshit you heard at the Pentagon. Diana wasn’t lying when she said she saw Rafiq.” As he said the words, he realized he fully believed her for the first time since the search he led of the compound outside Aqaba came up empty. He’d waffled on the idea, believing she’d thought she’d seen Rafiq, but had been wrong.
Now he was a believer.
He’d met Mason Gardner. He’d seen the fear in the man’s eyes when Kira told him their artifact purchases would be reexamined. If Diana could somehow connect the Gardners’ purchases to Rafiq, the family had hundreds of millions of reasons to want her dead.
The room was spinning. Or maybe Chris was. His head throbbed. If this was a hangover, he’d better have had a helluva good time to earn this misery.
He tried to remember where he was. It would help if he could open his eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate.
He couldn’t move.
Sleep paralysis? He hadn’t suffered from anything like that since he was a kid.
He tried to remember the booze that had brought on this pain.
Diana. Making love to her on the couch.
Diana.
The wine.
“Wake up, Flyte.” A sharp smack to his cheek broke the paralysis. A second, much harder slap snapped his head to the side.
His eyes popped open, and there was Albrecht.
“Flyte. You’re awake.” The kid grinned.
Everything came back to him. The wine. His phone.
Diana.
His gaze darted around the room. She wasn’t here. Had she been taken?
“Diana—” The word came out in a croak. He cleared his throat as his gaze went from Rand to Bryce.
“She’s not here,” Rand said. “Freya said she escaped before she could be taken.”
He was going to be sick. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugged wine or the knowledge that Diana was out there alone, but his stomach roiled. He lurched to his feet and staggered to the bathroom.
He opened the lid of the toilet and leaned over the basin. When the vomit didn’t come on its own, he jabbed a finger in his throat. He’d absorbed a lot of the drug, but some might still be in his stomach.
He retched, and once he started, it didn’t stop until the dinner he’d eaten came up too. Cold sweat dotted his brow as he leaned back against the wall, spent.
Diana was gone.
Is she safe?
How had he fucked up so badly?
Bryce’s voice carried from the living room. “Still not convinced Edwards isn’t behind this. I know Flyte’s into her, but she’s sketchy.”
“Shut the fuck up, Albrecht. No one asked you to think.”
Chris got to his feet and splashed water on his face from the sink, then went to the living room entryway. The younger SEAL was a big man—bigger than Chris in height and shoulder width.
