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“It’s Stephen. Let’s see what he’s got.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Hannah stoodnear the corner of the room watching the exchanges between the men. Will was on the phone out on the back porch, but the other four men filled the room. Literally. The room felt too small and cramped for so many tall, muscular soldiers. They each sported the same broad shoulders and short hair, though Tank took each to the extreme.
She suddenly pictured them as a boy band, nearly giggling out loud at the mental image of the five of them dancing in sync to an upbeat pop song.
The newcomers to the team intrigued her. Jackson was devilishly handsome and obviously knew it. Ryder was harder to read. He had a bad-boy vibe going, broody and unreadable, even as he interacted with his friends.
A bit like Will when he was grumpy.
She missed the kind, charming Will she’d come to know. But she really had no one to blame but herself for his disappearance.
A few moments later, Will stepped back inside, and all the conversation stopped as the team naturally deferred to him for instructions. It was fascinating to watch the team dynamics, with Will as the obvious leader. Whether that was by default or by design, she wasn’t sure.
“Stephen’s got some profiles for us to look at. Thirty-one potential matches for Darkshade across the globe.”
Pierce let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of could-be bad guys.”
“We’ll split the list and evaluate each one. You think someone is clean, then put him in the one strike pile. Two people agree it’s not the guy, we pull him from the stack. Clear?”
Each man pulled out a small laptop, and she watched as they got to work. She wanted to help, but it wasn’t as if she could do anything without access.
Before long, little conversations popped up as the men helped each other evaluate the potential identities.
“I’ve got a South African, a Canadian, and a Frenchman that all seem like potential matches,” Pierce said.
“Swap me. Take a look at mine,” said Ryder, handing his laptop over the back of the couch to Pierce.
“Hmmm, I don’t know about this one.” That was Jackson, sounding more serious than she’d heard him since he arrived.
“May I?” she asked, reaching for the laptop. Jackson looked to Will for approval, and Hannah bit her lip, praying he’d give the green light and studying every muscle on his face for a hint of his thoughts. With a small nod, approval was granted, and Hannah resisted the urge to pump her fist in celebration.
She read over the dossier. Michael Bennett was forty-one years old, served as Australian Special Air Command. Two kids. Employer was listed as a consulting firm based in Brisbane. She frowned. He sounded so normal. She scrolled down. The photo was a bit eerie, and she could see why the facial recognition counted it as a match. It was close.
“It’s not him,” she said.
“How do you know?” Will was standing right behind her, looking over her shoulder.
“It’s not. I can’t explain it… I think the nose isn’t right or something.”
“We could show her all the photos to start,” Ryder suggested.
Will nodded. “Can’t hurt. Let’s see where it goes.”
Hannah spent the next twenty minutes looking at thirty-one photos of men who looked remarkably similar for their lack of common connections. She dismissed half of them immediately, focusing on her memory of the coffee shop employee.
Soon, though, the faces began blurring together. “I don’t know. I think I need a bit of a break.”
Tank’s hand landed on her shoulder. “I’ve got something that might help. I just got the security footage from the Screaming Peach.”
Hannah briefly remembered Will’s instruction to Tank to get it. Apparently, he had, though she wasn’t sure how.
“Pull it up,” Will ordered.
Tank shared his screen with the television so they could all see it bigger. Watching the scene play out was a bit surreal. Hannah watched herself enter the coffee shop and look around for a table. She had headed toward the back of the store so she could see the entire thing. She watched herself pause, talking to someone just out of the frame.
Will muttered under his breath. “Slick son of a… He’s out of view.”
