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“Okay, let’s go over what we know,” Pharaoh said. He was at the head of the table beside Banshee who was tapping away on two different laptops. Pharaoh possessed an air of authority and Harper instantly pegged him as their leader. He oozed confidence and authority.
“What about her?” Saint asked, glancing over at Harper. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the dangerously attractive man covered in tattoos. Everything about him was dark from his eyes to his hair to his clothes to his broody expression. Something about him screamed villain. Or anti-hero. She hadn’t decided yet. But she was definitely a little scared of him.
“I won’t tell anyone what you discuss,” Harper said.
“That’s not what I’m asking.” Saint focused on Ryland. “You shouldn’t have dragged her into this shit show.”
“I didn’t plan on it, but here we are. So she goes wherever we go,” Ryland stated firmly then met Harper’s surprised gaze. “Sorry, Harper, but whoever called me earlier said you’re in trouble, too. If we leave you here without protection…well, I won’t.”
As much as she appreciated that, she couldn’t just pick up and leave. Could she? She supposed if the alternative was a bullet in the head, she could. Besides, now wasn’t the time to argue and be a pain in the ass, so she gave a slight nod and let the team carry on.
“Rip, tell us exactly what this caller said to you.” Pharaoh assumed control of the discussion and the room once again. Harper studied him—from his thick, dark hair with a slight wave to his intense silver-gray eyes—and decided she liked him. Like Ryland, Pharaoh came across as a protector through and through, and that made her feel safe.
At least as much as possible considering there was now a target on her head.
“He used a voice changer app and said the team was compromised. That an order was issued for Ex Nihilo’s immediate termination and if we didn’t go off grid, they’d hunt us down and kill us.”
“Let’s assume The Agency ordered this. Any speculation on who the caller was? Who would tip us off and why?” Pharaoh asked, drumming his long fingers on the table top.
“Merlin?” Bruja offered.
“Could be anyone. We don’t even know who makes up The Agency,” Saint commented.
“Not yet,” Banshee countered and cracked his knuckles above the keyboard. “I’ve got programs running right and left and, if all goes according to plan, I’ll get past The Agency’s firewalls and find some answers.”
“Time frame?” Pharaoh asked.
Banshee shrugged and adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. “Depends. Their security is tight, but I’m better.”
“Modest, too,” Saint remarked dryly.
“I’m too damn good to waste time on modesty, Saint.”
“Let’s hope so,” Saint said.
“Merlin never answered my calls so either he’s cut ties with us or he’s dead. Right now we can’t afford to trust anyone except each other.”
“So we think the entire Abu Dhabi op was a setup?” Ryland asked. “Because if it was, and if he is alive, we can’t trust Merlin. He’s the one who gave us bad intel.”
“Exactly,” Pharaoh stated.
Harper sat back, listening closely as the team discussed everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours. When she discovered they’d lost one of their teammates, the situation took a very real and threatening turn in her mind. Plus, she couldn’t forget the man lying on the floor in Ryland’s living room. Whatever was happening was deadly serious.
She studied Ryland from the corner of her eye and, at the mention of Tanner’s name, his composure slipped a notch. His jaw tightened and his shoulders tensed, but he masked his emotion quickly. She remembered him briefly mentioning the name before. Was Tanner the buddy he would surf with?
They were a resilient group, but they had to be hurting. And, if she had to guess, Ryland was hurting the most. She could feel it.
Since there was nothing they could do until Banshee found something useful in his searches, Pharaoh advised them to try and get some shuteye. They’d regroup in an hour unless there was a breakthrough sooner. There was no way Harper could sleep, but she stood up and Ryland placed a hand on her back, guiding her into the main dining room area where it was dark.
Pharaoh and Banshee stayed in the backroom and kept working, while Bruja found a quiet corner and stretched out on the hard floor. Saint disappeared out a side door.
“Where’s he going?” she asked.
“Out to smoke.”
“Oh.” Harper pointed toward the kitchen. “Are you thirsty? There’s some bottled water in the kitchen.”
“Sure, thanks.”
