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The agent sat Kellen at the table and set a slice of pizza on a paper plate, sliding it in front of the boy, who picked at the pepperoni with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Jane made a small sound, eyes fixed on the boy. The video ended abruptly. Still, she clutched the phone like a lifeline.
Bridger let out a breath. The boy looked unharmed, if subdued. Rage swept through him at the torture these goons were inflicting on Jane. He could almost feel his hands around Bronski’s fat neck, squeezing the life out of him. He forced down the angry, evil thoughts, breathing in and out in an even square, settling himself. Honing his senses so he’d be ready to strike.
When he spoke, his tone was drained of all emotion. “That’ll do.”
Bronski held out a hand, palm up and waggled his fingers. “I’m so relieved. You want the kid? Hand over the drive.”
Bridger’s jaw tightened. The smugness grated. Exactly what the experienced agent intended. The angrier you made a target, the more likely they’d do something stupid. He’d used the tactic himself many times.
Eyes never leaving the figures across from them, he pulled the thumb drive out of his pocket and sent it arcing toward the SUV. Jacket flapping, the tall, scarred agent lunged for it, fumbling the tiny thing before securing it against his chest.
Bronski snapped his fingers. “Laptop,” he ordered.
The third agent shoved Pete out of the way and dove into the vehicle, pulling out a computer.
Paige’s breath came over the comlink, soft and steady. “A-a-a-nd wait for it…”
The agent held the computer out to Bronski. The leader stuck the drive into the side of the computer and punched keys, his gaze riveted to the small screen on the ZTIC.
Beaming now, he straightened, handing off the laptop before facing Jane and Bridger. “Payment received and verified. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” He grinned.
“Likewise,” Paige responded to the team over comms, laughter clear in her voice. “Idiot.”
Ignoring the byplay, Bridger stared Bronski down. “And those coordinates?”
Jane’s phone chirped again. When she checked it, her eyes misted with relief. “We’ve got him,” she breathed.
“Coordinates check out,” Paige added immediately. She’d not only engineered the fake transfer device, she’d cloned Jane’s phone, too. Just in case. “It’s a motel half an hour from here.”
He let out a long breath. Success. Or at least as close as they’d come so far. The kid was within reach. He glanced back at the agents.
Adrenaline shot through him. Loose and cheerful after receiving the money, they’d suddenly gone tense. Something had them stressed. Shoulders tight, mouths flat, they shifted their weight from foot to foot, eyes wide, reminding him of cattle ready to stampede.
His hand tightened on his pistol. “Head’s up,” he murmured over the comlink. “We got trouble.”
“Copy that. I’m locked and loaded.” Mason’s calm tone floated through Bridger’s ears.
The agents were whispering now, their tones tense, the words indistinguishable this far away.
“I got no joy,” Tai said. “They must be jamming their signal.” He sounded disgusted. “The effect doesn’t carry far, but it’s effective. I could drop down a drone,” he offered.
“Belay that,” Bridger said. It wasn’t worth the risk that the agents would realize he and Jane had backup.
Jane tensed beside him, her body coiled and ready even if she was no fighter. Her eyes tracked the agents as they argued vehemently, gesturing at the road behind them.
“Maybe their supervisor figured out they’re on the take,” Mason mused happily.
Bridger’s jaw clenched. It was a definite possibility. The agents weren’t complete fools, but they weren’t well versed in black ops. These idiots could easily have led other feds straight to Kellen.
Bronski gestured, whispering something that made the others scramble for their vehicle. The scarred one threw Pete into the car and jumped in after him. Doors slammed as they tore out in a cloud of dust, leaving nothing but empty road and questions behind.
“Come on.” Bridger took Jane’s arm, leading her toward the trees. “We need to get to Kellen before someone else does.”
29
Bridger had barely waitedfor the team to pile into the SUV when he shot down the road. By going heavy on the accelerator, and way too easy on the brakes, he made the half hour drive to the coordinates in twenty-two minutes.
