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“Lynx’s driver took her,” I heard Irish say.
“Took her where?” I asked.
“To visit her parents.”
“You didn’t know about this?” Decker asked.
“Of course I didn’t.” I already had my mobile out and was ringing Mario.
“He’s your driver, how did you not know?” Irish asked.
I ignored him and listened as the call went to voicemail. “What did he look like?”
Irish described the man along with the car while I rang another of my agents, who was also here in Boston.
“Hi,” she answered.
“I need transport arranged from Boston to Cape Cod.”
“Understood. I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty.”
I walked out of the main living area and into Saint’s bedroom, trying to rein in my temper as I did.
“What’s your plan?” asked Decker, standing in the doorway.
I ran my hand through my hair and walked over to the window. “I’d like to wring her neck before I bring her back.”
“You might not want to bring Emerson back right away.”
I turned my head and studied him. “Why not?”
He handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Background on Emerson’s father.”
I opened the envelope, skimmed the first page of the report, and then looked up at Decker, who raised a brow.
My mind reeled as I processed what I’d just read. Why was I learning of this just now? I answered my own question easily enough—because knowing previously had been above my paygrade.
I didn’t bother asking Decker how he’d amassed this information—it was accepted throughout the intelligence community that the man was able to find the proverbial needle in the haystack when neither MI6 or the CIA could.
“Thanks for this,” I said before sliding the document back in the envelope.
“I’ll brief you on what else we know before you leave.”
I nodded and followed him out to the main room where he laid out the intelligence they’d received confirming Saint and Dr. Benjamin had been in Hong Kong, but from there, their trail had gone cold.
“We’ll be in contact when we know more,” he said.
My mobile buzzed with a text message. “My transport is waiting.” I stood and shook Decker’s hand and then walked over to my brother and put my hand on his shoulder. “Godspeed, Keon.”
He repeated my motion. “Godspeed, Lennox.”
It was something we always did whenever we were together and one or both of us were leaving. It began shortly after our parents’ death.
As I turned to leave, my eyes met Irish’s. I didn’t like what I saw in them, but I didn’t have the time or inclination to deal with that now. He followed me out to the lift.
