We both know it’s ridiculous to think I’d be spotted. Precautions would be taken so I could get close enough to hack Bogachev’s system without being noticed. But Griff is concerned over the slight possibility Bogachev knows I’m still alive. Has somehow doubted Griff all along and has figured things out.
While unlikely, it’s his main dislike of my suggestion that we just go and get this done.
Over the rest of the day, I’ve worn him down a bit. I’ve methodically pled my case, including all the ways in which we could ensure my safety.
“Hell,” I told him as we sat on opposite ends of my couch, sipping on beers. “Surround me with a fucking SWAT team for all I care.”
Ultimately, Griff had to agree that it was possible to keep me relatively safe, but we still had the stumbling block of a man named Kynan who wouldn’t approve of me going.
By the time we meandered out of my apartment to join the get-together in the common area, I’d still been hell-bent on convincing Kynan to let me go. If I’m not successful in doing so, Griff is going to have to head back to New York and put himself under Bogachev’s notice until he can figure out another way to get the data. That puts Griff’s life at unnecessary risk, and I’m strongly averse to that, as one could imagine.
“Okay, pizzas are going in,” Kynan announces. Good thing he upfitted our communal kitchen with two commercial-grade double ovens.
“About time,” Joslyn calls. “We’re about to perish from starvation.”
“Please, woman,” Kynan retorts to his wife. “Have another glass of wine.”
The women laugh. All except me.
Griff gives me an understanding smile. I want to just go to my apartment and fume in privacy, but admittedly, I’m hungry. Besides, it seems petulant and I can’t afford to have Kynan viewing me that way. I need him to take me seriously, because I have no intention of giving up my fight to get him to change his mind.
The freight elevator makes a hissing sound as it comes to a grinding stop, and everyone turns that way. Anna stands behind the scrolled rolling gate, which she opens before stepping out.
“You’re late,” Cruce exclaims with a grin. “Want a beer?”
“Sorry,” she exclaims without smiling back. She moves toward the kitchen island, shakes her head at Cruce, and heads straight for Kynan. “I was finishing up the afternoon mail when this came in. I knew you’d want to see it as it might help Malik.”
That gets everyone’s attention. The women spring from their seats in the living area and hurry into the kitchen, closing in around the counter as Kynan opens the top flap.
As he pulls out the contents, Anna explains, “It’s a letter from a woman named Willow Monahan. She’s a photographer who was with our guys just before they got ambushed. She just wanted to reach out to let us know she was there. She’d been interviewed by the government and has been thinking we’d reach out to her, but since we hadn’t, she wanted to send the pictures.”
“Pictures?” Cruce asks as he hands her the beer he’d pulled from the fridge.
Anna nods toward the stack of items Kynan just pulled free. Her expression darkens, and her voice trembles. “Photos she’d taken around their camp right before the ambush.”
Without thought, I move immediately to Anna’s side and put my arm around her shoulder. Her husband, Jimmy, was there, and I’m assuming there are photos of him. She trembles under my touch, and I can only imagine how difficult this is for her. She’s trying so hard to be cool and collected as an employee of Jameson, but she just opened up an envelope and saw photos of her dead husband… perhaps the last taken before he was killed.
Kynan flips through the photos, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he does so. We all stand absolutely still and quiet except for Anna, who starts to nibble at one of her nails.
“Miss Monahan thought we might want to talk to her… ask questions. She heard the ambush and was fortunate to escape, but…”
Kynan nods, giving Anna a quick smile of comfort. “We’ll absolutely want to talk to her. Maybe she’ll have something that can give us a lead.”
Anna swallows hard, giving a subtle nod. I pull her to me, giving a squeeze of reassurance. She knows our focus is on finding Malik, yet this is tearing open her wounds over losing Jimmy again.
Kynan puts the photos back into the manila envelope instead of passing them around. Even though I want to see them—have one last look at Jimmy and Sal and definitely want to see Malik, who we still hope beyond hope is alive—now is not the time.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” Kynan says as he places the envelope on the counter. I step aside when Kynan strides over and puts his hands on her shoulders. “I know this is hard for you. Would you like to take a few days off—”