Jose exhaled hard. Okay. Bad. But it could have been so much worse. They’d made it before those containers were unleashed on the crowds on the other side of the building.
Bubbles and the Saint hauled the two fake baker bastards from the front seat. Jose grasped the elbow of his prisoner, wind tearing across the concrete stretch, wind that could carry lethal gasses for miles. The gusts slammed harder, whipping his clothes. The wind tore the cloth from around the detainee’s face.
Jose stopped short. Stunned. And it wasn’t often he lost his cool. But fiery denial pumped through him as he realized how bad he’d screwed up, everything he’d missed, things that put Stella in danger. Because somehow he overlooked an American traitor in their midst all this time.
He tightened his grip, making damn sure his gun didn’t waver as he pointed it at the supposed student hostage, Sutton Harper.
***
Stella ground her teeth in frustration.
She hadn’t made it to the door before Mr. Brown blocked her exit. When she pushed, he reminded her she wouldn’t make it more than three steps before he flipped her. She could fight, but with his martial arts training, odds really weren’t in her favor.
Mr. Brown and his damn odds. Usually they got along well, feeding off each other’s analytical perspectives. Not so much today.
Meanwhile, she was stuck inside the command center, still freaking watching Jose in harm’s way and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Her eyes were riveted on his face on the video screen, the camera angle showing the back of the man he’d detained. And given the preliminary sensor readings from their military hazmat experts, those containers were filled with toxins every bit as horrific as she’d originally feared. The details on the cloth hadn’t been a distraction. This threat had been horrifically real, which bolstered her fears that the second cloth could hold even more information. If she wanted to get her hands on that, she would have to play by Mr. Smith’s rules. And she would.
As soon as she saw for herself that Jose was all right.
The decontamination stalls were already going up in record time. Guys in suits were herding Jose, his PJ teammates, and their captives toward the tents and hoses. Jose was struggling and shouting something that was lost in the frenzy. She wanted to be out there and shout right along with him.
Nobody cared about the fact that the VP’s wife may well have wrapped herself in a major message about the current crisis.
She pivoted back to Mr. Brown, the guy who’d usually seemed most open to reason and calm. Yet right now he was not budging.
Reining in her temper, she searched for the logic that had carried her through past cases—had gotten her through her recent hostage horror. “With all due respect, sir, you don’t need me here. What harm is there in letting me secure the second cloth? I’m the person who decoded the first one.”
“You mean the cloth you decoded through game playing rather than bringing us into the loop right away?” He nudged his glasses, his smile downright condescending.
“The way I see it, bringing you into the loop isn’t going that well for me right now. Because quite frankly, I’m not feeling the interagency love.”
Where was Mr. Smith? She never thought she would want the help of Mr. Uptight, but right now she felt like she was being torn in two. She needed to find out what was on that pattern—she’d already hedged her bets by asking one of the tech guys to capture up-close images in case she couldn’t secure the actual cloth.
She ached to be outside with Jose. She tracked his progress as he and the guy with him ducked behind the decontamination curtain. Normally they would have just stripped down and hosed off, but the proprieties here made that impossible… made it impossible for her to see him.
She clapped her hand on top of her head, her ball cap still in place. Reasonable, be reasonable. “I just want to be in the loop. I could be wrong. There could be nothing there. But if I’m right? I’m guessing you don’t want the hellfire that will rain down on your head if you say no and you’re wrong. Sir.”
He pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Interpol agents… pain in the ass.”
“Why thank you.”
His glasses slid back in place. “Go see your boyfriend and by the time you get back, I’ll have the kanga here for you to inspect.”
“Thank you, Brown…” Or whatever his real name was. She sprinted toward the door, then called over her shoulder, “I could use a dedicated computer and a scanner.”
“Want, want, want…” He pushed open a side door and waved her through. “Just hurry it up before Smith finds out I let you leave.”
“Thanks, really. I owe you.” She ducked under his arm and out into the cacophony outside.
Ropes held back the crowds that had waited for hours to watch the festivities. Sirens wailed from an older local police car, lights rippling on top of the other security vehicles. Flashing her badge, she sprinted across, toward the canvas stalls with water flooding underneath. Decontamination units.
Her heart kicked harder in her chest. She jogged faster, wishing she had Jose’s marathon skills. Right now, she felt like she was running on fumes. She’d come to Africa so confident in her ability to take charge of her life, solve the mystery of her mother’s death, and bring change to women and children.
Instead, she was nursing a broken heart and barely staying ahead of destruction at every turn.
She held up her badge again to a local soldier. “I’m on the team working with the men in there. I need to check on…” Jose… “on my guys.”
He eyed her shield more closely, then gestured with his weapon, motioning her through. Splashing through what could well be tainted water, she pushed through to a new set of ropes around the shower stalls. Men in chemical suits sprayed down a row of totally buff men in their skivvies. But she saw only Jose.