“Solomon.”
Ken looked at him as if he were insane.
“Chief of Police Solomon Finn the Younger. I don’t think they’d expect a street full of squad cars. He could have that place surrounded in fifteen minutes.”
“Terry could be dead by now. Or in another country. There’s no guarantee he’s there.”
“There’s another option. I’ve met these men. Maybe they decided to cut their losses. That they don’t care enough about keeping him to risk you using your connections and calling in all those favors the government owes you.” Brady dragged Ken along as he walked back to the loft and their clothes. “We have to take the chance. They know now. We’ll never get an opening like this again. Not soon enough.”
“You’re right. Damn it, you’re right. I’ll get dressed. Use one of my burner phones to call your brother. I want to be there in case…”
“We’ll be there.” Brady prayed to God that Terry was too.
***
Solomon stood in Ken’s living room, watching the news and looking stiff and uncomfortable. The uniform looked good on him. His straight, broad shoulders and slender frame gave him an air of authority despite his age—thirty-seven was young to be the Chief of Police, at least according to the forty-year-olds still working the beat. But Younger was a born leader. If only he smiled and went out on dates once in a while.
Still, he was a hero this morning. Last night he’d come in like the Calvary to save the day. Luckily there hadn’t been a standoff—only one confused and frightened man waiting for them behind the door of the empty house. Terry Wahl.
Brady walked over to his brother and handed him a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” he said absently, looking around the room. “Where are the walls?”
Brady quirked his lips. “He doesn’t own any.”
His brother rolled his dark blue eyes and took a sip of the steaming brew. “How are they this morning?”
He was referring to Terry and his mother Patricia, Brady knew. Ken was with them right now. They were downstairs, having one last conversation before Trick took them away.
“As well as you might imagine.”
There’d been no sleep last night after Terry had given his statement and Ken had insisted they all come back to the warehouse. Patricia couldn’t let go of her son and Terry was practically catatonic.
It was heartbreaking. Ken’s foster brother had fresh scars everywhere Brady could see skin, and his face was gaunt and haunted. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone—coming back from the horrors of war only to fall into a personal nightmare. It was a miracle he’d survived both, though Brady suspected he wasn’t feeling that lucky at the moment.
Ken had been a rock. He’d sat beside them and talked in a soft comforting voice as he told them about his plans to keep them safe. Brady had tried to stay out of the way, but Patricia had joined him in the kitchen to thank him for his help in the rescue.
“Kenneth told me you were in Afghanistan,” she’d said. “That you had nightmares.”
“Have,” Brady corrected gently. “But he’s making sure your son has the best care money can buy when you get where you’re going. You heard him. And Ken’s told me how strong you are. With you on Terry’s side, and some time, he’ll get better.”
Patricia’s smile was weary but genuine. “He’s alive and with me. We’ll make that enough for now.” She paused. “Kenneth talked about me? Then you and he—you two must be very close.”
Brady hoped so. “He cares about you, I know that. He didn’t want to let you down.”
They’d both turned at the sound of Terry’s sob and watched as he wrapped his arms around Ken and wept into his neck. Swaying slightly, Patricia had reached out to take Brady’s hand. “He didn’t. Remind him of this moment if he ever forgets. He gave me back my son.”
Brady looked up, shaking off the memory as Ken came in the front door and walked slowly toward them. The cross around his neck was gone. “They’re on the road. Thank you, Chief, for the escort.”
Solomon set down his coffee and shook his head. “I didn’t authorize an escort for people carrying forged documents and fake IDs. My men just happen to be going in the same direction.”
Ken sent him a grateful smile. “Lucky for us.”
Brady walked over and took Ken’s hand. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” He slipped his hand out of Brady’s and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry Terry wasn’t able to give a detailed statement.”
Solomon rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “I am too. From what little you two have told me, I would love to get my hands on those sons of a bitches. But I’m afraid something happened this morning that—”
The phone on his belt rang and Solomon answered it immediately. “Finn.”