Page 41 of Override

I take a sip.

Bitter.

God, I hate it.

But I drink it anyway.

Chapter 10

Keaton (Skee)

The Nevada desert looks dead at night.

Miles of black highway. Dry wind. Empty land stretching endlessly beneath a moon bright enough to silver the mountains in the distance.

Perfect place for a ransom exchange.

Which probably explains why rich criminals keep choosing locations like this despite the fact half the Grayline team wants to die every time we leave humidity.

“I hate sand,” Wheels mutters from the driver’s seat of the armored SUV. “This whole state feels hostile.”

“You say that every time we travel west,” Matt says through the comms.

“Because I’m correct every time.”

Bullet sits silent beside me in the backseat, sniper rifle balanced calmly across his lap while his eyes track the darkness beyond the windows with the kind of stillness that usually terrifies people smart enough to notice it.

Unfortunately for him, none of us are smart enough anymore.

The SUV bumps hard over uneven gravel as we approach the abandoned processing plant currently housing one kidnapped billionaire’s wife and approximately six men stupid enough to think extorting her husband was a survivable long-term business plan.

Personally, I give them another hour.

Maybe two if they surrender quickly.

“Thermals still showing six?” Matt asks.

I glance toward the left monitor mounted beside my laptop. “Six inside. Two on exterior rotation. One heat signature upstairs separate from the others.”

“Wife?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?” Wheels echoes through the front seat. “That’s comforting.”

I ignore him on principle.

The processing plant blueprint glows across the main screen while surveillance feeds flicker beside it. Entry points. Motion paths. Weapons scans.

And in the upper right corner—Maeve.

The fundraiser feed runs silently above everything else.

Champagne-colored silk drapes against her body while crystal lights glitter overhead, her dark auburn hair curled and pinned elegantly above her shoulders tonight. Beautiful in the kind of effortless way that doesn’t fully register at first until you realize your attention keeps drifting back toward her no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere.

I hate that I notice things like that now.

Not because noticing women is unusual.