Page 111 of Direct Action

“Whose?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the massive mansion in front of me.

Thank fuck for Shepard Drexel and his network of hackers. We had Blackwell’s flight plan within minutes of his pilot filing it. We were airborne out of Brown Field, the private airport we frequently used for missions.

We landed fifteen minutes after Blackwell. Unfortunately, Beck had landed two hours later and did not go directly to the mansion. He’d made two stops en route. Aiden had run the addresses; both were known meth labs in Provo.

I had never been at peace with this mission. But now my gut was twisted in such a way that I knew something was wrong.

Knew it down to my bones.

We’d missed something.

And I’d put money down that Dex was part of what we’d missed.

“Chloe’s earrings.” Pete’s tone was even more cautious, to the point it was brittle. “But her watch, ring, and necklace are all still pinging on the property. Poppy’s too.”

“Something’s not right.”

Aiden was sitting next to me with his own pair of high-power binoculars. “The only vehicles in and out since they arrived have been the florist and linen rental. She could’ve lost an earring and it somehow transferred—”

“I’d say that’d be a possibility if the backs didn’t screw on.”

“Signal’s . . .” Pete trailed off.

I glanced over at him and asked, “Signal’s what?”

He swiped at the screen of his tablet. “Hold on a sec.”

“The fuck I’ll hold on. The signal’s what?”

“Lost the signal. I need a minute to get it back.”

Lost.

How the fuck did we lose the signal?

“Something’s not right,” I announced.

Pete clenched his jaw.

There it was—he felt it too.

“You call Shep. I’m calling Gavin to see if he caught sight of who was in those vans when they left.”

Gavin and Mason were five miles out on the only stretch of road that led to the mansion.

Catarina and Calista were still at the airport we’d landed at, keeping watch on who was arriving by plane but more importantly who was departing. They were also trying to get a lock on who owned the property, since it wasn’t one of Blackwell’s.

Jack and Fallon were opposite of each other, keeping watch on the guesthouses that were scattered around a huge pond.

Beck was inside the mansion, but we had no line of communication with him. A call to check in would blow the operation.

My fingers itched to dial his number.

My soul screamed at me to make the call.

“Fuck,” Pete growled.

My gaze snapped to him. He was looking down at his phone.