Page 39 of Rogue Survivor
Prepare myself?
My palms go clammy in a heartbeat as photos of the two men I never wanted to see again appear next to Zephyr’s face. The cops Alec convinced to go after me.
“They’re dead,” I manage through a jaw clenched so tight, my molars grind together. “Firefight with a couple of pissed off Rangers.”
“I know. But they were Walter Milton’s two best friends at the police academy. Along with this guy.” A new photo fills the space, and thank fuck I don’t have to look at those two assholes any longer. “Detective Thomas Archer. He’s assigned to narcotics in San Marcos. And he hasn’t been to work in three days.”
“As in…”
“Not since Tuesday.”
Neither of us utter a word for several long moments until I drop my head onto the back of the couch. “I’ll show Veronica his photo when I go back to the safehouse. If he’s the other guy from the mall—the one who grabbed Mitzi—we’re gonna need to tell AJ. Don’t suppose you can make it so all the intel you just shared with me falls into his lap in alegalmanner?”
Zephyr rolls her eyes. “There isn’t much I can’t do, Connor. At least not when I pull in Wren or Ripper out in Seattle. I’m good. They’re better.”
The west coast K&R firm—Hidden Agenda—has not one, but two master hackers working for them, along with my brother’s guy and several other former military heroes-turned-mercenaries.
“Are you good enough to fix a broken cell phone?” Holding up Veronica’s mobile, I show Zephyr the screen.
“Does it power on?” she asks.
Dumbass. Why didn’t I think of that? “The buttons are mostly…gone. Hang on. Let me get my charger.”
I limp into my bedroom and sink down onto my bed to unplug my phone cable. The weight of seeing the two men who almost killed me hits—hard. After the first couple of strikes from the bat, everything’s blurry, but their faces are burned into my memories. Digging my fingers into my thigh, I relish the pain. I need it to focus.
Zephyr’s waiting. Get out of your own head.
Once I return to the living room, I plug in the phone and hold my breath. The device buzzes once, but no lights, no sounds.
“Well?” Zephyr asks.
“It vibrated. But most of the screen’s gone. How the hell am I supposed to know if it works?” Tension gathers around my forehead like a vise. Dammit. I need my meds before the migraine that’s been threatening for two days takes me down.
Zephyr stares at me like I don’t have enough sense to spit downwind. “You call it?”
I’m an idiot. “I’ll call Isabel’s detail. They can get the number. Not sure what good that’s gonna do us, though.”
“Just send me the phone,” Zephyr says. “I’ll text you the account number and a local affiliate for our courier. Drop the phone off and tell them to overnight it to me with morning delivery.”
“You expect me to leave this with a random courier? Hell, no. This could be the only evidence we have against those assholes.”
She rolls her eyes. “Give me a little credit. The courier is licensed and bonded. More importantly, Hidden Agenda bought the company last year. They vet every employee.”
Adjusting the ice pack to cover the back of my neck this time, something pokes me in the hip. The shard of plastic. “Fine. Send me the info and I’ll get you the phone. That’s not all I have, though. I’m emailing you photos of the fingerprints from the mall where Veronica and Mitzi were held. AJ can’t match them to anyone, but he doesn’t have access to any federal databases. I reckon that won’t be a problem for you?”
“If it is, Ripper can help.” Zephyr scribbles something on a notepad, then laces her fingers together and stretches her hands above her head. “Damn. I need to start setting timers so I get up more than once every six hours. You got anything else for me?”
If I had any other way to find out what the fuck this thing is, I’d use it. Give the poor woman a break. “Need another set of eyes on somethin’.”
“Show me.” She yawns, and I finally notice the bags under her eyes.
“Zephyr, have you slept?” As desperate as I am for help, I can’t let her run herself into the ground. Not when we still have so many unanswered questions.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m used to this. Before I came to Boston, my sleep schedule was majorly fucked. What’s the mystery item behind door number three?”
“This.” I hold the beige plastic piece up to the camera and turn it so Zephyr can see all sides. “No markings, but is this part of a computer chip?”
“Webcams are shit for resolution. Snap a pic and text it to me?” she asks. As soon as she gets the photo, Zephyr shakes her head. “Not from a computer. That’s an old school RFID sensor.”
