Kira should probably resume searching. Do something to fight the fear that came with being trapped in a pitch-black crypt.

She had no sense of time, and the stench of death didn’t exactly offer hope.

Rand must be going feral at this point. He’d said more than once that he blamed himself for last December. She had little doubt he’d blame himself again today, even though she was the one who’d goaded Reuben into snapping, hoping he’d reveal something.

And he had.

He’d confirmed the attack was tomorrow. Even explained that Benny was supposed to quietly snatch her. It would have worked if he had. No one would have known she was missing. Everyone would have assumed she’d caught her early flight to Malta.

She hoped that was enough to give the team at NSWC what they needed. It would be bad if she’d done this for nothing, but worse if she’d revealed too much to Reuben, making it harder to stop whatever he and Grigory were plotting.

It didn’t matter if her eyes were open or closed, so she closed them and imagined the spider drone making a trek across the rocky ground in an attempt to make a cellular connection and ping her location. First, the spider had to find the exit for the caverns or crypt or whatever she was in. It only needed a tiny crack to slip through, like that narrow gap under the door. But it could take hours just to find a chink to the outside world, then hours more to reach a cellular signal.

The drone was different from the ones Diana used in Kira’s rescue last December. Those had been larger, had cameras, and were meant to be used in areas where cellular was expected. These drones were only for use as a tracking beacon, but one that could leave the person being tracked to seek a signal. It recorded the distance and direction traveled, so even if it had to traverse several miles, it would transmit Kira’s last known location. It had a tiny solar charger and was programmed to seek sunlight.

Kira could die of dehydration before the tiny spider pinged FMV, but it was her best hope for being found. When her thirst got bad, she’d explore again, seeking moisture. There were those stairs leading downward. Who knows what she’d find below?

With her eyes closed, she began to drift. Sleep would kill time, but it remained elusive. So she thought of Rand and the look on his face when she’d touched his bare chest for the first time. When she moved in for their first kiss. 

He was so utterly beautiful. Smart and strong. He’d made it clear he wanted her, but he’d waited for her to make those first important moves.

He’d told her he loved her and hadn’t balked when she didn’t say the words back.

Yesterday, she didn’t trust her emotions. Not after her world had been upended. But deep down, she figured she’d been head over heels for him since she came to her senses in a hospital in December and was told he was the one who’d saved her.

Just like she’d asked him to.

He would save her again. She knew it. He’d traveled five thousand miles to be by her side because he’d believed she was in danger.

He had to save her one more time because she needed to tell him she loved him too.

Chapter Fifty-Five

It was midnight when they gathered again in the conference room. Chris took his usual seat at the table, Teague next to him.

It was 0600 in Malta, and Chris could guess how Rand was feeling about now, as they waited for a ping from an experimental drone that might never come. He wished he could be one of the SEALs who had Rand’s back in Malta, but what he was doing here was important too.

Laskin was coming after him again.

Fucking Laskin.

The meeting began with Commander Gleeson reiterating what they knew about the five men they were searching for. Where they lived. Where they worked. What key areas they were likely to target.

Things didn’t get interesting until an analyst shared that they’d been able to download data from an unknown phone synced with Laskin’s Wi-Fi.

Thank you, Rand.

Two weeks ago, a text message was sent to a phone in Virginia—probably one of Ben Kinder’s phones they hadn’t yet found. The message included a link to an Instagram post promoting a local event, the Fourth of July Firework Extravaganza on the Bay, which was paid for by a local community organization that collected donations throughout the year. A follow-up text said a Maltese firework company had received a grant and would be putting on a special show for the Virginia Beach community.

In the last twenty-four hours, Chris had learned a lot about Malta, including that the country was famous for its fireworks and held an International Fireworks Festival every April that was unparalleled. And now an anonymous donor—suspected to be a local billionaire who wanted to reform his image as he awaited trial—had footed the bill to bring in some of the greatest fireworks professionals in the world to Virginia Beach.

Chris knew who the implied donor was, and that man would never spend money on something destined to be fruitless.

No, the donor had to be Laskin, who expected a lot of boom for his bucks.

“That display is visible from my house,” Lieutenant Burns—the junior lieutenant who would move into Chris’s position when he moved up to OIC—said. “I was going to have the team over for a barbecue, then stay and watch the show.”

Captain Huang nodded. “The technicians are legit. We’ve researched the contract thoroughly and the team slated to be on the barge during the display. None of them would throw away their life’s work for a payoff. But we do believe the barge is a target. The specs on the show—which we got from the planning committee an hour ago—say the show will be thirty-five minutes total, with the finale clocking in at seven minutes.”

“Analysts think they’ll wait for the finale?” someone asked.

“Seven minutes. Lord, what they could do under cover of that noise,” Kramer said.

“Do we think the display is the target or is it just a target?” Chris asked. “Because I don’t think Laskin would be content to hit a civilian target when the base is right here, and there are the two contractors with base access here and at Dam Neck.”

“We agree with your take, Lieutenant,” Huang said. “Either they’ll also go after the display itself, or they’ll use it as cover for the real target. In fact, we’re fairly certain this building is one of the primary targets.”

Several men shifted in their seats. Being targets was nothing new. They’d all been deployed to hot zones. It was different when it was on American soil, though. Chris—and Teague sitting next to him—knew that particular pain, but not in advance.

Not like this.

“We need to develop a plan to protect the firework display,” Commander Gleeson said. “Canceling it will tip our hand. We want to catch these guys.”

“The fireworks are set off from a barge,” Burns said. “It’s towed into position before the sun sets. But once the show starts, where are the pyrotechnicians? On the barge or on land?”

An analyst who must’ve spent the last few hours learning all there was to know about fireworks rose from her seat at the table, as a graphic appeared on the screen. “This barge has a platform for all the mortar rounds in precise order. A thirty-five-minute display requires a large platform. Two metal Conex boxes provide a barrier between the platform and the technicians, to protect them if something goes wrong—a mortar fails to launch and explodes on the barge, which is the nightmare scenario.”

“Why are they on the barge instead of launching the shells remotely?”

“This group likes manual launch so it can be timed to music on the radio. It’s impossible to sync a show with streaming music, given delays. Radio is…radio. No delay.”

“So we need inspectors watching every part of setup, and a team on the barge during the show,” a SEAL lieutenant from another team said.

“Yes. But we don’t want our presence to be visible. We want Kulik and Laskin to believe their plan is in motion. Undetected.”

It was the first real break they had since getting the names of the five conspirators who’d been coordinating with Kinder. But it wasn’t enough.

Laskin was coming for Little Creek. Chris knew it. Every person in this room knew it.

“What time is the finale supposed to start?” he asked.

“Sunset is just before 2030. The show is scheduled to start at 2050. The finale will begin twenty-eight minutes later at 2118.”

It was now just after one in the morning.