“She didn’t give us much info for her file. Name. Date of birth. That’s about it. She didn’t have an address, no known kin, no tax ID number. We were paying her under the table until Jenna built her IDs.”
Jenna ran a hand through her shoulder-length black hair. “And, full disclosure, there was no record of a Bronwyn Rourke when I built her ID. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t linking into further problems, so I did an extensive search of that name in most of Western Europe.”
She hadn’t been looking in Eastern Europe, although it wouldn’t have mattered. Jenna wouldn’t have found a Bronwyn Rourke even if she’d gone farther east.
I shrugged. “She’s not the first Zodiac contractor to use an alias.”
Everyone murmured agreement. The entire rogue subsection of the company consisted of team members who had pasts that needed to stay buried. Granted, most of them weren’t used for normal missions, but Zodiac had never shied away from people with secrets.
Hell, Ian had his own secrets.
“Was there anything about the mission that struck anyone as odd?” Ian asked. “I’ve read the transcripts. Bronwyn was in that closet a long fucking time.”
“She seemed to handle it okay,” Jenna responded. “No claustrophobia or any indication she was under duress. The only time I wondered if—never mind.”
“What?” Ian, Landon, and I all said at the same time.
“I’m not trying to say this is what I think happened,” Jenna prefaced. “I’ve gotten to know Bronwyn over the past couple weeks, and I like her a lot.”
Ian looked at her on the screen. “It’s okay, Jenna. Speak your mind.”
She blew out a breath. “At the safe, Bronwyn paused. It was the only time when I was concerned we might have a problem.”
“What do you think that means?” I asked.
She got quieter. “Probably nothing. Forget I said anything.”
I saw the slight tic in Ian’s eye, but he didn’t let any of his impatience show with Jenna. The woman wasn’t open about her past, but we all knew it involved enough trauma that she never left her house. I’d only met her in person once, and that was because I’d gone to her.
I took over for Ian. I wasn’t the best with people, but this was important. “Jenna, tell us, even if it looks bad. Nothing is off the table at this point.”
“It was Omar Zeroual’s safe. He’s a criminal, but he’s also one of the wealthiest men in Morocco. There had to have been a lot more in that safe than just the drive. Cash, almost definitely. Jewelry, probably. Bonds. All sorts of valuable stuff. Maybe the temptation was too much for her.”
I wanted to deny it outright, but I couldn’t. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I could blame Bronwyn if she’d done exactly what Jenna was insinuating.
Ian looked over at me. “You got an opinion about this theory?”
I kept my eyes steady on his. Ian and I had been friends and teammates too long for me to be anything but honest. “It’s possible. Like everyone has pointed out, Bronwyn is young and has a history we’re not familiar with.”
I was familiar with it more than anyone else, and knowing it didn’t make the situation less feasible.
Ian nodded. “If she stole from Zeroual, then she’s in the wind, and I don’t want to waste time and resources looking for her. What does your gut tell you?”
I looked down for a moment to really let myself process the question.
What did my gut tell me? Not what I wanted to be true, but what did I really think was going on here?
Ian didn’t rush me for an answer.
I thought about Bronwyn’s sincerity in Paris when she'd thanked me for getting her the job at Zodiac. The light in her eye when she’d told me about her training. The feel of her sweet lips against mine when I’d kissed her.
But mostly, I thought about the eight hundred dollars sitting in a drawer in my bedroom. She hadn’t had to give that to me—I definitely hadn’t expected it or wanted it. But it had meant so much to her to pay off her debt.
Without any words at all, that spoke volumes about her honor.
“My gut says she’s in trouble. I don’t think she took anything out of that safe she hadn’t been sent there for. It might have been a temptation, but she resisted.”
Ian nodded. “Then we keep looking.”
Chapter 7
Bronwyn
* * *
I sat in a dark cell. I didn’t remember how I’d gotten here. There was no furniture, no toilet. Only a cold floor, cold walls, and a cold metal door.
The slit in the door opened as it had multiple times before. I blinked at the light, which felt garishly bright against the darkness even though I knew it wasn’t.
“Say it.”
A male voice. I didn’t know who. Not Erick Huen, the man from the hotel. Someone else.
My answer was the same as it had been each time. “No.”
I wouldn’t say it. They couldn’t force me.
They could keep me here, covered in my own filth, no food, and barely enough water to stay alive, but I would not say it.
The slit in the door slammed closed.
The light was gone. My bravado went with it. The temptation to call out, to ask the man to come back, to say what they wanted me to say almost overwhelmed me.
I knew what was coming next. It didn’t change. It wouldn’t change, not until these people got what they wanted. Whatever that was.
I exist only to obey orders. My final mission is to go home. I exist only to obey orders. My final mission is to go home. I exist only to obey orders. My final mission is to go home.
I gritted my teeth as the recording played from speakers I couldn’t see, high in the corners of the room I couldn’t reach.
Over and over and over.
It only stopped when they came in to give me the injections or to demand I say the words myself.
Injections happened every two hours. I had forced myself to count the seconds after my third shot, doing my best to ignore the words droning on around me. Seven thousand two hundred seconds. It had taken me nearly as long to figure out exactly how many minutes that was.
Three men came in each time to give me the injection. Two to hold me down, one with the needle.
Four days’ worth of shots and the words that never stopped.
I tried to walk around in the darkness, to dilute whatever they were putting into my system, but by day two, I was too weak.
I exist only to obey orders. My final mission is to go home.
I was close to breaking.
Maybe I could’ve withstood the darkness, or lack of food or sleep, or the constant phrases. Maybe I could’ve withstood whatever it was they were injecting into me that alternated between making my mind feel fuzzy and separated from itself and making my skin itch until I was sure there were bugs all over me.
But I couldn’t withstand it all.
I tried. I tried to remember anything from my Zodiac training that would help. I tried to think of what Sarge would do in a situation like this. He would remain strong. He would refuse to say the words. He would keep himself quiet and calm.
I wasn’t as strong as him. I was weak. I’d always been weak.
I wrapped my arms around myself, covered my ears, and tried to hang on to something. To find something to hope for.