Kilo

 

The call was answered on the fifth ring by a former SEAL who’d been pulled from the Teams for an off-the-books Spec Ops group because of his unique skill set that matched his call sign.

“Breacher,” Ghost stated.

“I need a favor.”

“Call Alpha.”

“My favor needs to stay off the books.” That was Ghost’s specialty. You never saw him coming, you never knew he was there, and no one could ever find him.

“Then call November.”

“Don’t want AES involved.”

“Do it yourself. I gave you access to the network.”

“Don’t want it on there either.” I didn’t know who or what Ghost had on his roster of secret spy shit—he’d been in deep with his Black Ops wet work for years before he’d claimed retirement. But I could guarantee whoever had access to his dark web bullshit, it’d definitely encompass operatives from all branches of the military and assholes from every alphabet soup agency out there. There was a reason I’d never logged on.

“Then I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”

What Ghost always did. Navigate with zero footprint. “Find twelve items.”

“Not interested.”

“Easy day for you.”

He recited the SEAL saying by rote. “No easy day.”

“It’s a dozen paintings.”

There was a three-second pause, then he caved. “I might be interested.”

“They were sold, crated for shipment, and left Gagosian Gallery in Manhattan a couple days ago.”

The line went dead.

Fighting for patience, I pulled up the encryption software November had installed on all our cells and checked it. Clean.

I redialed.

The call connected immediately, but it was dead air. “I’m encrypted.”

“Don’t get involved with Carlos,” Ghost stated.

“You know who the buyer is.” It wasn’t a question.

“I also know who the artist is.”

Goddamn it. I fucking asked. “Why was she targeted?”

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

“I’m asking the only one I want an answer to right now.”

“Bullshit. You want to know why a beautiful redhead was on Carlos’s yacht and where her paintings are.”

Same as I hadn’t, he didn’t phrase what he already knew as a question. But that wasn’t the point of any of the head trip he’d just laid on me. A single word was. One meant to get a reaction.

I didn’t take the bait on his not-subtle use of that adjective before redhead. “I’m thinking the paintings are still in New York.” November said there hadn’t been any cargo loaded onto that plane at Teterboro.

“I’m thinking Alpha’s looking for Carlos.”

I gave him intel so he’d give me something in return. “Delta too.”

“And you’re not?”

I reminded myself to play his fucking game. “My job starts where theirs ends. Paintings. Can you find them or not?” He already knew the playbook. He had the fucking trail, but he was gonna make me work for it. One goddamn chess move at a time.

Ghost didn’t say shit.

I played my hand. “If you don’t know where they are, then forget I called.”

“You’ll hear from me.” Ghost hung up.

Pocketing my cell, I walked back into the safe house.