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Gabriel
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Silas grinned when Gabe opened the door, making a point of looking him up and down. “You clean up nice, Saint. You look almost respectable.”
Gabe shot him the finger and grumbled, “Fuck off.”
Silas laughed. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs.”
They stepped into the elevator and Silas pressed a button labelled L2. The moment the doors closed and the car began its descent, Fred started shaking and the car filled with a noxious odor.
“Is he all right?” Silas asked.
“Fred doesn’t like enclosed spaces.”
Silas cast a doubtful look downward. “He didn’t have a problem on the plane.”
“No. Planes have windows.”
Thankfully, the ride was a quick one. Fred was the first one off. Gabe and Silas were right behind him. Gabe was glad no one was waiting to get on; the car needed a few minutes to air out.
Silas turned to the right and led the way to a high-tech conference room. Muted conversations ceased the moment they entered.
“Gentlemen. Ladies,” Silas said, moving to the head of the conference table, once again all business. “This is Gabriel Michaels. He will be leading this team. You will report directly to him.”
Five sets of eyes focused on him. Some male, some female. All curious, though some more openly than others. Gabe wondered what, if anything, they’d heard, then realized he didn’t care.
One by one, Silas introduced them, beginning with the sturdy-looking blond guy to Gabe’s left.
“Chase Dawson, security and demolitions expert.”
The guy nodded to Gabe, his blue eyes lit with the kind of controlled crazy many demo guys had. Dawson’s clean-shaven, all-American, boy-next-door face looked younger than the thirty-eight years on his bio.
“Kyle Mancini, reconnaissance and counter-terrorism, CIA Special Operations.”
Dark eyes regarded Gabe from beneath short but stylishly cut dark hair, his face completely devoid of expression. Even if he hadn’t read the thumbnail, Gabe would have pegged him as a spook.
“Serena Dominguez, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Homeland Security Investigations bureau.”
Dark complected with striking features, the woman offered a cold, polite smile that didn’t quite reach her stunningly green eyes.
“Simon Levine, forensic accountant, former Secret Service.”
With tatted forearms and diamond studs in his ears, Simon didn’t fit the image of a typical Secret Service agent or a number cruncher, but if Silas’s info was accurate—and Gabe had no doubt it was—Simon was extremely good at what he did.
“Beatrice Livingston, National Cybersecurity Center.”
Big, owlish eyes stared back at him from behind thick lenses, magnifying them even more. She was a tiny thing, shifting this way and that on her seat, reminding Gabe of the hummingbirds he often saw flitting around his cabin.
With introductions out of the way, Silas continued with a brief overview of their mission and objectives, stressing the sensitivity of the situation and the importance to national security. During this time, Gabe had it easy. All he had to do was sit back, listen, and observe. By the time it was his turn to speak, he’d already outlined an initial plan. He kept it short, simple, and to the point.
“Dawson, Mancini, and I will head out to the estate tomorrow, but at different times and in different vehicles. Dawson, talk to Sander Argyros, head of estate security. Find out what kind of system they have and get us copies of any surveillance video they have. We’ll start with a week prior to the disappearance and work from there.”
Dawson nodded. “Will do.”
“Mancini, while I’m talking to the staff and Dawson’s keeping Argyros occupied, I want you to take a look around. See what you can see without being seen.”
Dark eyes glittered as the man gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Dominguez, review the visa applications and permits of every staff member on that estate, inside and out. Cross check the names with every watch database we have.”
She nodded.
“Levine, start digging into Kristikos’s finances and the finances of those close to him. Follow the money. I want to know where it’s coming from and where it’s going.”
“On it.”
“Livingston—”
“Pixie,” she interrupted.
“Excuse me?”
She shifted, avoiding his direct gaze. “Everyone calls me Pixie,” she said quietly. “Sir.”
Beside him, Silas coughed, attempting to hide a smile.
“All right, Pixie,” Gabe said, fighting the twitch of his own lips. “You are going to be the digital heart of this operation. I want you to collect every piece of intel we bring in and make sense of it. Find the patterns, the anomalies.”
“Okay.”
They asked a few questions, clarified a few things. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought it was going to be. They weren’t SEALs, but they seemed reasonable enough, confident and willing to take direction. Bonus: the whole meeting took less than an hour.
“We good?” Silas turned to Gabe after the last of them left.
“We’re good,” Gabe confirmed.
“I’m headed back to DC tonight. You’re on your own, but keep me posted.”
“Plausible deniability?”
“Something like that,” Silas chuckled. “Officially, this team doesn’t exist. But unofficially, I’ll do whatever I can.”
That was good enough for Gabe.
Silas stepped into the elevator and stabbed the button to close the doors. “And, Saint?”
“Yeah?”
“Take the stairs from now on.”
Later that night, Gabe walked Fred around the compound. It was a far cry from his lakeside cabin in the mountains. There weren’t as many stars visible in the inky darkness, nor did it give him that sense of isolation he so enjoyed, but he did appreciate the cool night air and sense of open sky.
He returned to his room, questioning the sanity of his decision to get back in the game. They were off to a good start. Hopefully that would continue, and his team turned out to be every bit as good as Silas thought they were.
Admittedly, now that he’d met them face to face, he was feeling better about things than he had been earlier. Gabe found his gut instincts a far more reliable source than words on paper, and so far, they’d passed muster.
Now that he knew more about what he was dealing with, he could move forward. Silas had been right when he said these people were among some of the best and brightest in their fields. And, just like many who excelled, they weren’t wired to blindly take orders from so-called superiors who weren’t nearly as gifted.
They would soon learn that Gabe was different, nothing like the standard-issue bureaucrats they were used to. Rules existed for a reason, but he also knew that sometimes, breaking them was necessary to achieve an objective.
He would encourage them to do what they did best, but he would also make it clear that he was the one in charge. As long as they respected that, they’d get along just fine. And if they didn’t, well, they were going to find out firsthand that Gabe had zero tolerance for bullshit.
Gabe returned to his temporary apartment and reviewed the files again until he had everything committed to memory. At midnight, he exhaled and rubbed his hand over his face, the now-smooth skin feeling foreign beneath his fingers. When he slid between the crisp, cool sheets, a pair of light brown eyes stubbornly danced behind his closed lids—Virginia Miller’s eyes. So expressive and full of mystery, they stared back at him as if trying to tell him something.
Which, of course, was ridiculous. She’d been staring into a camera, for Christ’s sake, not at him. She didn’t even know he existed. But she would. Soon. Tomorrow afternoon, in fact.
That sense of purpose surged again. He was looking forward to it.