“Have we identified the teams?” Rule barked out. “Scent markers, any identifying DNA left?”
“Nothing. They struck, made an attempt to gain access to the Dragoons, then before we could get backup into place, they were gone. They didn’t breech the Dragoons, but if backup hadn’t been there . . .” Flint broke off, the message clear as they rushed into the hotel. “They left nothing to identify them, and we suspect scent markers were blocked.”
“Get a crime scene unit at the site and on those Dragoons,” Rule barked out. “And get me someone up here with a deeper sense of smell. They had to have left something to identify them, and I want it found. Now.”
There was no such thing as no evidence, or no proof of identity. There was simply the inability or unwillingness to detect it. “Director Wyatt is reporting that Miss Johnson may have remembered something.” Flint lowered his voice as they entered the elevator and headed for the top floor. “He wants you with him now.”
Rule’s jaw clenched. If Liza was remembering something more, then hopefully Claire wouldn’t be long behind her. That meant the danger would only increase.
It was time to suggest removing both women from the area and completely out of sight rather than securing them in town, before the Genetics Council or, worse yet, the two women’s former protector and now their would-be executioner, Gideon, managed to get to them.
If either party caught up with them, their lives wouldn’t be worth shit and the Bureau would have no chance in hell of saving them, or Amber.
And that, they definitely couldn’t allow to happen.
...
Gypsy moved into the darkness, her hands pushed into the pockets of her denim jacket to ward off the chill of the desert as she stepped away from her Jeep and entered the abandoned garage on the edge of town.
The call had come through before the vehicle that arrived to pick up Rule had managed to pull from the parking lot. The voice on the other end of the line had requested a meeting at the garage immediately.
“I’m here,” she stated, coming to a stop in the middle of the garage bay she’d entered and staring around curiously.
“You always come when we call, don’t you, Gypsy?” the voice reflected quietly. “You’ve never denied us, nor have you ever betrayed us.”
She shrugged, a bit uncomfortable with this sudden reflection rather than the arrogance she was used to. “I came to you and offered my help, you didn’t ask me for it.
“No, we didn’t,” the voice agreed, causing her to stare intently at the shadow as it shifted just slightly. “You didn’t have to give your life, though. Just as we never expected Mark to give his.”
For a single, brutal moment she was fifteen again, watching in horror, in agony, as the razor-sharp edge of that knife sliced across her brother’s throat.
“Gypsy?” The dark voice pulled her back as he spoke gently. “This isn’t what he would have wanted. He would never have asked this of you.”
What the hell was the point of this meeting? Was she somehow being fired from a volunteer position?
How had she managed to mess this up?
“Do you not need my help any longer?” There was a curious sense of regret at the thought, at the loss she felt coming. Who would she be if she wasn’t Whisper? She was no one’s daughter, no one’s sister; she could be someone’s lover, but the risk would destroy her. What would that leave her?
“Your help has always been invaluable,” he finally breathed out roughly. “But I would never want you to compromise your dreams, or your own life, for that help. I want you to understand that. Your brother was my friend, Gypsy. A good friend. And I know his dreams for you had nothing to do with the risks you take for us.”