Betty Stock had been Ryker’s assistant since before Jake had begun working with him. She was in her late fifties, of average height, and pleasantly plump.
With her proper dresses, heels, and her gray hair always kept up in neat bun, she’d always reminded Jake of the stereotypical grandmother. She was a sweetheart, but he knew the woman was as tough as they came.
“Good to see you, Jake. I’m glad your team made it back safe and sound. I’m also very glad Miss Bradshaw is okay, after all. What a horrible thing for such a lovely young lady to have to go through.”
Jake didn’t miss the glare she gave her boss, who was standing behind him. Damn, he liked her. “Thanks, Betty.”
She patted his arm, then stepped around him to hand Ryker the folder. “Everything you requested on Javier Cetro and the others is in there.”
“Thank you, Betty. That will be all.”
Betty turned to leave but stopped short. “Take care, Jake. And watch out for your lady friend in there. She’s going to need someone to help her through this.”
Not waiting for a response, the woman left the room as quickly as she’d appeared.
Jake looked at the door, but made no movement toward it. Taking in a deep breath, he asked, “Do I even want to know what’s in that folder?”
“You do, if you want your girl in there to stay safe.”
Jake squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to ignore it. Wanted nothing more than to walk out that door, go to Olivia, and take her somewhere no one would ever find them.
Fucking hell.
He blew out a heavy breath and turned back around. Choosing the chair closest to where the folder was placed—which also put his back to the glass—he sat down without another word and began to read. It took less than thirty seconds for him to wish he hadn’t.
“Sonofabitch. The bastard’s still alive.” Jake spoke more to himself than to Ryker as he sifted through the pictures and information. Without looking up, he said, “An hour before we got on the plane to come here, we were informed that Cetro was presumed dead. When did you get this new intel?”
“About thirty minutes after you went airborne,” Ryker answered as he sat down in the chair across from him. “Our contact sent us those”—he nodded to the pictures of a disheveled Cetro from a few yards away—“then he gave us everything else he could.”
Jake’s mind reeled as he replayed that day at Cetro’s camp, trying to figure out exactly when and how it was possible.
As if reading his thoughts, Ryker said, “My guess is he saw Mac and Coop hit the ground with your order to retreat. According to Sean’s statement, that’s when he got hit.”
Jake tilted his head in confirmation.
“With him injured, and you in the woods defending Olivia, your team was too busy returning fire to notice Cetro had slipped away. From what we’ve been told, he had two ATV’s parked in the rear, near the chopper. He and a couple of his men took off on those while all hell was breaking loose around them. With Mac and Coop no longer in the trees, they weren’t able to see what was going down behind the camp. Hill’s explosion took out the rest of Cetro’s men, but it also inadvertently gave him the cover he needed to escape.”
“Fuck me,” Jake exhaled the words as he leaned back in his chair. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he asked, “So, where is he now?”
“We don’t know,” Ryker answered, texting someone as he spoke.
At least Ryker didn’t lie or give him some political non-answer. In Jake’s experience, he found that most government types loved to skirt around the truth.
Ryker’s chin tilted toward the pictures spread out on the table in front of Jake. “Those were taken two days ago.”
Jake sat up straighter, his expression deadly. If Cetro was in the wind, they’d play hell trying to catch him again. The guy had too much damn money and a shitload of powerful connections.
“He’s gone dark?”
Ryker’s shook his head. “Not exactly.”
And there was that non-answer Jake had been expecting. “So...” he bit his words out impatiently. “Where exactly is he?”
“Cetro’s gone under, but only temporarily. According to our intel, he will be at a meeting first thing tomorrow morning. The time and location are still unknown.”
It was Jake’s turn to shake his head. “So, you’re telling me your guy on the inside is close enough to get those pictures and know about this supposed meeting, but he doesn’t know when and where the meeting is being held?” Jake didn’t hide the fact he thought Ryker’s contact was full of shit.
“Javier Cetro’s a paranoid bastard, but he’s not an idiot. He knows if he’s caught and charged with killing those Americans and holding your girl hostage, he’ll be screwed six ways to Sunday. He’s not going to divulge any information that could put him at risk of being captured unless and until it’s necessary. Especially after what your team pulled.”
Jake rested his elbows on the table and fisted his hands together. Glancing over the information spread out before him once more, he asked, “Do you at least know what this supposed meeting is for, or who it’s with?”
Ryker pulled out a small, manila envelope from his inside jacket pocket and slid it across the table’s smooth surface. Ready to be done with this shit, Jake quickly opened the flap and dumped the contents out. Pictures of four men landed in a haphazard pile.
He separated them, laying them out alongside each other. He looked at each one closely, but didn’t recognize any of the men. Glancing back up at Ryker, Jake’s question was clear without him having to ask.
“Each of these men,” Ryker began, “is very powerful in their own right. This one”—he pointed to the picture on Jake’s far left—“is a Venezuelan
