Dave came by later, all glimmer-eyed and doped up on caffeine, and shared how much progress they’d made in just two days, and how many Victorias they’d found, and just how close they were to finding the person responsible for all this. He almost seemed like himself, excited like this, except for the tension in his shoulders and the shadow that still clouded his face, and how he looked older somehow, so different from just a couple of weeks ago.
Chad listened and nodded, knowing it was important to Dave, and good for him to be busy with something. But even as Dave talked, Chad couldn’t help but think about how meaningless it all had become.
All that mattered was that she returned to him, all of her—the good, the bad, and the ugly. No matter how long he had to sit here and wait, while the world kept turning without him.
* * *
They found Victoria.
Long before Peter showed Dave and the others the video, they’d already found out who she was. It had been her current address that they’d still been searching for.
Now they had that, too.
Peter had kept himself from telling the whole truth, not sure where this information would end up, and how Dave—and Chad and Marco—might react, with everything that had happened. It had taken them a damn long time to finally find something. Peter wasn’t about to risk it all by telling more people than must know.
He’d suspected that Victoria might have a place of her own so she could get away from the Commandos every now and then. She’d leased a small apartment in Greenpoint, paid with cash and generally covered her tracks everywhere in town. But they’d gotten her on a traffic camera and tracked her down from there. Apparently, she didn’t know everything about their methods.
Kathryn Victoria Linn. That’s why their search had been fruitless for days, until Rooney tried sorting the list by middle name. Thirty-five years old, military background. She was exactly what they’d expected.
And she did have a reason to hate them.
“Peter?” someone’s voice pulled him out of his head, and Peter blinked, looking around his bedroom. “You there?”
Skull. He was calling from the office.
Peter snatched his gear jacket off the peg and walked out of the room. “Yes. Come in.”
Skull ducked through the living room door as Peter put on the jacket. “Heard we got Victoria’s address? Rooney’s in a sour mood today.”
Rooney was pissed off. It was bad enough that he couldn’t tell his crew about this, so the search was on him. But he’d also had to come up with fake tasks for Dave, who’d suddenly volunteered to help. He probably hadn’t slept in days, his office half-buried under empty coffee cups.
They all had to make sacrifices.
“We did,” Peter said, remembering Skull’s question. He sat down to lace his boots.
“What’s the plan? Should I pull someone off the streets?”
“No.” Peter zipped up his jacket and grabbed his scabbard from where it lay on the couch. Even his rooms were a mess.
Skull finally grasped what he was doing. “Where are you going?” His voice lowered, suspicious.
“You know where I’m going.”
“Alone?” Skull blinked, as if refusing to believe what he saw.
“I can take one little woman on my own, don’t you think?” Peter paused. “Damn, I can take on Pain.” His smile quickly soured when he remembered the way she looked that afternoon, lying in the infirmary.
Skull didn’t smile at all. “I’m going with you.”
Peter didn’t reply as he finished strapping on his swords. He’d rather go without, but who knew what he’d run into.
“You’ll need backup,” Skull insisted. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case she shoots you full of bullets, Peter.”
“Uh-huh.” Peter tapped his chest. “Body armor.”
Skull crossed his arms and moved to block the exit.
Peter sighed. “Fine. Go put on your armor.”
“If you leave without me, you’ll regret it.”
“I’m sure I will,” Peter muttered as he watched Skull go.
There were lights in Victoria’s windows when they got there. It was almost ten o’clock, but it looked like she’d just gotten home. Ninth floor, quiet area. Her neighbors’ windows were dark.
Peter flattened against the wall as she cracked open a small window in the bedroom, switched off the lights, and moved to the kitchen. So far, he’d only seen her silhouette, moving behind the curtain. He peered at the narrow window frame, wondering if he’d be able to reach the handle through the opening.
“I think I’ll fit through,” he whispered at last.
Skull frowned, eyeing the window. He’d never fit in there.
“Keep an eye on her,” Peter said when Skull still lingered at his side.
The younger man scowled but complied. He moved to the kitchen window. Peter kept his eyes on Skull’s face, ready to back off at any second, as he reached his hand inside and searched for the window handle.
He thanked God for such long arms, not for the first time, when the window sprang open. With one last glance at Skull, who nodded and kept watching Victoria, Peter squeezed through the opening and closed the window behind him. A radio murmuring somewhere in the apartment must have covered the little noise he’d made.
Victoria was busy in the kitchen, opening the fridge, turning on the stove, while Peter took in the dark room. Her belt lay on the bed, along with a holstered handgun and a taser. A Glock 22 was under a newspaper on the nightstand. Smart, hiding a weapon like that. Better than having to dig in a drawer for it.
Peter moved as quietly as he could. He checked the nightstand, not finding anything dangerous,
