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Chapter 17
Without moving, Bradford scanned the bedroom surfaces, checking once again for anything that could be used as a weapon against him.
While his eyes darted from Munroe to the room and back again, his hand, slowly, so as not to alert her to his movement, put down the pen and inched it underneath his pillow.
These were the actions of a man who found himself accidentally in the path of a dangerous, wild creature.
Had Munroe been awake and aware, a fight with her was a suicide gamble,
but in this state of somnambulism, she moved slower, was less intuitive, and with a struggle, Bradford could gain the upper hand, as he had the time before.
Munroe wasn’t truly sleepwalking— at least not in any clinical sense; people who killed people in their sleep didn’t do it while they dreamed.
But whether it was clinically true or not, this was real, and she was deadly.
Her eyes were locked on him now. Whatever went on inside her head, whatever she lived and saw, given her predilection toward violence, she would not stop until she woke or he was dead.
Munroe sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, never breaking eye contact.
Her hands flexed, tensed, and then repositioned, as if they carried knives.
Bradford had the advantage of timing and awareness, and he remained still, taut, and ready.
If he was careful, he could end it in a single move, but doing so required getting her on her back in order to pin her under his weight.
Her focus was singular. No matter the angle, her eyes, still glazed, still unblinking, continued to track him as she stood and took a step in his direction.
He waited. She took another step. And then she struck.
A slash toward his jaw that would have been lethal were she armed. He weaved and she missed narrowly.
Bradford twisted to follow the flow of her movement, intending to throw her off balance, and was met with an elbow to the side of the face.
The blow came so quickly that he’d no time to brace for it, and the shock wave inside his head sent him reeling.
He shifted, prepared to block her follow-through, but it never came.
Instead, Munroe stood motionless, feet planted, staring at him with a puzzled expression.
And then, slowly, she glanced down at her hands and consciously unclenched them.
They both remained solidly in place— he eyeing her cautiously, she staring at some vague point near his knees, blinking as if she were running through a memory.
Finally, she raised her eyes to his and said softly, “Did I hurt you?”
He reached for her, his hand to her waist, his touch cautious and gentle. “No,” he whispered, “I’m fine.”
Her eyes followed his movement, but she gave no other reaction. “How long was I under?” she said.
He directed her toward her bed, and although she didn’t resist, she cut him a wary glance. “About five hours,” he said.
At his guidance, she sat on the bed and then lay back with her hands behind her head. “That’s a decent night’s sleep,” she said.
Bradford sat beside her, elbows to knees, watching her face, and then, certain that she was fully coherent, said, “If you want to sleep more, I’ll get you a bottle.”
She shook her head. “Five hours is a good stretch for me,” she said. “I’ll save the bottle for when I really need it.”
She turned toward him and reached for his face, running her fingers along the side of it. His cheek was tender, and Bradford flinched.
She pushed slightly, turning his head so that the side of his face fully reflected the bedroom light.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He smirked. “I knew what I was getting myself into.”
Munroe returned a weak smile and sat up. And then, as if a switch had been thrown and the temper of the room altered, she said, “Come on, let’s go find Logan.”
Her smile widened. “If things go well, I might even get to hit Gideon.”
Bradford chuckled at her joke, but he understood fully the wellspring from which it came.
Meeting with the trio was a necessary evil, one that Munroe would have preferred to postpone until she had determined with certainty whether or not Hannah was in the city.
But the confrontation couldn’t wait. She knew Logan well, knew that he wouldn’t have even mentioned the issue of Gideon to Bradford had he not felt the situation slipping from his grasp.
Gathering with the three was more than just a nod in Logan’s direction, it was a warning shot— a preemptive strike against stupidity.
The Chosen had kept Hannah on the move over the years, and if the girl was in Buenos Aires, it would take relatively little to spook them to take action once more.
The pieces were currently in place, data beginning to pool, and Munroe didn’t need Gideon or Heidi screwing things up in pursuit of their own objectives, whatever they might be.
They were to meet at twelve on Logan’s side of town, the café chosen specifically for its proximity to the hostel.
It would allow the others to get to it on short notice and provide Munroe enough traveling distance for her head to clear from the aftereffects of sleep.
They traveled first by city bus and then on foot, public transport always Munroe’s preferred mode of transportation when on assignment.
To center oneself in the cadence of human activity was to absorb the essence of a place, like breathing air when underwater, and so much better than the stifling confines of a taxi.
Around her, conversations ebbed and flowed, the radio blared, street signage passed and blurred;
the whole of the city’s chaotic fragrance filled her senses and she became one with it.
They arrived at the café five minutes before the agreed-upon hour, and there Logan sat waiting at a table near the window.
He stood as they approached. His eyes were ringed with shadows of sleeplessness, and when Munroe reached to hug him, his body seemed to deflate, the rigid tension going out of him.
Both hands on his shoulders, she took a step back and scanned him. “You hanging in there okay?” she asked.
He nodded, and as they sat, scooting chairs up to the table, his face remained wan.
“Where are Gideon and Heidi?” Munroe said.
“I asked them to give me a few minutes,” he replied, and then looked toward Bradford as if to beg for the same courtesy.
Bradford remained seated, face placid, arms crossed, and Munroe acknowledged his body language.
He’d go if she asked, but she wouldn’t. Her decision to keep him close wasn’t personal, it was strategic.
No matter how often Logan had watched her back, he couldn’t help her now, and with what she was preparing to do, she needed Bradford fully.
Munroe placed a hand on Logan’s knee and, as gently as she could, said, “There’s really nothing we have to offer, Logan, that can’t be said in front of the others.”
“I was just hoping that there might be something more,” he replied. “It’s difficult being out of the loop.”
“We’re moving as quickly as we can,” she added, “and you know as well as I do that to pinpoint three locations and set up surveillance in such a short time is pretty fast work.”
“I’m appreciative,” he said. “Please don’t think that I’m not.”
She said, “Signal the others, I know they’re watching.”
Logan, with his back to the window, stood and, no longer blocked by the signage, removed his jacket and placed it on his chair.
When he sat, he was smiling. “I’m not that predictable, am I?” he asked.
“Gideon is,” she said, and then, in a show of normalcy, she motioned for the waitress and ordered coffee and facturas.
It took but a minute for Gideon and Heidi to enter the café. Gideon, in the lead, slowed when he caught sight of Bradford.
The subtle pause was a good sign. That the others were, until now, unaware of Bradford’s involvement spoke volumes to the lengths Logan had gone to respect Munroe’s wishes.
As a matter of decorum, Munroe reintroduced Bradford to the group, although he already knew more about Gideon and Heidi than either could possibly imagine.
The small talk was short. Perfunctory. The closest she would go to preliminaries and niceties.
Her primary purpose for coming had been simple: outline the progress, make sure they understood how easily it could be undone, reiterate that they needed to back off and let her do her job.
As Bradford had done before, Munroe limited information to what was innocuous.
She provided no locations and kept back the details of having entered the Haven Ranch.
In contrast to Logan and Heidi, who were by all appearances accepting, Gideon exuded aggression.
He finally uncrossed his arms and, leaning forward, said, “Are you certain these places you’ve got under surveillance are really Havens?”
Munroe nodded. “One hundred percent.”
“You should let us be a part of this,” he said. “We’re insiders, we can verify what you can only guess, make sure you’re really on the right track.
“We know them, know the way they talk, know who these people are, and by not letting us be a part of this you’re taking a huge risk.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said.
“It’s not your decision,” Gideon said. His tone remained calm, but his body language spoke to his anger.
“This is our project. You work for us, not the other way around. We hired you, we’re paying you.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t, you didn’t, and you’re not.” She paused for effect, continuing before Gideon could say more.
“I’m here for Logan,” she said, “end of story. You have no idea what it takes to run a project like this, but I do. It’s what I do for a living.
“If you doubt me, ask Logan. Not only have I put more money into this than all of you combined, but it’s my neck on the line if something goes wrong.”
She nodded toward Bradford. “At best, you’re paying for my rearguard, and good luck convincing him that he works for you.
“I’ve given you an overview. The play-by-play is provided on a need-to-know basis, and quite frankly, you don’t need to know.”
Gideon’s face reddened, but he said nothing. Munroe gauged him carefully.
The provocation wasn’t meant as a way to establish rank or to throw her weight around— she didn’t need to waste words in order to achieve that— she was pushing in order to prove to Logan what she already knew.
Gideon wasn’t here for Hannah. He could claim it as much as he wanted, but she was merely a cover.
Sure, getting the girl would be a huge upside, but there was more that he wanted, something that required access to the Havens, and Munroe had a pretty good guess as to what it was.
Gideon, just like Logan, and possibly Heidi to a lesser degree, was using the others to get to what he was really after.
When this was all over she could sit back and reminisce over it, but at the moment Gideon was kindling to a fire, a match to gasoline, a danger to the assignment and, by implication, to her.
Munroe placed both hands on the table, shifted forward, and in a near whisper said, “Look, we’re all here to get a little girl back to her mother, right?”
The nods of agreement were reluctant, but there.
“Finding Hannah is why I’m here,” she said, “the only reason I am here.”
She reached under her chair and retrieved a small envelope. She slid it across the table in Gideon’s direction.
“This is me,” she said, “my professional life, facts that you won’t find in any Internet search.”
She paused. “I deal in information. This is my area of expertise, and I have the backup manpower to get Hannah out once we find her.”
Munroe paused and, with a hard stare in Gideon’s direction, said, “Provided she doesn’t disappear while we’re in the middle of this.”
Gideon took the envelope and stuffed it into a pocket. He stood.
“I’ll read it when I have a chance,” he said, “but unless you have something further to add, I’m finished here.”
Munroe placed her hands on the table. Folded them. “It’s all I’ve got,” she said.
Leaving the table, Gideon passed Munroe, brushing close against her as he did.
Too close. Her reaction came in a nanosecond of calculation. Instinct before thought.
He was still in midstep when Munroe stood, caught him at the wrist, twisted so that she had the advantage of position, and yanked his pinkie back nearly hard enough to break it.
It was a movement so sudden that Heidi jumped.
In a voice low enough that only those at the table could hear it, Munroe said, “You really have no fucking idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”
