look like the walking dead.”
Marz chuffed out a weak laugh as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Roger that,” he said, pushing out of his chair. “I’ll start fresh on all this on the flip side.”
“You guys make any progress here?” Shane asked. Marz’s computer research was at the center of a number of mysteries they were trying to solve.
Marz blew out a long breath and tugged his longish hair behind his head. “I spent all night burying our IP address so deep you’d have to go to China to find it. Now I’ve got some spiders crawling the web for all possible meanings of ‘WCE,’” he said, referring to the depositor’s initials Charlie had found in his father’s twelve-million-dollar bank account.
Shane pressed his lips into a tight line. Twelve million dollars. Apparently the going rate for selling out the men and the values you were supposed to defend. Fucking Merritt. Shane counted his failure to see his commander’s true character as the second biggest mistake of his life.
After Molly.
Sighing, Marz continued. “Also been trying to unravel the mystery of Becca’s bracelet without much luck yet.” When they’d rescued Charlie the night before, the guy had only needed one good look at a bracelet their father had sent back from Afghanistan to see that the design actually embodied binary codes that translated to six-digit numbers. What those numbers meant, though, nobody knew. Marz pointed to a cardboard box sitting on the far end of his desk. “And I sorted through all the papers Becca had from her father, but nothing seemed to connect to the numbers.” The frustration in Derek’s voice was unusual, but understandable. They were looking for a needle in a Himalaya-sized haystack.
“You’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it,” Shane said. If anybody could, it was Derek DiMarzio.
“Appreciate the vote of confidence, but I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. Charlie might be able to help, though. After all, I’d missed the bracelet, and he’d only needed one look to realize its significance.” Shane suspected Marz might be right since Charlie seemed to have been cut from the same scary-brilliant cloth. Marz shrugged. “Anyway, the transmitters are all up and running, so anyone wanting to listen in or review the recordings can.”
“Thanks, man,” Shane said, clasping hands and bumping shoulders with the guy.
“ No problemo. ” Marz repeated the action with Nick, then headed toward the door, his nearly even gait almost hiding the fact that, a year ago, Shane had held the man’s femoral artery between his fingers when a grenade had blown off everything below his right knee.
When Shane looked at the guy, he saw many things—a survivor, a friend, a brilliant mind. But he also saw one of the few unequivocal things he’d done right in his life. It wouldn’t make up for failing Molly or his team. Nothing could make up for that. But it sure explained why Shane always felt that just a little of the weight on his shoulders lifted when Marz was around.
Because it was surprising just how much a lifetime of guilt weighed when saddled around a man’s shoulders.
What a fucking track record Shane had. No run-of-the-mill screwups for him. No. His mistakes were of the epically catastrophic kind. Every damn time.
Which was why, with every passing minute, Shane’s instincts lit up all over the place when it came to Crystal. Saving her just might represent a chance to earn a little redemption. He felt the truth of that into his very marrow. Any other outcome was unthinkable. Intolerable. Liable to take him to his knees once and for all.
Shane forced himself from his thoughts and turned to Nick. “How come you’re over here with us ugly mugs instead of holing up with a certain blond-haired cutie?”
A hint of humor flashed across Nick’s face. “We were holed up until Charlie started feeling bad. He said he was okay, but Becca wanted to sit up with him for a while.”
“Gotta
Marz chuffed out a weak laugh as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Roger that,” he said, pushing out of his chair. “I’ll start fresh on all this on the flip side.”
“You guys make any progress here?” Shane asked. Marz’s computer research was at the center of a number of mysteries they were trying to solve.
Marz blew out a long breath and tugged his longish hair behind his head. “I spent all night burying our IP address so deep you’d have to go to China to find it. Now I’ve got some spiders crawling the web for all possible meanings of ‘WCE,’” he said, referring to the depositor’s initials Charlie had found in his father’s twelve-million-dollar bank account.
Shane pressed his lips into a tight line. Twelve million dollars. Apparently the going rate for selling out the men and the values you were supposed to defend. Fucking Merritt. Shane counted his failure to see his commander’s true character as the second biggest mistake of his life.
After Molly.
Sighing, Marz continued. “Also been trying to unravel the mystery of Becca’s bracelet without much luck yet.” When they’d rescued Charlie the night before, the guy had only needed one good look at a bracelet their father had sent back from Afghanistan to see that the design actually embodied binary codes that translated to six-digit numbers. What those numbers meant, though, nobody knew. Marz pointed to a cardboard box sitting on the far end of his desk. “And I sorted through all the papers Becca had from her father, but nothing seemed to connect to the numbers.” The frustration in Derek’s voice was unusual, but understandable. They were looking for a needle in a Himalaya-sized haystack.
“You’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it,” Shane said. If anybody could, it was Derek DiMarzio.
“Appreciate the vote of confidence, but I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. Charlie might be able to help, though. After all, I’d missed the bracelet, and he’d only needed one look to realize its significance.” Shane suspected Marz might be right since Charlie seemed to have been cut from the same scary-brilliant cloth. Marz shrugged. “Anyway, the transmitters are all up and running, so anyone wanting to listen in or review the recordings can.”
“Thanks, man,” Shane said, clasping hands and bumping shoulders with the guy.
“ No problemo. ” Marz repeated the action with Nick, then headed toward the door, his nearly even gait almost hiding the fact that, a year ago, Shane had held the man’s femoral artery between his fingers when a grenade had blown off everything below his right knee.
When Shane looked at the guy, he saw many things—a survivor, a friend, a brilliant mind. But he also saw one of the few unequivocal things he’d done right in his life. It wouldn’t make up for failing Molly or his team. Nothing could make up for that. But it sure explained why Shane always felt that just a little of the weight on his shoulders lifted when Marz was around.
Because it was surprising just how much a lifetime of guilt weighed when saddled around a man’s shoulders.
What a fucking track record Shane had. No run-of-the-mill screwups for him. No. His mistakes were of the epically catastrophic kind. Every damn time.
Which was why, with every passing minute, Shane’s instincts lit up all over the place when it came to Crystal. Saving her just might represent a chance to earn a little redemption. He felt the truth of that into his very marrow. Any other outcome was unthinkable. Intolerable. Liable to take him to his knees once and for all.
Shane forced himself from his thoughts and turned to Nick. “How come you’re over here with us ugly mugs instead of holing up with a certain blond-haired cutie?”
A hint of humor flashed across Nick’s face. “We were holed up until Charlie started feeling bad. He said he was okay, but Becca wanted to sit up with him for a while.”
“Gotta
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