Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

S titch glanced over at Sloane’s pale, exhausted face. He loved that she’d tried to stay awake with him but had eventually passed out herself. He felt oddly lighter after all that talking. Maybe the shrinks were right—opening up did help.

What she’d said about her dad had surprised him. He’d always pictured her having a comfortable, middle-class upbringing. She just had that vibe. Well-spoken, elegant, classy.

But she’d been through some stuff too. Like him, she’d lost someone close—her mom. Then her dad had killed himself right in front of her.

Jesus, and she was only seventeen.

Everybody had tragedy in their life. Everyone had to deal with pain.

He wasn’t alone in that.

Even if it still hurt like hell.

He drove for a few more hours, then pulled into a gas station to fill up and stretch his legs. They’d been on the road for six hours.

Sloane stirred and opened her eyes. “I must’ve dozed off,” she said, looking a little embarrassed. “I was trying to stay awake to keep you company.”

He smiled. “Don’t sweat it. You obviously needed the rest.”

He was used to going days without sleep. Six hours was nothing.

A loud yawn came from the backseat. “Are we there yet?”

He grinned. “Only about ten more hours.”

“Fuck.” Blade stretched. “You want me to take over?”

“Yeah, why not. I could use a break.”

“You take the back,” Sloane said. “I’m good up front.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you need it more than I do.”

After they used the restroom and filled up, they hit the road again. Stitch heard Sloane chatting with Blade, and despite what he’d thought, and he fell asleep.

The next thing he knew, the sun was up, and Sloane was driving.

What the ? —?

He glanced out the window. They were in a built-up area, surrounded by industrial warehouses and container yards.

Karachi.

“Good morning.” Sloane caught his eye in the rearview mirror.

He sat up, glaring at the city. “I can’t believe I slept that long.”

“Nothing short of mortar fire would’ve woken you up, man,” Blade teased from the front seat. Stitch couldn’t help but grin. The banter between them felt like the old days, back in the team. He’d missed that.

“What time is it?”

“Eight,” Blade said. “I called the harbor master. The Arabian Princess leaves at six tonight, so we’ve got plenty of time to get down there and do a recce.”

“Perfect,” Stitch said.

Blade turned around. “But first, we gotta make a stop. I need a gun.”

The Clifton was a four-star hotel just a stone’s throw from the port. Definitely a step up from what they were used to, but no one was complaining.

After a quick breakfast of eggs and naan, they checked into two adjoining rooms. Stitch left the box of supplies he’d picked up from his contact in the trunk.

“Wow, this is nice,” Sloane said, grinning as she flopped down on the king-size bed.

Pat called to give them an update. Stitch put the phone on speaker.

“The Pakistani police haven’t ID’d Jeremy Vale yet. They’re looking for the Pakistani guy who reserved the room, but he used a fake name. You’re in the clear.”

Blade chuckled. “Smart taxi driver.”

“Matthew Sullivan is under 24-hour surveillance, according to my contact. CIA Inspector General Robert McCarthy has been fully briefed on the upcoming shipment and is launching an investigation into Ghost Company, both during the war and after.”

“That’s good news,” Sloane said after they hung up. “If they’re watching him, he can’t come after me.”

Stitch wasn’t so sure it was good news. Matthew Sullivan had risen to the top of his list, and he wanted the mastermind for himself. An investigation, a deal, and a few years in minimum-security prison wouldn’t be enough for the man who’d ordered the attack on his village and ruined his life.

But there’d be time to settle that later.

First things first: Omari.