Spy Games: Birthday Games by Mia Downing Page B

satellite photos, the surveillance photos, the maps, the odd snippets of intelligence. Nothing big. Until he hit one wire-tap transcription and his blood ran ice-cold. He tapped the now-blurring words with this finger, hitting on the affiliation he dreaded. Sex trafficking, drugs, weapons…this group had done it all. “We killed this five years ago when we got Charlotte out.”
    “As you can see, things are brewing again. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him yet, but it’s a matter of time.” Chase leaned forward and found a piece of paper at the back of the file. He shoved that one forward. “Look again. I need you to prove me wrong about this.”
    “You’re never wrong.” But Jake studied the emails printed out on the sheet anyway and prayed.
    They’d come so close to capturing the leader of this division. So damned close, but the choice had been to take him down or save one of their own. Charlotte Smith’s life had come first. The asshole had beat the shit out of Charlotte, almost killing her, and then stabbed Jake in the leg. If Chase had been with him, they would have gotten the prick. Case closed. But their jerk of a boss had sent Chase off on a wild goose hunt on the other side of London, despite being warned of the danger.
    Jake glanced at Chase, now the boss since the jerk had been fired three years ago. He was unearthly, statue still. That eerie stillness was a product of his past sniper and Special Ops training, and Jake wondered if Chase knew he went that still when disturbed or when he was on full alert.
    Chase’s gaze locked on his, and suddenly Jake felt what the stillness hid. The despair, the worry, the fear. Jake got it. The development of this group meant the chance of them losing it all—Charlotte, Kate, their lives. This wasn’t a job—it was personal. Chase’s eyes implored him to find a hole, something he’d missed, anything. From a man who lived to be right, the idea that Chase was practically begging Jake to prove him wrong was scary as hell.
    Charlotte’s endgame was starting.
    Jake sighed, broke eye contact to stare at the file. He shook his head. “You’re right, as usual.”
    “Fuck.”
    “Does Charlotte know?”
    “No, and I don’t intend to tell her at this time.”
    Jake snapped his head up. “Chase—”
    Chase raised a hand. “Hear me out. What’s the point in telling her the truth now? Things are quiet in her life, and this is no more than a blip on the radar. We don’t know if the asshole is back in business. We just know someone’s made contact. Nothing that needs to be shared yet. If we bring Charlotte in, we’ll have to tell her the truth. Are you willing to tell her the truth?”
    “She’s strong now.” But Jake doubted Charlotte would listen. She hadn’t wanted to know the truth, even when she was broken and half-dead. Now, she didn’t remember the truth. Her mind had blacked out the horrible pieces, and unfortunately, there were quite a few of those.
    Chase arched a brow. “You want to tell her? Be my guest.”
    Jake shook his head. He liked his balls and his life. Charlotte would have both if he told her.
    “So we agree. Charlotte knows nothing until the end, and only if we have to send her in. And we hope to hell she regains some of her memories about her past life or we’re fucked.”
    “You know this kills me, but yeah. I agree.” What choice did Jake have? Given Chase’s weird, sixth sense about intelligence and how the pieces would eventually fit together with so little proof, it made sense to wait to involve Charlotte. “You sense something more, don’t you? Stuff you’re not sharing?”
    Chase nodded. “I don’t understand where any of this is going, and there are parts that I can’t connect to this yet, but I know they’re all related.”
    “So what do I do?”
    “I want you to hit London and Dubai, see what you can find out. See who’s involved and maybe add a few photos and things to the file.”
    Half of Jake’s life was