Page 14

“I don’t need your pity,” Elena said. “Just let me out. I’ve got a million things to do.”

Sabrina arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve known me a long time. I wouldn’t say pity was part of my makeup. Compassion? Yes. But not pity. I didn’t pity Nick while he busted his behind to walk again with that prosthetic. You think I’m going to pity you because you’ve worked yourself into exhaustion and you’ve got a busted chin? Sister, please. That doesn’t mean I can’t hurt for you because I can see the torment you’re going through. We can all see it. But you’ve never let any of us close enough to try and help you heal.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Elena asked, feeling the tears threaten to fall. “How can I not remember what they made of me? Every time I look at my body, the marks are there. They made sure I’d never forget. And I can’t. No amount of help from anyone is going to change that.”

“I don’t believe that. The people here love you. But you’ve done nothing but stonewall and reject us.”

“I’m trying,” Elena said. “I told Brock everything last night. About Marguerite. About what the cartel wants. I let him help me.”

Sabrina’s expression softened. “That’s a start. A good start.” She checked Elena’s chart. “You’re free to go. And not that you’ll listen to doctor’s orders, but you need to take it easy. I’ve got a couple of prescriptions for you.”

She pointed to the chair in the corner where a neat stack of clothes waited. “Brock brought you some clean clothes. He also said to tell you he’s making calls and putting together the team. He’ll meet you at your apartment in an hour.”

Elena felt relief wash over her, warm and unexpected. He hadn’t changed his mind. He was still going to help. She looked at the clothes he’d chosen—soft yoga pants, a loose T-shirt, comfortable things that wouldn’t irritate her injuries. He’d even brought her favorite hoodie, the gray one she’d left in the gym months ago and assumed had been lost. The fact that he’d known which one was hers, that he’d remembered and kept it, that he’d thought to bring it now when she needed comfort—it made her throat tight with emotions she didn’t know how to name.

“Thank you,” she said.

Sabrina paused at the door. “Elena? I’m glad you’re finally letting people in. We’ve been waiting a long time for you to trust us.”

An hour later, Elena stood in her apartment, freshly showered and dressed in comfortable clothes. The nurse had removed her IV and bandages, replacing them with smaller dressings. Her chin still ached, but the headache had subsided with the Tylenol.

A knock on her door made her jump, but when she checked the peephole, it was Brock.

She opened the door and he came in, carrying two covered dishes and a duffle bag.

“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he said, setting the dishes on her kitchen counter. “And I brought some supplies we’ll need.”

“You’ve been busy,” she said.

“I have.” He pulled out his phone and showed her a list. “I’ve been coordinating with Nate and Eden. They’re in. Mira’s getting the jet ready.”

“That fast?” Elena’s eyes widened.

“We need to get into position, but we also need time to do this right,” Brock said. “The cartel’s going to expect you to need time to extract the data and get it to Mexico safely. We’re going to use that to our advantage.”

He pulled out one of the dishes and handed it to her. “Eat first. Then we’ll go over the plan and contact the cartel with our timeline.”

Elena sat at her small kitchen table and opened the container. Grilled chicken, vegetables, rice. Simple but exactly what she needed. Brock sat across from her, his own meal untouched as he pulled up documents on his phone.

“Here’s what we’ve got so far,” he said. “We fly to Miami first. There’s a guy there—Chuck Magnum. Best forger in the business. He’ll have new passports ready for us. Cal’s working on our covers and planting them in the system so nothing looks like it’s been planned last minute. We’re going in as two couples on honeymoon. Dr. and Mrs. Robert Smith—that’s you and me. Nate and Eden will use their own covers.”

“Honeymoon,” Elena said.

“It’s the best cover for couples traveling to Cancun,” Brock said. “Gives us a reason to be in hotels, asking questions, moving around. Nobody pays attention to honeymooners.”

Elena nodded. It made sense, even if the thought of pretending to be Brock’s wife made her stomach flutter.

“Now, about the flash drive,” Brock continued. “What about Cal’s cannibal virus? Can you recreate that?”

“Yes,” Elena said. “But I’ll need access to the tech vault on sublevel three. The virus is kept on a separate, isolated server. Too dangerous to have on the main network.”

“Can you do it without triggering alarms?”

“I can do it,” she said. “But there will be an audit trail. Anyone who checks will know I accessed it.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Brock said. “Right now, getting Marguerite out is the priority. Walk me through how this virus works.”

Elena set down her fork, her appetite gone. “The virus will appear to be legitimate data at first. But once they plug it into their system, it activates. It copies all their data—everything on their network—and sends it to a secure Dynamis server and to the Department of Justice. Then it destroys everything it touched. Complete wipe. There’s no stopping it once it starts.”