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“Ryker, it’s the CIA. I don’t know what to tell you. Everything has to do with the picture. Did you see it?”
I growl, the reminder that maybe she wasn’t here for me is a slap in the face. “No. She didn’t tell me she asked Addie to help her.”
Something catches Max’s attention out his window, and I follow his gaze. Two black SUVs pull up the long drive. Thank god she’s back. We both beeline it to the door. Once outside, we watch four men step out of their vehicles, none being the Richard guy. Or Aspen. I jerk my head toward Max.
“Where is she?” I clip.
He shakes his head. “Let me handle this.”
The four men stalk up the steps to where we’re standing. I pull in a deep breath of the cool crisp winter air, doing nothing to cool off my rage.
“Max Shaw?” the taller stocky man asks, pulling out an ID and flashing it. His eyes are hard and all business. “I’m Agent Oliver Wilson with the CIA. You called about Ms. Aspen Foley, that is staying here. We’re here to talk with her.” My brows furrow in confusion. They fucking already have her.
Max appraises them before answering. Probably wondering what the hell is going on too. “Ms. Foley is no longer here.”
The shortest of the four, wearing thick black-rimmed glasses, pulls out a small pad and pen. “Can you tell us where she went?” His nasally voice sends an irritating buzz through my head.
What game are they playing?
Max crosses his arms and stands tall. “You guys are an hour too late. Agent Richard Devereux was here earlier and took her in for questioning. You know your boss?”
The man stops writing and looks up, wide-eyed. Another man who has yet to talk, whips around and walks down the stairs, pulling out his phone.
“Are you sure?” Agent Wilson asks.
“Am I sure that it was Richard? Or that he has her in custody?” Max shoots back in an irritated tone. I focus on the guy by the vehicle on the phone, watching him pace while talking.
“Did he show you identification?” the guy retorts.
“Richard and I have worked together in the past. It was him.”
The guys stare at Max, uncertain what to say, obviously not what they expected. Which leads me to lose my shit and spurt out, “Where the fuck did he take her?”
“Sir, please calm down. I’m sure there’s been a miscommunication. Whoever instructed us to come here wasn’t aware Agent Devereux was assisting on the case.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What case? She’s not even from here.”
In a quick monotone voice, he answers, “We can’t answer that.”
I scrape my hand through my hair and jerk aside, mumbling, “Of course you can’t.” I throw the door open and storm inside.
Motherfucker.
Red tape bullshit. Why can’t they see that something is amiss? Hopefully, Max can get more info from the guys. He’s worked with them before. I’m just some overpaid jock to them. Shit, to most people. I stop pacing when the door opens. Max walks in with a grim look and shakes his head.
“They’re being tight-lipped on this one.”
I drop my chin and close my eyes, guilt weighing me down. If she didn’t already hate me for acting like a total asshole, I’m sure she does now. I can’t stay here and do nothing. Max grabs my arm as I stalk past him, ripping my keys out of my pocket.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I’ll go find her myself.”
Max barks out a humorless laugh. “Ryker, sit the fuck down. This is the CIA. You aren’t finding her until they’re ready to bring her back.” I pin my glare on him, clenching my hand. “How much do you know this girl? Is she worth all this bullshit?”
My fist cocks back and swings. Max ducks, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back.
“Quarterback, you might be fast on the draw with a ball, but don’t try to hit me again,” he chuckles under his breath, shoving me away. I flip him off when I adjust my skewered shirt.
