Firewall

“What are my orders?” He closed his eyes, obviously exhausted. “Yes, sir.” He disconnected the call.

Grayson and Taryn eased onto opposite ends of the sofa. The middle sank to the floor, but Joe claimed he liked it that way. Every time Grayson started to nod, a thought popped into his head, and he’d jerk awake. Snippets of conversation. Research. His organizational skills competed with information he did and didn’t have.

He forced his eyes to stay open. “I’m thinking if neither of us can sleep, then let’s talk. But not about all the near misses of tonight.”

Grayson stared out the window of his and Joe’s kitchen into the blackness. In a few hours the sun would rise. Between now and then, the bad guys would remain on the loose, trying to get their hands on Taryn and eliminating anyone who got in their way. Neither the good nor the bad would rest until this was over.

His to-do list grew. When daylight emerged, he wanted an interview with Ethan Formier’s widow.

The op room was filled with special agents poring over intel. Like him, they labored over the many angles of the airport bombing according to their specialty. No one planned to leave until arrests were made. No one wanted to leave.

At the FBI office, Grayson slipped into a chair beside Vince with a cup of coffee strong enough to stop al-Qaeda. That’s what he needed.

A nagging headache settled at the base of his skull, but he shook it off. No time to fall under a demon migraine or dope himself with meds.