“Mr. Cavalier,” Dom said, unable to hide his surprise. The physical therapist was still holding his arm at an awkward angle, and Dom winced as he tried to pull away. “Let me go, man.”
The therapist released his grip with obvious reluctance. “We’re not finished with your session.”
“Yeah, we are.” Dom reached for the towel draped over the nearby chair and wiped the sweat from his face. His shoulder throbbed, but he wasn’t about to show weakness in front of Vivi’s father. He’d only met the man once before, years ago, and that meeting had been brief and unremarkable. This was different. The intensity radiating from Jean-Luc filled the room like a physical presence.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Davey said to the therapist, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “Dom, you’re needed back in the war room.”
“What’s going on?” He knew whatever it was, it wasn’t about Brennan. Davey was acting like the particular convo never happened, which was a standard Davey Wilde deflection tactic.
“Raines,” Davey said simply.
“Well, shit.” Dom dropped the towel and reached for his shirt, trying not to wince as he worked his bad arm through the sleeve. Once he was dressed and on his feet, Jean-Luc crossed the room and extended a hand.
“Dominic.” His accent was thick, pure Cajun, as rich as the New Orleans coffee. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Likewise.” Dom clasped his hand, half expecting to be crushed in the grip, but Jean-Luc’s handshake was firm withoutbeing aggressive. There was no posturing, no silent alpha male challenges. This was a man who knew he didn’t need to prove himself.
“Let’s go,” Davey said, already turning toward the door. “The others are waiting.”
The briefing room fell silent as they entered. Bridger and Weston stopped their low conversation by the coffee machine. Liam and Griffin paused in their discussion over the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Elliot was back on his laptop, but looked up when the door opened. He glanced between Davey and Dom, no doubt weighing whether or not he’d be breaking up a fight in the next ten minutes. He must have decided not, because he turned his attention back to his laptop.
“This is Jean-Luc Cavalier,” Davey introduced, motioning to the man. “Sabin and Vivi’s dad. He has some intel for us.”
Jean-Luc took up a position at the head of the table as if he’d been running meetings in this room for years. No one, not even Davey, seemed inclined to stop him.
“I found Malcolm Raines,” he said without preamble.
The surge of adrenaline momentarily dulled the throb in Dom’s shoulder. He moved to the table and pulled out a chair with his good arm. “Where?”
“Montenegro. On a hundred and forty-foot motor yacht anchored about two miles offshore.” Jean-Luc nodded to Elliot, who typed a command on his laptop, and a satellite image appeared on the main screen.
“He’s running with a skeleton crew and four Praetorian operatives for personal security,” Elliot said. “Thinks he’s invisible.”
A mean grin spread across Jean-Luc’s face. “He’s not.”
“How did you find him?” Griffin asked.
“Ah, I got plenty friends, mon ami. And most of ‘em still owe me favors.”
Dom studied the satellite image. The location looked accessible. The opposition was minimal. It was almost too easy. Wilde Security had taken down more dangerous individuals than Raines under more difficult circumstances, so this should be a cakewalk.
But something felt off.
He caught himself rubbing his injured shoulder absently and forced his hand back to the table.
“When do we move?” he asked.
“We?” Davey raised an eyebrow. “You’re not cleared for field work, Dom. Not even close.”
“I’m going.”
“You can barely get your shirt on without wincing,” Davey countered. “Doc hasn’t cleared you for anything more strenuous than light duty.”
“I don’t need two arms to pull a trigger.” Dom sat forward, locking eyes with his brother. “This is Raines. The man who took Vivi and me. Who tortured Sabin. Who fucked with our family. I’m not sitting this out.”
Davey opened his mouth to argue, but Jean-Luc’s soft, “He goes,” silenced him.