What the hell had he done? Not once in his career had he risked a mission by letting it get personal. Not like this. Moving silently, he slid from the bed and yanked up his jeans, heading for the door and walking outside into a rainy morning, remaining dry under the overhang from the floor above.

Wolfe emerged from the other bedroom, already dressed in jeans and a jacket. He handed over a latte topped with a mile of whipped cream and what appeared to be drizzles of both caramel and chocolate. “How’s the hip?”

“Good.” Raider took the drink and guzzled half of it down, not caring that the sugar would probably kill him. He needed the caffeine. “What’s the plan?”

“Transport gets here in thirty to take us back to DC for at least the night. No news on the journal or evidence.” Wolfe tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “We’re gonna have to go at Sean Banaghan pretty hard.” The soldier gazed out at the many cars and trucks in the wet parking lot. “Thought you should know.”

Raider took another drink. “No lecture about last night?”

“I don’t lecture.” Wolfe straightened as a portly guy in a business suit exited a door farther down the way, pulling a small suitcase. He watched the man get into a green Chrysler and then drive away without looking their way once. “I like you and I like Brigid. But I don’t see this going down a good path. Not with the facts we have.”

Raider nodded. “Agreed. Unless we get Banaghan to work with us and put Brigid somewhere safe for the time being. She’s been in enough danger, and Coonan knows of her. He’ll try to get to her again.” Raider had a job to do, and he couldn’t think unless Brigid was safe. Whether he liked that fact or not, he wouldn’t lie to himself, and he refused to lie to the guy who had his back.

Wolfe snorted. “One night with her and you want to lock her down. Forget Coonan. I’m worried where your brain is right now. We need Brigid on this.”

“Sure. We need her in the computer room.” Heat clawed its way up Raider’s neck to his face. The last person he needed personal advice from was Clarence Wolfe. “She’s not an operative, Wolfe. She’s a computer hacker more comfortable in a quiet room than in the field. And she spent time with a lunatic who wanted to cut off her finger, before nearly being blown up by a fucking missile.” Raider’s drawl rolled out against his will.

“Well. So long as you’re not personally involved,” Wolfe drawled right back, sarcasm heavy in his gritty tone.

“Shut up,” Raider muttered.

Wolfe relaxed against his door again. “You shut up.”