He grinned back, imagining Audrey on a sandy beach under a bright blue sky. Bellows Air Force Station had oceanfront cabins on one of the best beaches on the island, available for rent by DoD civilians and active-duty military. The sound of ocean waves would lull them to sleep every night after he made love to her.

He would mentally explore this fantasy further when their situation wasn’t so…completely and utterly dire.

“As soon as I have a working phone, I’ll make us a reservation.” He brushed his lips over hers, then stepped back. “Now, let’s search Jeb’s papers and see if his laptop will boot. I want to see who he’s been corresponding with.”

The damaged SUV looked exactly as it had when they’d found it hours ago. It rested low on the ground with four flat tires, six bullet holes in the rear driver’s-side panel circling the fuel tank.

The holes were big. Whoever had shot up the vehicle had used high-caliber bullets—probably a .45. This was as much a warning as disabling.

Together, Chris and Huang approached the vehicle, standing back-to-back, rotating in a circle, taking no chances while they crossed open ground. At least the moon saw fit to hide behind clouds again, and the rain continued to provide endless cover.

When he reached the driver’s door, he tried the handle. Locked, making him glad he’d remembered to get the tools he needed from Mock, who was the team’s best car thief—or rather, commandeer-er—when a mission called for it. He quickly slipped a wedge between the window and the weather stripping and worked it in until the gap was wide enough for him to slip a thin bent rod through. It took less than twenty seconds to unlock the door.

He reached over the center console for the glove box and pulled out a faux-leather zippered case that probably held the owner’s manual and would have pockets for registration and insurance cards. A quick glance inside and he had what they needed. Audrey Kendrick had renewed her insurance in October.

He snapped a picture of the vehicle registration and insurance card. Ms. Kendrick lived in Port Angeles.

A few years ago, Port Angeles had been at the center of a Ukrainian neo-Nazi group’s terrorist plot to drop a nuke in the Strait of Juan de Fuca and cause tsunamis that would have wiped Seattle, Vancouver, and everything in between off the map.

Was there a chance the tangos here were part of that cell? Could this be related?

It was a razor-thin connection, but Chris wouldn’t rule anything out without more information.

A quick scan of the vehicle interior offered another clue to the woman’s identity. A medium-weight brown jacket with the Olympic National Park logo and an official-looking embroidered patch that said “Park Archaeologist” on the left breast was on the floor of the back seat.