Alan watched in confusion as Sam began shuffling through the paperwork. As he became more frantic, Sam started pulling out the drawers, tipping them onto the floor, their contents spilling in every direction. After the second draw hit the ground, Sam’s eyes lit up.

‘Sam, what the fuck are you doing?’

As he bent down, Sam connected the dots. It had been staring him in the face the entire time.

Why Sinclair had kept Alex a secret from Alan.

How a trained marine like Sykes had shot twice at Sam and missed completely.

And why Sykes hadn’t killed Alan.

He turned to Alan and tossed the small box of matches to him. Alan caught them, then looked at Sam in confusion.

‘Do you still have the shirt you wore from last night?’ Sam asked, his voice full of clarity. ‘The one with Sinclair’s blood on it.’

‘Yeah.’ Alan shrugged. ‘Why?’

‘You need someone to run a DNA check.’

Alan frowned, shaking his head as if banishing some cobwebs.

‘I don’t get where you’re going with this.’

‘Those matches. Where is that bar?’

Alan looked at the box. The match box was emblazoned with the logo of the Tiempo de Salsa bar.

‘No idea.’ Alan stared at Sam in confusion. ‘Why?’

Sam’s age-old habit of committing the smallest details to memory was suddenly his saving grace.

Sam reached over to the chair and lifted his blood and dust covered jacket and began to ease himself into it. Alan stood and followed suit, watching with interest as Sam lifted the Glock 17 he’d taken from Raul and tucked it into the back of his jeans. Compared to the cocky friend that Sam had appeared to be a couple of nights ago, Alan was finally seeing the real Sam Pope.

A soldier.

A dangerous force who never knew when to quit.

A man of his word.

As Sam pulled open the door to the office, he looked back at Alan, his face as calm as his words were purposeful.

‘Because Vasquez and Sykes had the same box.’

Sam marched through the door, heading for the exit. The dots connected in Alan’s mind and he quickly followed, whipping the keys from his pocket as the two of them headed to his car ready to bring this all to an end.

Chapter Twenty-Two

No matter how hard he puffed on his cigarette, the nicotine refused to calm Sykes’s nerves.