Is this a practical joke? Jace stared at Trick in the twin glows of the streetlight and the fluorescent lights within Station One Twenty-six. The evening was chilly. The thumping bass of rap music a few blocks west echoed in his pulse. Screeching tires and raucous laughter just to the south made it difficult to think straight after the adrenalin dump from Donatello’s capture.

“Sorry, man,” Trick said. “Sean said those were your orders.”

“Why would I order you to pack supplies and have them run off into the night?”

His brother spread his palms. “When has Sean ever lied? I knew you were cleaning up the dojo scene, and Sean said your partner was meeting them outside the Windsor Park El station.”

No. Margo had been hanging by the SWAT vehicle waiting for Sean. Until she finally figured out something was wrong. “When did they leave?”

Trick glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Shit!” Jace walked in a circle, hands clasped above his head. He’d just gotten through handing Donatello over to SSA Garcia, and humbly accepting SAC Webb’s effusive compliments, only to have to go back to headquarters with this news!

Trick scrolled through his phone. “I’ll call in backup and help you find them.”

“Where? What were they even wearing?”

“My clothes. They basically stripped me of everything I had in my locker. Sean has on black jeans and a White Sox tee. Gretch is in a blue tee with the station logo, and earlier she’d borrowed tan cargo shorts and kicks from a woman on my crew. Both have Station One Twenty-six sweatshirts and windbreakers. I packed two knapsacks with blankets, aluminum wraps, ponchos, flashlights, water, and protein bars. And hand sanitizer. Sean wouldn’t leave without a full bottle.”

“You didn’t happen to give him your cell phone, and I could call this a night?” Jace said wearily.

Trick spread his hands again, his face a mixture of worry and frustration. “He never lies, Jace.”

“The good thing is one bottle of sanitizer isn’t near enough for him to camp outside. Did you give them any money?”

A muscle flexed along Trick’s jaw. “Gang emptied their wallets and took up a collection. Sean said the FBI would reimburse. Over two-fifty.”

Jace scratched the bristles on his jaw. He could fix this. He would. God forbid Mom found out her baby boy was back in danger.

Trick shifted his weight. “You should also know Gretch’s housemate was executed.”

Prickles crawled up Jace’s neck. Even as he asked for the name, his phone buzzed Margo’s text with the news and answer. Dwayne Collins. The banker had flirted with someone on the phone the other day, mentioned a female housemate, and texts not returned. Of course he was Gretch’s housemate. Had Dwayne let something slip last night that forced Brandon to kill him?

Jace shook the supposition from his head. He was clearly losing it. Beheading meant ISIS or a Middle Eastern connection. The FBI was dealing with a two-headed snake tonight: the mob kidnapping boys for a stolen painting, and Adyton or an unrelated terrorist cell doling out a brutal form of revenge. Why? Had Collins’ years of paper trails found massive money laundering that required silencing? If Adyton was behind this, how would he even know who Dwayne was or where he lived? Or that there were files proving money laundering that Jace had reported on this afternoon?

Tumblers clicked into place. A mole in the task force. Jace’s heart beat off rhythm. And if that were so, then taking Sean and Gretch to a safe house would have signed their death warrants.

“Okay.” Jace forced his brain to calm down and lock onto the problem at hand. They were potential vics, not his brother and his brother’s hot coworker. There was no way they’d be successful at staying off the grid on their own. He had to find them first and protect them from multiple factions, including the FBI. Concentrate!

“Sean doesn’t have his wallet, license, or phone.” Jace ticked them off his fingers. “They were in the book bag in the dojo. Presumably Gretch does have those items, but I told her to keep her phone off, so there’s no way to trace GPS. Neither has a car.” He paced the wide driveway.

A firefighter walked out with two steaming mugs of strong-smelling coffee, exactly how Jace liked it. He nodded his acknowledgement as he took one, still brainstorming possibilities. “They can’t take the El anywhere because they’ll want to stay away from as many security cameras as possible unless it’s an emergency. Emergencies include emptying as much of her bank account as an ATM allows and buying a burner phone.”

“And he’s a fanatic about bottled water,” Trick pointed out. “I packed enough for an hour, the way he drinks it.”

Jace nodded. “So that’s potentially a hundred convenience stores in the surrounding blocks.” His spirits flagged. “Where would they go? We need to think like Sean.”

His brother snorted. “That’s the problem.”

“Not necessarily. We know his quirks, so we have the advantage over whoever is after them.”

A shriek in the distance and glass smashing on cement sent chills racing up Jace’s spine. This wide-open, teeming city at night was no place for his little brother. Sean belonged in his quiet little art world with his paintbrushes… Or in his sterile-looking apartment and mind-numbing social life.

Trick’s phone dinged. He breathed a sigh. “My guy can replace me. I’m good to go as soon as he gets here.”

Jace waved him off. “Don’t bother. Two brothers driving around the streets of Chicago? This is going to take manpower and technology. I’ll call a task force together.”

“You just said you need people who know Sean.”

Jace gulped the coffee. Too hot, but even the burn gave him a much-needed kick. Endorphins jolted, and he breathed the rush in. “Call or text if you get any ideas where he might be.” Trick rubbed a palm over his mouth, an old childhood signal that he was straining to hold back a verbal assault. Jace handed him the empty mug. “Just say it.”

“If one thought in my head helps find them, can’t you put aside your need to be the sole hero just this once and let me tag along?”

The sarcasm pushed the right fraternal buttons. A stubborn band constricted Jace’s chest. “Maybe if you had an ounce of distrust you’d have asked yourself why I would order you to pack camping gear. I’m the FBI. We have comfortable lodging at our disposal.”

A sneer hovered at the edges of Trick’s mouth. “You’re sure wasting a lot of time assigning blame and deflecting accountability.”

“Thanks for nothing, Trick. Glad I asked you to come to the rescue so you could fuck things up a million times worse.” Jace spun on his heel and stalked toward the Suburban.

Everything came so easy for the asshole. Trick led a charmed life: had found his soul mate in high school; won a lottery four years ago and didn’t even need to work; had known he wanted to be a firefighter like Pop by the time he was old enough to hold a hose… which, naturally, had vaulted him first in line for Pop’s affection. Jace yanked open the car door so hard it bounced back and slammed his shoulder.

“I’ll comb the streets anyway,” Trick called. “If I find anything, I’ll send out the bat signal.”

Ha ha. “Go home to your wife and kids, Trick.” Go home to your fucking happily ever after.