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Gulf.”
    Olin shook his head. “Illegals just won’t learn.” But Langston wouldn’t call him out for an illegal—that happened nearly every day. So something bigger was happening here.
    The doors slid back with a soft whoosh, and Langston stepped into the large atrium of the building. He donned his white hat as the early morning sun embraced them. Inside the Suburban and on their way, Langston leaned on the console that saddled the space between them. “She wasn’t an illegal.”
    Olin arched his eyebrows. He studied the brown eyes that held his, as if a hidden meaning should exist. He shouldn’t have waited so longto figure out the madness to Admiral Langston’s methods. Should’ve taken the admiral to lunch to familiarize himself with the man who now advised the president and the secretary of defense.
    Regardless if the woman in the Gulf wasn’t an illegal, if it hadn’t made CougarNews yet, then things were about to get interesting. “Who is she?”
    “For security concerns, her identity is being withheld until we can debrief her fully.” He huffed. “Not that it’s done any good. She’s not talking.” Langston peeked up at an orange light as they slid through the intersection without slowing. “We think she’s Senator Roark’s daughter.”
    “Roark?” Heat prickled the back of Olin’s neck.
Jacqueline
.
    He’d never forget the night the report came in that a Corps of Engineers team had been taken captive in the Venezuelan jungle. Then his heart sank when he saw the name of Jacqueline’s daughter on the list of missing. Although he tried to discreetly search back channels to find out what happened and locate her, he’d been stifled at every attempt. And doing that made it risky to send out his black-ops team to find her; besides, the team had been shelved when Connelly, the former Joint Chiefs chairman, tried to salvage his career. And failed. Thus the new chairman sitting next to him.
    “We’ve had her twenty-three hours. Not an iota of information.” Langston dragged his gaze from the road. “She said she’ll only talk to one person.”
    Olin waited.
    “You.”
    Surprise sparked through him. “Me?” Why would Danielle ask for him? The last time he’d seen her, she was thirteen years old and standing beside an oak coffin, begging her mother not to leave her.
    Olin held the dash as they rounded the corner to Walter Reed, then parked outside the emergency entrance.
    Keeping pace as the admiral worked his way to the third floor, Olin ached for the young woman. If she’d been captured by Venezuelan rebels, held for six months, and managed an escape, no telling what condition she’d be in—mentally or physically.
    “Take care of her, Olin.”
The decade-old admonishment raked over his conscience.
    Langston marched to the end of the hall where two Marines jerked to attention, eyes forward. Another man sat across from them in a metal chair, looking haggard in his unzipped navy jacket. He rose as they approached and offered a salute.
    “At ease,” Admiral Langston said as he scowled at the loner. “You family?” The growl in Langston’s voice could not be missed. No doubt he was ready to throttle whoever had violated the security order and contacted family.
    The man’s pale eyes widened. “No, sir. Chief Petty Officer Range Metcalfe, U.S. Coast Guard, sir.” He nodded toward the secured room. “I lifted her from the sloop that found her. I was ordered to remain here until debriefed.”
    Ah, that explained the messy hair and exhaustion ringing his eyes. Olin eyed the name over the man’s chest pocket. Metcalfe. Was it possible …? His gaze flipped to the eyes. Same blue eyes. But black hair, and a bit less suave looking. Could this young officer be the brother to Nightshade’s team member, secretly designated “Wolfsbane” in Olin’s reports?
    “Let’s talk.” Langston pointed toward a corner as he motioned to Olin to join them. “Tell us what you know.”
    Back against