Dante stood by the window, staring out at the dark treeline of the German countryside. His phone was still warm in his hand—the same phone that had broadcast the sound of Kieran's life almost ending. If his team hadn't traced the GPS within minutes, Kieran would've died in that SUV like a bug in a jar.
"Status," Dante muttered as a medic stepped into the room.
"He's lucky to be alive, sir. The impact should have killed him. We've managed to stabilize the internal bleeding, but the concussion is severe."
A tactical lead, dressed in black fatigues stepped into the room, as the medic left. He nodded to Dante.
"Report," Dante commanded, his voice low so as not to wake the man in the bed.
"We reached the coordinates near the old stone mill," the man whispered. "We found the vehicle that was reported in the wreck. It's a mess—smashed into a tree. A few meters away, we found a body. Local woman, heavy-set, blonde. She was executed. Single shot to the head."
