27
A collective breath was held in the kitchen at the safe house in Malibu. Three pairs of eyes turned to look at John. His face paled slightly, then flushed red with anger. He clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking in his cheek. The sound of his phone vibrating broke the tense silence. John picked it up and read the text message aloud.
“Pablo gone. House empty. Raid a bust.”
“At least we know where to find Escobedo,” Scott said, trying to break the tension in the room.
John turned to the coffee machine, lifted the carafe, and poured another round for everyone. After carefully setting the pot back on the burner, he grabbed his mug and moved out of the kitchen to pace the length of the living room and dining area. The fingers of one hand wrapped around the mug, bringing it to his lips eve
