"Sir?"

"Hmm. . .?"

"The marksman who shot you has been captured," Jordan looked up at Skull, who was reporting the latest news update to his boss.

"Where is he?" he asked as he took a swig of his liquor. His left hand held the glass while his injured right arm rested on his desk.

"Down in the basement of the warehouse, sir," Skull's eyes wandered from the neat pile of files on his boss's desk to the scattered sheets of paper which were sprawled out right in front of him. His eyes briefly stopped at the sight of the picture of a seemingly familiar woman.

A crease formed between...