“I think he heard exactly what he said he heard. Palm Springs. Compound. Target. Soon.”
Tank’s voice drops. “Then what are you saying?”
Foster looks at me.
“I’m saying the person using those words may not mean what we assume.”
Spike turns from the window. “Explain.”
“People outside our world hearcompoundand think any large private property with gates, guards, or more money than sense.” Foster leans back. “They might mean the Shadows. They might mean Maverick’s estate. They might mean the prison. They might mean something else entirely.”
“My estate is not called a compound,” I say.
“To you,” Foster replies. “To someone watching from the outside? Big gates. Armed men. Private land. It fits.”
Tank curses under his breath.
Spike’s eyes harden. “You think this points back to Maverick?”
“I think it might,” Foster says. “Apart from us, the Moretti family, and the prison, what other group or organization lives inside a gated facility that could be qualified as a compound?”
“A private school, maybe?” Tank suggests.
My phone rings, pulling my attention from the conversation.
BellaAmelia, it says.
“Sorry, brothers,” I say. “It’s Amelia.”
I accept the call and lift the phone to my ear. “Baby?”
Her scream tears through the line.
“Maverick!”
I’m already standing.
“Fire,” she cries. “Please, help me.”
The room disappears.
All I can hear is her breath breaking, the crackle of something vicious behind her, the raw terror in her voice.
“Where are you?”
“The sanctuary.” She coughs hard enough to make my blood turn cold. “Please. I can’t—”
The line cuts out.
For one second, I stare at the phone.
Then I move.
My chair hits the floor behind me as I rush from the room.
I try calling her back, but it goes straight to voicemail.
Dammit.
