Her thoughts narrowed.
Andy.
She pictured her brother’s face—trying to be brave, trying not to let her hear how scared he was. They’d put her on the phone with him to prove they had her, but it hadn’t sounded like the first time they’d talked. From the way the men spoke afterward, they’d already been leaning on Andy, pushing him to do something with crypto on his computer. She didn’t know what they wanted moved or how. She didn’t even know if Andy knew how to do it.
And she couldn’t decide what terrified her more—that he did, or that he didn’t.
Please be smart, she thought. Please don’t try to do this alone.
Her thoughts shifted to Brian.
The thought of him steadied her in a way nothing else could. He was calm when things went bad, methodical when chaos took over—the kind of man who didn’t walk away from problems and didn’t leave people behind. Somewhere along the way, she’d fallen in love with him. The realization was simple and unavoidable, settling deep in her chest with a weight that felt permanent.
If Andy had reached out—if Brian knew—he’d come.
She held onto that as she shifted carefully, testing her restraints and cataloging what little freedom she had without drawing attention to herself. Panic wouldn’t get her out of this mess—but thinking logically might.
She didn’t know how yet, only that she would find a way.
This wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about getting back to Andy and Brian, the two people she loved most.
She wasn’t done fighting. Not even close.
Chapter Thirty-Two
00:22:38
The DOT service lot sprawled out in front of them, its aging asphalt spider-webbed with cracks, dirt, and dark oil stains. State trucks and orange-striped utility vans lined the edges near metal storage units. A sagging chain-link fence ringed the perimeter, and beyond it, thick stands of pine and scrub oak pressed in on all sides, muting both sound and sight.
After Brian killed the engine, he and Rafe climbed out of the truck. The lot was still washed in late-day light, the sun hanging low but stubborn over the tree line, painting everything in muted gold and long shadows.
The Special Response Team was already there. Voices carried through the humid air in low tones. The massive SRT communications and supply van idled near the center of the lot, its rear doors wide open with three collapsible steps down, waiting to be used. Five guys from the tactical team were scattered about, mentally preparing for battle and stretching their shoulders and limbs—loose, but not relaxed. Fabric whispered. Velcro hissed. Metal clicked softly as weapons were checked and rechecked.
One operative prepared a drone for deployment.
With Rafe on his heels, Brian headed toward where his brother and Captain Lee Bowden were deep in conversation just outside the open doors of the command center.
Brian held out his hand to the captain. “Thanks for coming, Lee. What do we know so far?” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got less than twenty minutes before the deadline Diego gave Andy.”
“We’re definitely at the right place,” Sean said. “I did a drive-by, and the idiots didn’t even ditch the stolen van. It’s in the alleyway next to the building. I ran the plates of a few other vehicles nearby, and at least three of them belong to known Devil’s Crew members. But I noticed something weird. On a nice day like this, still early, you’d expect a lot of locals hanging out outside, kids playing in the street, that sort of thing. But it was quiet. Freakin’ eerie, bro. Like everyone knew something was going down, and they wanted no part of it.”
“Drone’s going up,” one of the SRT operators, Sandra Milford, called from her post inside the van.
The compact quad-copter lifted smoothly into the air, its quiet hum nearly lost beneath the idle of engines and the buzz of cicadas warming up for the evening. Bowden, Rafe, and the Malone brothers climbed into the van without a word, forming a tight line behind Milford as the drone’s feed streamed in real time onto the screen in front of her.
“Let’s hope we can get a little more intel,” Rafe murmured.
The drone cleared the tree line, and a full minute later, the target site filled the screen. It was four stories of aging brick, siding, and dirty windows—no frills. The front of the building faced a two-lane road, with cars parked along both curbs. An alley ran tight along one side—where the stolen van sat—and a small parking lot on the other. A second alley lay behind it, separating the building from the backyards of a row of older homes. The front of the building faced a two-lane road, with cars parked along both curbs.
But like Sean said, almost no pedestrians were in sight.
Brian leaned closer to the screen, his jaw tightening.
Tess was there. He didn’t need proof—he felt it in his bones.
The problem was finding her.
The drone caught glimpses through a handful of partially open blinds and curtains, but almost every apartment looked still. In one third-floor unit, an elderly woman sat in a recliner, asleep in front of a TV showing the local news channel. In another, a young mother shifted a crying infant from shoulder to shoulder while a toddler clung to her leg, exhaustion written in every movement.
