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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Onyx Security didn’t feel like an office anymore.

It felt like a war room.

Every screen was lit. Maps, satellite views, traffic overlays, live GPS pings blinked softly like heartbeats. The air hummed with low voices and the faint electronic whine of equipment doing exactly what it was supposed to do.

And still, I felt completely useless.

Zarek was out there.

Somewhere.

And all I could do was watch dots move across a screen and trust that the men around me knew what they were doing.

Zoe shouldn’t have been here.

I shot her a look for the hundredth time as she leaned against the back wall, arms folded, jaw set, her eyes locked on the largest monitor in the room.

“You were supposed to stay in Gatlinburg,” I hissed.

She didn’t look at me. “You were supposed to not be involved in an underground death-fight sting,” she shot back. “We’re all failing expectations today.”

Trenda stood between us, one hand on her hip, the other holding a paper cup of coffee she hadn’t so much as sipped.

“I knew something was up,” she said quietly. “Zoe doesn’t disappear without drama, and Simon doesn’t lie well enough to me to sell ‘nothing to worry about.’”

Across the room was Nolan O’Rourke. At home, I’d watched him tighten the wrap around Zarek’s ribs. He’d been calm in the way only former Navy SEAL medics ever were — steady hands, precise movements, no wasted motion.

Nolan clipped a micro GPS at Zarek’s armpit, not at the front of his chest, so we’d hear the conversation, not his heartbeat.

In his boot, they’d just put a GPS tracking device.

I’d watched him leave our house and head for Knoxville, then I’d put on my hoodie, sunglasses and got in Nolan’s car so he could drive me to Onyx.

Now, on the main screen, a countdown timer ticked down toward 4:00 PM.

We’d all looked at the maps, and I agreed with everyone, that it was likely one of three different cities. Louisville, Kentucky, Atlanta, Georgia, or Nashville. Zarek thought Nashville, so that was what I was thinking, too. We were all waiting to see which route their car took to head out of town.

“Okay, everybody. I see my ride,” Zarek said into the microphone. “It’s a brand new off-the-lot white Escalade. Two fellas just got out. I’m assuming they’re my welcome party.”

“Dammit, quit talking, they’ll see your lips moving,” Roan growled.

“Gotcha.”

I could hear them greet Zarek. “We need to pat you down,” one of them said.

“You were told not to bring a cell phone,” a different voice said.

“If I’m not doing well after the fight, I’ll need to call someone to pick me up.”

“We’ll take care of that,” the first one said. “We’re confiscating this. And your keys. You’ll get both of them back after your fight. Now, get in the back seat.”

“That gives them time to pick him up, process him, set the venue,” Roan said from behind one of the terminals. “Which means four- to five-and-a-half hours of drive time.”

“Depending on traffic,” Code added.

“I don’t care where they’re going,” I snapped. “I care that you don’t lose him. Who’s following them?”