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She hadn’t just been taken.

She’d beenghosted.

Deliberately.

Professionally.

This meant that whoever was behind it wasn’t just after money. They wanted hergone. Why?

And that made this personal.

“We’re going in clean,” Cyclone said. “No full-force entry yet. We blend. Ask questions. Make noise if we have to. But we keep it tight.”

I nodded, already scanning for the path in—and the quickest way out if it all burned down.

“What do we know about her condition?”

Cyclone looked at me.

“She fought. Hard.”

Good.

I didn’t want to rescue someone who broke under pressure.

I wanted to rescue someone who held out long enough for us to reach her.

Someone who’d make themregretever laying a hand on her.

And judging by the faint grin on Cyclone’s face as he passed me a radio and a knife, he knew exactly what I was thinking.

We were going to find Emery Blake.

And God help the men who stood in our way.