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Ten hours.

That’s how long it’s been since I last heard from Zeke. Since he texted that he was following a lead and would be home late. Except he never came home at all.

The clear liquid in my glass catches the early morning light as I stand at the kitchen window, watching dawn creep over the manicured lawn of what has somehow become my home. The gin burns familiar paths down my throat—a poor substitute for sleep, but it helps quiet the constant loop of worst-case scenarios playing through my mind.

Where is he? Is he hurt? Dead in some warehouse while I stand here drinking?

My phone sits silent on the counter, mocking me with its blank screen. I’ve checked it approximately every three minutes since midnight, as if staring at it hard enough might conjure a message from him.

“Get it together, Landry,” I mutter, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. The clink of crystal against the marble counter echoes through the empty kitchen.

Empty. Like Leo’s bedroom upstairs. Like the pit in my stomach that grows deeper with each passing hour.

There’s a sound from the driveway and I tense, hope flaring brief and bright before I recognize Eli’s SUV pulling up. Not Zeke. Just another reminder that my husband—God, that word still feels strange—has an entire operation running without me.

My phone buzzes and I snatch it up, but it’s only Rissa:

Rissa

You up? Got something on that warehouse tip.

My fingers hover over the keys for a moment before I type back:

Eve

Meet me for coffee in 20? Usual spot?

Her response is immediate:

Rissa

On my way.

I drain the last of my gin, grimacing at the burn. Time to make a choice—keep waiting for Zeke and his mysterious “lead,” or take matters into my own hands.

As I grab my jacket, the weight of my service weapon against my hip feels like an answer in itself. I grab Eli on the way out.

“I need a ride,” I say. “Meeting Rissa.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eli doesn’t question me despite the exhaustion written on his face, he just slides back in the driver’s seat and takes me to my destination.

The tiny coffee shop we love is the kind of place that looks like it hasn’t been updated since the seventies. The worn vinyl booths and perpetually sticky tables are a far cry from the sleek modernity of Zeke’s world, but there’s something comforting about its shabbiness. It feels real in a way that much of my life lately doesn’t.

Rissa’s already there when I arrive, two steaming cups on the table in front of her. The dark circles under her eyes suggest she’s had about as much sleep as I have.

“You look like shit,” she greets me cheerfully, sliding one of the cups my way.

“Thanks.” I slip into the booth across from her, wrapping my hands around the warmth of the coffee. “You’re a real friend.”

She studies me over the rim of her cup, dark eyes sharp despite her obvious exhaustion. “Rough night?”

“You could say that.” I take a sip, letting the bitter coffee wash away the lingering taste of gin. “What did you find?”

Rissa glances around before leaning forward, voice dropping. “So that tip about increased activity at Alessandro’s warehouse where I think Leo is being held? Well, a few blocks down there’s another one. I did some digging. Place is owned by a shell company that traces back to the Barone family. And get this—” She pulls out her phone, showing me a grainy surveillance photo. “Three separate deliveries in the last twelve hours. Heavy equipment, according to the manifest.”

“What kind of equipment?”

Her expression turns grim. “The kind that comes in long, narrow crates.”