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Each scrape of the windshield wipers grated on Ellie's ragged nerves. The coordinates Adam had texted to Tyler’s phone led her down winding backcountry roads, each mile pulling her deeper into the wilderness. The last sign of civilization had been a rusted gas station thirty minutes ago. Clouds blocked the moonlight, and the steady drum of rain beat against the truck’s roof like a racing pulse.
According to the GPS, she was less than two miles from the meeting place.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel. She’d been through her plan over and over during the drive. It was desperate, probably reckless, but it was the only card she had left to play.
The thick woods parted on the left, revealing a gravel road marked by a battered gate. Ellie’s tires crunched over loose stones as she took the turn. Her stomach pitched and rolled with nerves, and her skin prickled with awareness as the massive iron bars swung open. She couldn’t see them, but Ellie had no doubt there were men hiding among the thick trees and hidden cameras on the property.
She eased forward. The moment Tyler’s truck rolled past the gate, the iron bars clanged shut again. Immediately, the air felt tighter in her chest. A side effect of being hemmed in with the enemy. Trapped. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths to counteract the adrenaline coursing through her veins and drive on. Owen needed her. She would not fail him.
The gravel road curved and twisted through the dense forest until, finally, it deposited Ellie in front of a massive house. Two stories tall, with jutting wings and manicured grounds, it looked like the estate of a wealthy recluse rather than the lair of a criminal enterprise. Did this house belong to Gideon? It didn’t seem like his style. He was more flashy, more cosmopolitan. She doubted this place belonged to Adam either. He didn’t strike her as the type who craved the trappings of luxury. Adam was a soldier. Brutal, focused, and unflinchingly loyal to the Iron Fist. He had no need for mansions or manicured lawns. No, this house belonged to someone else. Someone with power and money to burn.
She killed the engine, and like dark harbingers of death, three men emerged from the woods to surround her truck. All of them carried assault rifles with practiced ease, their eyes cold and dispassionate. None of their faces were familiar. Ellie swallowed hard. That they weren’t wearing masks didn’t bode well for her survival.
The driver’s side door was yanked open, and rough hands dragged her from the cab. She stumbled, but they didn’t give her a chance to find her footing. A brisk, impersonal pat-down followed. The handgun nestled in the holster at the small of her back was gone in an instant, as was the pocket knife tucked in her boot. Tyler’s cell phone and the flash drive were also confiscated.
For a terrifying moment, Ellie feared the men would shoot her right there, but then she was grabbed by the arm andmanhandled into the house. Her boots slid over marble in the foyer before sinking into thick carpet as her captors hauled her through a sitting room.
Enough was enough. Ellie suddenly shifted her weight, ripping her arms from their brutal hold. “I can walk.” She drew in a breath, keeping her voice steady and noncombative. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s no need to drag me.”
One of the men, the leader of the group, grunted and then began strolling across the room. Ellie followed, the other two gunmen flanking her on either side. Thick drapes, expensive furniture, and unique artwork filled the space. Her ears were pricked for the sound of her baby’s voice, but the house was as quiet as a tomb. The place was massive though. Owen could be anywhere.
Ellie lost count of how many rooms they went through before landing in a giant kitchen with a double island. The space was immaculately clean. Marble countertops and dark blue cabinetry played off of one another, punctuated by touches of greenery from the fresh herbs growing along the windowsill above the farmhouse sink. A bowl of lemons sat artfully next to a vase of flowers. Large windows overlooked the back side of the property, the yard sloping down gracefully to meet the forest. The scent of meat and oranges filled the space.
One of the gunmen pulled out a stool from underneath an island and gestured for her to sit. Ellie debated defying him, but what would be the point? She perched on the edge, and an awkward wait ensued, every second tightening the growing knot of tension coiled in her stomach. It took all her undercover training to keep from screaming just to break the silence.
She’d been in harrowing situations before. Dangerous ones. But none like this. None with so much on the line.
The rhythmic tap of footsteps approached—more than one person—accompanied by a low humming tune. Seconds later,Adam stalked into the kitchen, followed by a man wearing a raincoat and hat, his soft humming at odds with the tension in the room. Raincoat man veered off to a small nook near the corner and began shedding his wet things.
The owner of the house. She was sure of it.
She didn’t have time to dwell on it because Adam’s attention locked onto her with predatory intensity. His expression was flat, but there was a flicker of anticipation in his eyes that made her stomach clench. In a blur, he crossed the room and wrapped his hand around her throat, lifting her clean off the stool until her feet left the floor. Ellie choked, her vision swimming as his grip crushed the air from her windpipe.
She reacted on pure instinct. With one swift kick, she nailed him between the legs.
Adam dropped her as he doubled over, his strangled scream filling the room. Ellie hit the floor hard, pain shooting up her arm as her elbow cracked against the cold tile. She ignored it, gasping in air and scrambling backward, trying to put distance between them as Adam writhed on the floor, cursing viciously.
“It’s your own fault, Parish,” a calm voice remarked from the other side of the kitchen. “She’s an FBI agent. You should’ve known better than to attack her like that. Use your head.”
Ellie froze. The familiar voice sliced through her like a knife.
No. It couldn’t be.
Blinking against the pain and the shock, she grasped the leg of the stool and hauled herself to her feet, slowly rotating to face the man who’d spoken.
Mike Tanner. Her former colleague.
Her friend.
“You…” The word came out hoarse, her throat raw and throbbing. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the cold betrayal that struck her with devastating force. “You’re the FBI mole.”
Mike offered her a smooth smile in reply. Arrogance oozed off him as he gestured to the lead gunman.
The man advanced, setting Tyler’s phone and the flash drive on the island. “This is what she had on her, sir.”
Mike briefly touched the flash drive before picking up the phone and casually scrolling through it. Ellie forced herself to keep breathing through her aching throat. Then Mike’s smile widened. “Well, Elizabeth, you’re not a fool. No phone calls or text messages asking for help.” He clicked the phone closed and dropped it back onto the counter. “I told you, Parish. There’s nothing more terrifying to a mother than a threat to her child. She’ll do anything to protect him, even walk straight into danger.”
Mike’s gaze flickered to Adam, who’d hauled himself up off the floor, and the grin faded as the other man took a threatening step toward Ellie. “Stop, Parish. Your emotions are getting the better of you. Go outside and make sure the men have secured the perimeter.”