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Understandable. It’s only day one of seven. Besides, a man like that doesn’t take kindly to his daughter being kidnapped. Too bad he’s just wasting his time. Not unless I’ve left a deliberate crumb for them to follow, there’s no finding me.

My fingers move on autopilot, rerouting satellites and adjusting angles to check on Gertrude Willoughby on Pond Street, and myasinine brothers-in-law, Nico and Dante Vitelli. I’m about to complete my routine with Phoenix and the clubhouse in Harmony, when Saint’s whining breaks my concentration.

For the third time.

He’s up pacing again, the rhythmic clicking of claws on polished hardwood louder and more frantic with each pass.

He’s been pacing since Luna went upstairs, his massive form a dark shadow moving back and forth at the edge of my vision. Every few turns, his eyes lock on the staircase, and a low whine builds in his chest.

“Sit down, mate,” I mutter.

This time he ignores me, his eyes darting between me and the staircase. I shoot him a glare and he immediately flops down but doesn’t stop growling under his breath, eyes darting back and forth toward the stairs like a fucking pendulum.

Fuck.

A familiar itch crawls up my spine—the same one that’s kept me alive all these years. There’s no threat on the property, nothing on the feeds, no movement in the perimeter—I’ve checked a dozen times.

I power down the tablet. “Okay, what is it? You want to tell me something?”

Saint springs up, ears forward, and bounds upstairs, making a beeline for Luna’s room.

“Hell no,” I call after him “You can’t bother her.”

He ignores me, pressing down the door handle with practiced ease. A moment later, he returns, carrying something in his mouth.

A boot.

I scoff as he drops it in my lap. “The fuck? All that aggravation over a boot?”

Then I spot the hidden compartment in the chunky sole. My brows knit as I work my fingers into the slot.

They close around smooth plastic.

A credit card. Fuck.

Ice floods my veins as implications stack up. She must have used it in the store; otherwise, Saint wouldn’t have known about it.

Hawkins and the bureau, her father. Every hunter in the game now knows where to look. One purchase at that store has left breadcrumbs leading straight to us.

Unless . . .

What if she deliberately did it? What if she wants someone to find her because she changed her mind and wanted to get away?

My jaw clenches. Still doesn’t matter. Whether she’s betrayed me or not, she’s mine to protect now.

“Good job, St. Michael”

He meets my gaze, his body still vibrating with tension. Those red eyes hold too much understanding—like he knows exactly what storm’s coming.

Unless they’re amateurs, whoever they’ve sent after Luna is already here, but knows better than to wade into the surveillance field of this fortress. They’re waiting until we pull out of here so they can corner us on the road.

Meaning, I need to draw them out and find them. Tonight.

I stroke Saint’s jowl, trying to steady the rage building under my skin.

“Let’s go hunting.”

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