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Ethan pulled his phone from his pocket, keeping the gun steady as Max’s feed loaded. The video from the traffic cams played—a dark figure stepping out of the shadows, executing the driver, and yanking Star from the van.
Not the men from the hardware store.
Ethan’s jaw locked.
“You see it?” Max asked.
Ethan exhaled slowly. Shit. “Got it.”
The guy in the chair—who was still trying to shake off the hit to his face—stared at Ethan. “You gonna tell me what the hell’s going on, or are you just gonna keep pointing that thing at me?”
Pointing the gun at the man, he warned, “I know everything about you. Your bank account numbers, the apartment in Ditmas Park where you keep your side game, where your kids go to school, and where your wife plays bridge every Wednesday. Keep your fucking goons out of Ditmas Park. Stay off my turf, or you’ll be the first to die. This isn’t a threat. It’s a fact. If I hear one word from any of the business owners, I’ll be back, and you’ll be dead.”
Ethan spun and left the club, keeping his weapon in his hand. Tension coiled in his chest.
He had it wrong.
Who the hell had taken Star?
“I’m working on it,” Max murmured in his ear as if reading his mind. “One more thing, and you’re not going to like this.”
His phone vibrated. Ethan made sure he was clear before he swiped his thumb over his phone, pulling up the next image Max sent.
A grainy security cam still. A man standing beside the van that had taken Star. He wasn’t a mobster. He wasn’t connected to the men from the hardware store.
He was wearing a police uniform.
A slow, ice-cold realization crawled down Ethan’s spine.
This wasn’t about the hardware store.
This was something else. Something worse.
And Star was in the middle of it.
He turned for the door, shoving the gun back into his waistband. “Max, find me that bastard. Now.”
CHAPTER16
Star groaned as she came to, her head throbbing like she’d gone toe-to-toe with a wrecking ball … and lost. Her arms were pinned behind her. She struggled a bit, but her wrists were held together tightly with what felt like zip ties. Her ankles, too, and the hard, cold floor beneath her told her she wasn’t having a nightmare.
Fabulous. Just fabulous.
She blinked, adjusting to the room's dim lighting. Was it a basement? A warehouse? It smelled like mildew and something vaguely … metal-ish. The glow of a single flickering bulb cast long, creepy shadows on the metal walls.
Then she remembered. The van. The driver. The cop.
The cop killed the driver. Dear God, there weren’t even any words exchanged. She’d screamed and tried to get away, but the cop had pushed a needle into her.
“Oh, this is so bad,” she muttered, testing the zip ties. They didn’t give, which wasn’t shocking, but she’d hoped maybe, just maybe, she could wiggle them off.
A door creaked, and heavy footsteps approached. Her kidnapper stepped into the room, his face partially lit by the flickering lightbulb. He still wore his damn uniform, the sight of which sent a shiver through her.
“How are you awake already?” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “I drugged you.”
“Well, clearly you didn’t use the good stuff,” Star shot back. “I have a metabolism like a hummingbird on caffeine. It’s honestly kind of a problem, but I can’t help it. My mom said it’s genetic, but I think it’s more to do with my anxiety levels being perpetually through the roof, you know?” She wiggled her fingers. “And oh my God, do you know how bad zip ties are for circulation? My hands are going numb, and if I get gangrene and they have to cut off my fingers, I will personally haunt you. I mean, I’m talking next-level poltergeist—full-on blood dripping from the walls, doors slamming at night, creepy whispers in your ear while you sleep, type haunting.”
The cop exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”