Page 48

DORIAN

My attention remains locked on the transponder signal, a precise GPS coordinate moving across my tablet’s topographical display.

The Mark IV tracking system has a ten-foot margin of error—not perfect, but enough.

Even with my hands steady, my blood pulses through my fingers strongly enough that I’m aware of the rapid flow as I grip the phone.

I swear, my heart might pound out of my chest.

Ryan insisted on driving.

There are two SUVs behind us, loaded with armed men. Fisher’s in the backseat.

Do I wish I had my security team with me? Hell yes.

If my arrogance and desire for privacy get Caroline killed…

I’ve built a business on controlling every variable, anticipating every threat to my infrastructure.

But I never imagined she’d become collateral damage in someone else’s power play.

I too often refused to be trailed by security, insisting I was safe.

My throat constricts at the thought of her in danger because of me. Cold sweat beads at my temples as images flash through my mind—Caroline hurt, afraid, alone.

Even when Caroline and I were together, and the press hounded us, hoping for photos of my new bride, I refused security.

I thought I was protecting our privacy, our sanctuary.

Now that choice haunts me with crystal clarity.

If my arrogance gets her killed…I won’t survive it.

Not this time. The universe is giving me a second chance with her, and I’m watching it slip through my fingers like sand.

The weight of dread sits heavy in my chest, a physical ache that makes it hard to breathe.

“Nick checked in,” Fisher says from the back seat. “He’s got a team on this, but so far, no leads.”

Trevor stayed behind, dealing with the emergency team and securing the office. I don’t know the others with us. Names were shared, but they didn’t stick.

Thanks to my satellite footage, we know where she is. The dot hasn’t moved, and we’re minutes away.

A helipad comes into view up ahead on the hillside.

Fucking hell .

“Can you go faster?”

Stop-and-go traffic slowed us down, but we’re out of the city, and the speedometer reads ninety-two.

Every second counts.

“If the chopper takes off, we’ll track it.”

That’s not the answer I want.

“Tracking is exactly what he expects—what he may want,” I say, stating the obvious.

“We’ve got a team researching Luke. May lead to some clues,” Fisher offers up, I’m sure in an attempt to be helpful.

I stare at the dot.

“How did he get by your security check?” I don’t know a ton about Arrow Tactical, but when all this is over, I’m sure as hell raining fire down on them until they root out the incompetence or Caroline walks away from the outfit.

“We’re looking into that,” Ryan clips.

There’s something about the way he says it, how he won’t look me in the eye.

“Are there others? In Arrow?” I remember the empty reception area. He’s staring straight ahead…

“Ryan, this is my wife.” For emphasis, I growl the words again. “My wife. What’s going on?”

“He came in through a recommendation from an investor’s brother.”

It clicks.

“Liam Sullivan.”

“You know him?”

“He knows Geoffrey Cromwell.”

Ryan says, “Fisher, you hear that? Communicate it back.”

“You’re close. It’s up ahead,” I tell the car.

“Fisher, tell the others to hang back, surround the vicinity on foot. If shots are fired, call the local PD,” Ryan says.

“Shouldn’t we involve the FBI?” It’s not the first time I’ve asked.

“They’ll slow things down,” Ryan says. “We’ll bring them in when they’re useful.”

My ankle jerks up and down. The rapid tapping grates on my nerves, but I can’t stop it.

Ryan slows as we pull into the facility.

A Sikorsky waits on the pad, rotors already spinning, tail number covered.

The exhaust pattern suggests they’ve been ready to fly for at least twenty minutes.

The Sikorsky’s rotor wash creates invisible heat waves above the pad, distorting my view of the facility entrance.

The Mark IV’s signal pulses on my screen—steady, unwavering—unlike my hands.

“Stay in the vehicle,” Ryan commands.

The second the wheels stop rolling, I’m out of the car.

The door to the building opens. A man dressed in black steps onto the tarmac. He’s wearing a dark suit, and the protrusion at his waist signals he’s carrying.

“Mr. Moore. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Where is she?”

“I’ve reserved a meeting room. Please come with me.” The man looks past me to Ryan and the others. “Only Mr. Moore.”

Ryan and I exchange a glance. I don’t know any of the Arrow team well, but I sense these men see Caroline as one of their own, and they’ll act accordingly to protect her. At least, they’d better fucking act to protect her.

“You’ll need to give me your phone,” the man says.

“Why would I do that?”

“I was told you’d be difficult. Listen first, then act—if you want her alive. We’re progressing through a precarious part of the plan with diverse possible outcomes.”

The barrel of Ryan’s handgun enters my peripheral view.

“Hold your fire,” the man says. There’s no recognizable accent. “You’re going to want to hear me out. And see what I have to show you.”

He holds a phone out, like it’s a bargaining chip. To hell with waiting. I snatch the phone from the man’s hand.

My vision blurs.

Ryan crowds me.

“Please. Enter the meeting room.”

I hear the man, but my focus and everything in me goes to the nightmare playing out on screen.

My vision blurs as I stare into the device. Caroline—bound with duct tape, a gash across her eyebrow, half her blonde hair darkened with blood.

The man shoves Ryan away. “That’s not for you to see.”

Her hands and ankles are bound.

I blink to clear the image.

Mother of god.

There’s a bomb strapped to her abdomen.

“What is it?” Ryan asks.

“They’ve got Caroline.”

The suit stretches his arms wide. “There’s no detonator. Video is rolling. You kill me, she dies. Ryan shoots me, they see, she dies. Any snipers? They get trigger-happy, and she dies. You get the gist?”

“What do you want?”

“Thank you, Mr. Moore. I was told you would be amenable after receiving the right information. The meeting room, please. Mr. Wolfgang won’t be needed.”

“I’ll wait,” Ryan says, eyes locked on mine.

Message received. He’s here if needed. He’ll marshal resources. Nick. Anyone he believes he can bring on without putting Caroline in danger. When I did research on Arrow Tactical, I learned that hostage situations are an area of expertise. He’ll know what to do.

I follow the man into a small, windowless room with a table, four chairs, and a monitor on the wall.

The antiseptic smell of the facility hits me as we enter.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting hard shadows across the man’s face.

My footsteps echo against polished concrete floors—each step bringing me closer to Caroline.

“May I have your phone?”

Reluctantly, I hand the device over. I’d like to shoot off a text to Nick, but that’s not an option.

If this man is indeed carrying, the suit doesn’t feel it’s necessary to show me his weapon.

The door clicks closed, and the screen on the wall flicks to life.

Caroline’s bloody face comes into view.

Her eyes…watery.

Something’s off.

The tears aren’t from fear.

No, there’s something about the way she’s looking at the camera.

At the person holding the camera.

Who is it?

Geoffrey?

My father?

It wouldn’t be my father.

It couldn’t be.

But as I study her eyes, the horrifying truth begins to dawn. She’s not looking at her captor with fear.

She’s looking with recognition.