Page 41

Logan

The Taser hit my neck like a lightning strike.

Fifty thousand volts of “should have been paying attention rather than falling in love” shot through my nervous system, every muscle seizing at once.

My legs went out from under me, and I crashed to the pavement, skull cracking against concrete with a sound I felt more than heard.

Still, I yelled Lauren’s name.

The world tilted sideways, reality fracturing into disconnected pieces. Lauren’s scream cut through the chaos, high and terrified, before something muffled it. Car doors slammed. Tires squealed.

I fought against the paralysis, trying to force my body to respond, to move, to do something . But the electricity had scrambled every signal between brain and muscle. All I could do was lie there, cheek pressed to cold concrete, watching Lauren’s bag spill its contents across the sidewalk.

The ringing in my ears drowned out everything else. My vision swam, doubling and tripling before snapping back into focus. Blood trickled warm down my neck from where the Taser prongs had punctured skin.

“Sir! Sir, are you all right?” The doorman’s face appeared above me, eyes wide with panic. Other faces crowded in—concerned citizens, someone already on their phone, probably calling 911.

I forced my mouth to work. “Lauren. Where?—”

“They took her. Black van, no plates. I couldn’t—I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop them.”

Lauren was gone.

The realization hit harder than the pavement had. I rolled onto my side, ignoring the wave of nausea that followed. My muscles were starting to respond again, pins and needles flooding through every limb as sensation returned.

“Should I call an ambulance?” someone asked.

“No.” I pushed myself to sitting, the world spinning around me. Blood dripped onto my shirt from where my head had met sidewalk. Possible concussion. Didn’t matter. “No ambulance.”

Lauren was gone. They’d taken her right in front of me, and I’d been useless. Helpless. All my training, all my experience, worthless against a well-timed ambush.

I fumbled for my phone, fingers still clumsy from the electrical disruption.

As I brought it to my face, something else registered.

A cigarette butt lay inches from my face where I’d fallen, still smoldering.

The scent sparked a memory two months back—sweet tobacco mixed with something else, something herbal and distinctly regional.

My blood went cold.

That smell. I’d been about to mention it to Lauren right before the attack. The same exact scent from the jungle, when we’d hidden in vegetation while Silva’s men passed within feet of us. The weird floral cigarette that had annoyed us both.

I grabbed the cigarette butt, careful not to contaminate it more than necessary. Evidence. Maybe Jace could analyze it, confirm what I already knew in my gut.

The Silva cartel had her.

My hands steadied as training took over. I pulled up my contacts, initiating a Citadel conference call. The phone rang once before Jace’s voice came through.

“Logan? Everything all right?”

“No.” I struggled to my feet, waving off the doorman’s attempt to steady me. “The Silva cartel has Lauren. We’ve got to move now.”

“ What ?”

I stumbled down the sidewalk, ignoring people trying to check on me. I needed to get to my car. To an airport. To Lauren .

“Snatch and grab right in front of her apartment.”

Silence for a heartbeat, then Jace’s voice went sharp and professional. “Ty, you on?”

“Here.” Ty’s voice joined the call. “What happened?”

“Got the drop on me with a Taser, took her while I was down.” The words tasted like failure. “Right before, I smelled some fucking floral cigarettes. Same as what some of the cartel guys smoked in Corazón.”

Could that be a coincidence? Maybe. But likely not in this case. I knew it with every instinct I had.

“Fuck.” Ty’s curse carried weight. “Ethan’s already here. Patching him in.”

Another click, then Ethan’s measured voice. “Logan, you injured?”

I was already moving, heading for my rental car parked half a block away. The last thing I needed was Chicago PD showing up and keeping me tied up for hours with witness statements while Lauren got farther away.

“Probable mild concussion from hitting the fucking sidewalk. Body feels like…it’s been Tasered.” I prayed Ethan and the team weren’t going to question my judgment, although after my behavior the past couple months, they had ample reason to.

If they didn’t believe me, we’d have to slow everything down while we investigated, until we found proof of what my gut already knew was true: the Silva cartel was behind this. “Ethan…”

I would beg if I had to. Call in every favor I had. But I was not going to let red tape stop me from getting to Lauren as fast as humanly possible.

“Get back to HQ,” Ethan ordered. “Jace, start pulling traffic cams, security footage, anything that might give us a lead. I’ll handle the Valentinos.”

“It happened right in front of their building,” I said. “The doorman and other witnesses—it won’t be long before word gets to them. We should get ahead of this.”

“Agreed,” Ethan said. “Better they hear it from us with a plan already in motion than from a panicked doorman. I’ll get on with them now. How bad are you hurt for real?”

I touched the back of my head, fingers coming away bloody. The Taser burns on my neck throbbed with each heartbeat. “Functional.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s all that matters. I’ll be in the office in about three hours.”

The call ended. I pocketed the phone and forced myself to think past the rage and guilt threatening to consume me. Lauren was counting on me. On all of us. Time to be what she needed—not a fragmented former Marine drowning in trauma, but the man she could count on to get her back.

Three hours later, I pushed through the doors of the Citadel office.

Even in crisis mode, Citadel maintained protocols—I badged in, submitted to the biometric scan, all completed in under thirty seconds.

The receptionist took one look at me and waved me straight through to the elevators.

I probably looked like hell—blood on my collar, Taser burns visible above my shirt, the particular kind of controlled fury that made smart people step aside.

The elevator ride to our floor felt endless. Every second we wasted was another second Lauren was in their hands. Another second for them to hurt her, terrify her, or worse—transport her somewhere we couldn’t follow.

The operations center was in full crisis mode when I arrived. Multiple screens showed traffic footage, satellite imagery, data streams. Jace sat at the center of it all, fingers flying across three keyboards simultaneously.

“Tell me you have something,” I said.

He didn’t look up. “I’ve got everything. Hacked traffic cams, ATM security footage, even a tourist’s live stream that caught part of it.” His jaw tightened. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Show me.”

The main screen lit up with footage from a traffic camera. There I was with Lauren, both of us smiling. She looked relaxed for the first time in days, actually happy. My chest tightened watching her laugh at something I’d said.

Then I saw it—the SUV was already there, parked at the curb.

Must have been waiting. Three men emerged—faces obscured by baseball caps, but their movements were coordinated, efficient.

They’d been in position, watching, waiting for us to exit the building.

One raised something that looked like a cell phone, and I watched myself convulse and drop.

“Taser. Modified for range, probably fifteen feet.” Jace switched to another angle. “Watch this.”

The second view showed the actual grab. Two men had Lauren before she could even scream, one clamping a hand over her mouth while the other pressed something against her arm. She went limp within seconds.

“Some kind of sedative,” I said. “Fast-acting, whatever it was. They wanted her alive and manageable.”

“I couldn’t get clean IDs from the street footage—baseball caps, angles were wrong,” Jace said. “But I tracked the van via satellite to a private airfield outside Chicago.” He pulled up new imagery. “That’s where things get interesting.”

The satellite footage showed the van arriving at a small private airfield. Enhanced images captured men carrying an unconscious blonde woman to a waiting plane.

“That’s definitely Lauren,” I said, my chest tightening at the sight of her limp form.

“And here’s where it gets worse.” Jace zoomed in on the men near the plane. “Multiple hits on facial recognition. All known Silva cartel members. Mid-level soldiers, mostly, but definitely Silva’s organization.”

“So it’s confirmed—the cartel has her,” Ty said, entering with Ben Garrison and Jolly at his heels. The Belgian Malinois immediately focused on me, tail twitching as he sensed the tension.

“The plane took off forty-five minutes ago,” Jace continued, pulling up flight tracking data. “Transponder went dark shortly after takeoff, but based on heading and fuel capacity, they’re going to Corazón. Should be landing in about five hours.”

My fists clenched hard enough for nails to bite into palms. “But who ordered this? Is this Diego getting revenge for his son?”

“Or…” Ty let the word hang. “What if Mateo survived? What if that boat explosion didn’t kill him after all?”

“No body was ever recovered,” Jace added quietly. “Just assumed he was vaporized in the blast.”

“Either way,” Ben said, hand resting on Jolly’s head, “Lauren’s on her way to the Silva compound. Whether it’s the son who wants her or the father who wants revenge, we need to move.”

“Which means we have a narrow window,” I said. “If they move her from there, we’ll have no idea where they take her.”

“Ethan, how are the Valentinos taking it?” I asked.

On-screen, Ethan looked exhausted.

“About what you’d expect. They’re hysterical, demanding answers, threatening to call everyone from the FBI to the president.” He rubbed his face. “I’m managing it, but Logan—they want their daughter back.”

“We’ll get her back.” The promise came from somewhere much deeper than mere positive thinking. It was a forgone conclusion in my mind. Any other option wasn’t acceptable. “Whatever it takes.”

Ethan’s expression said he understood exactly what that meant.

“I’ve convinced them we’re the best shot at getting her back.

I’d rather be going to extract with you, but someone needs to run interference here.

Keep them from doing something that makes this worse. Consider operational leadership yours.”

I dipped my head toward him. Ethan’s trust meant everything to me.

Ty placed a tablet on the table, showing architectural plans. “This is the Silva compound. Jace pulled these from a contractor who did work there three years ago. Main house, outbuildings, guard positions.”

I studied the blueprints. “Security?”

“Significant. We’re looking at thirty to forty armed personnel on a normal day. Could be more now.” Jace highlighted defensive positions. “Good news is they haven’t had to deal with anyone like us before.”

“And by the time it’s over, they’ll pray they never deal with anyone like us again.” A new voice entered the conversation. Andrew Volante strode in, duffel bag over one shoulder. “Got here as fast as I could. Heard we have a situation.”

I’d worked with Andrew twice before. Not only was he a solid operator, he had flight training, graduated with honors from West Point, and spoke several languages.

To say he was always an asset wherever he went was putting it mildly.

Employing him at Citadel had exponentially benefited everyone here.

Having him for this mission put us one big step closer to bringing Lauren home safely.

“HALO jumps, two teams,” I said, tactical mind already working through scenarios.

High altitude, low opening jumps were dangerous, but our best option in this situation.

“Alpha team will be me, Ty, Ben and Jolly, and Jace. We go after Lauren. Bravo team under Andrew secures the perimeter and commandeers a helicopter for extract.”

“And if their helo’s not flyable?” Andrew asked.

“Plan B—we take vehicles, get to the coast, commandeer a boat.” I met each teammate’s eyes. “One way or another, we’re getting her out as fast as fucking possible.”

“When do we leave?” Ben asked.

“Soon as we can gear up and get airborne.” I checked my watch. “That puts us over target at 0200 local time. Dead of night.”

“One problem,” Jace said. “This kind of operation, we need air assets, clearances, support we don’t have time to arrange through normal channels.”

Ethan smiled grimly on the screen. “Already handled. Called in some markers with old friends at OGA. They’re providing transportation and overhead surveillance. Officially, this mission doesn’t exist. Unofficially, they want Silva taken down as much as we do.”

Other Government Agency. CIA or NSA, probably both. Or neither—the kind of people who could help you achieve the impossible, but that it was also dangerous to owe favors to. Ethan was putting himself in this position because of me.

I wasn’t going to let it be in vain.

“Let’s gear up and get to the flight line,” I ordered. “Full combat loads.”

The team dispersed to prep, leaving me staring at the satellite image of Lauren being loaded on to that plane. The same woman I’d failed to protect, now in the hands of an organization that had every reason to want her dead.

I’d left her behind once, choosing distance over difficulty. That cowardice had led directly to this moment—Lauren paying for my failures with her freedom and possibly her life.

But not anymore. No more running. No more choosing the easy path over the right one.

I touched the screen where her image was frozen, a promise and a prayer combined.

“You stay alive, beautiful. We’re coming.”

Whatever the cartel had planned, whatever sick revenge fantasy they’d orchestrated, it ended tonight. I’d burn their whole world to the ground if that’s what it took. Leave nothing but ashes and ghosts.