Page 5

I jolted awake, my heart throbbing against my ribcage and a trail of sweat running down my temple.

Sleeping had become elusive. The nightmares were haunting, and it was impossible to forget Dad in the state I last saw him—lifeless, drained of color and life. Most nights since he died had been like this: me waking up from one nightmare or forcing myself to remain awake so I wouldn’t have another.

But tonight was different. It wasn’t the nightmare that woke me up; it was the thudding on the door—or maybe not. Maybe I hadn’t heard anything, and I was dreaming.

I listened for a moment, but there was nothing.

Right, I really was dreaming.

It was thirty minutes past one in the morning. No one would be knocking on my door that late. My mind tried to reel me back to thoughts of the Russian mafia. What if they were here for me? They wanted something, and knowing them, they would stop at nothing to get it.

I sighed, refusing to let the thought bubble any further. That wasn’t entirely impossible, but I had doubts that was the case. I was certainly either dreaming or imagining things.

Swinging out of bed, I pulled on a robe, slid my feet into the fluffy panda slippers I always had at the side of my bed, and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. If I wasn’t able to sleep after, I could just grab the coloring book I got from a bookstore down the street and shade something in to calm my nerves. That always worked.

Turning on the kitchen light, I filled a glass with water and chugged down half of it at once. My heart wasn’t throbbing as much anymore, but I could still feel the anxiety churning away in the pit of my stomach. God, I hated this feeling.

Another knock on the front door shattered the silence of the night. This time, the knock was louder and more demanding.

It wasn’t a dream or some figment of my imagination this time. It was real. Someone was at the door at this time of the night. No one had ever visited me this late before; no one had any reason to.

My hand trembled as I set the glass on the kitchen island and contemplated what to do for a while. Calling the cops was an option, but I couldn’t ring them until I was sure that whoever was at the door would harm me.

Opening the door without ensuring I wouldn’t be in any danger wasn’t a good idea either, but I couldn’t stand here all night without knowing why someone would visit me at this hour.

Something was wrong, and I needed to know what it was.

I tiptoed to the front door with wobbly legs and peered through the peephole. Two men in police uniforms stood on my porch. I couldn’t hear what they were muttering to each other, but I let out a long breath once I saw it wasn’t the Russian mafia.

Still, I couldn’t be relieved until I knew why they were here.

Did something happen? Did someone get hurt?

A terrible thought crept into my mind, sinking its claw into my chest as I reached for the door handle with shaky hands and unlatched it.

Red and blue lights flashed against the darkened street behind the two officers, making it seem that this was a crime scene that they were there to investigate.

It took a moment for me to find my voice. “Good morning, officers,” I greeted, my gaze shifting between them. “Is there a problem?”

The taller nodded. “Are you Giselle Rae?”

My heart sank to my stomach. This wasn’t a mistake; they were here for me. “I am.”

“We need you to come with us to the station, ma’am,” he answered, pulling out a pair of cuffs from his pocket.

I took a step backward on instinct, wondering if I’d heard him right. “I’m sorry, I’m really confused right now. Why?”

The shorter officer exhaled sharply. “You’re under arrest for the possible involvement in the production and trade of a harmful substance called Typhoon-1.”

“Typhoon-1,” I repeated.

I hadn’t heard that name before, but I’d read it somewhere—in the text Dad sent to me the day he died. He’d spelled it Tyfun-1, so I assumed it was pronounced differently until I met that man at the cemetery.

How was I under arrest for possible involvement in the production and trade of the substance when I didn’t even have a freaking idea what it was?

My head began to spin violently as I pieced the puzzle together. Did Tyfun-1 have something to do with what the man at the cemetery said? Did Dad steal from the mafia, and if he did, was that the reason he was murdered?

I had so many questions, but more importantly, what made them think I had something to do with it? Surely, they wouldn’t just come to arrest me based on mere assumptions or the fact that my father had something to do with it.

“Officer, I think there’s been a mix-up somewhere. I have no idea what that is. I am not involved whatsoever with it. Please believe me.”’

“You have the right to remain silent,” one of the officers said, ignoring my explanation as he grabbed my wrist and forced it behind my back. The cold steel of the cuffs locked around my skin. “Anything you say now can and will be used against you in a court of law. You also have the right to an attorney.”

Panic clawed at my throat, and breathing became three times harder. They weren’t listening to me. “No, you can’t do this. I can’t go to court. I don’t have an attorney.”

“Please, rest assured. We’ll provide an attorney for you if you cannot afford one for yourself.”

“You need to listen to me, please. I have no idea what Tyfun-1 is.”

“This way, ma’am.” The taller officer guided me toward one of the police cars parked in the driveway.

The night air felt colder as it bit against my skin, and the flashing lights were suddenly too bright for my eyes to adjust to.

This wasn’t one of those nightmares that haunted me while I slept; it was a reality. I was being whisked away in the dead of the night for a crime I knew nothing of a few days after my father was murdered. How bad could my luck get?

All I could think of was the text from Dad.

The Typhoon’s eye holds the calm—Tyfun-1.

***

I sat stiffly in the interrogation room, my wrists hurting from where the cuffs were biting into my skin. The walls were a dull gray, the kind that made the room feel smaller than it was and more suffocating. A single flickering light buzzed overhead, casting an ominous shadow on the table in front of me.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been sitting here, but it felt like hours. My pulse had yet to settle, and it beat a relentless rhythm against my ribs.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside, carrying a folder under his arm. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp features and calculating eyes. His badge gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light: FBI.

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, flipping open the folder. “Giselle Rae.” His voice was calm but firm, as if he already knew every answer I could give him. “I’m Special Agent Mark Fetcher.”

I swallowed. “I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, Agent Fetcher, but I’d like to know why I’m here.”

“Well, Miss Rae, how quickly you leave here will depend on how you cooperate with us.” He tapped against a sheet of paper. “Your father was involved with Tyfun-1, a synthetic substance that, if used, can cause irreversible damage to the human body.”

“I know nothing about the substance or my father’s involvement with it,” I protested. “I said it when your men came to pick me up from my home in a robe, and I’m saying it now: I have no idea what it is!”

Agent Fetcher ignored my protest and slid a paper toward me. It was a white-and-black picture of the text Dad had sent me before he died. “Do you recognize this message?”

I swallowed. “I do.”

He nodded and retrieved the paper from me. “We’ve been trying to track the substance before it entered the country but have had no luck. After it arrived, we were able to trace it to a warehouse your father managed. Unfortunately, he was smarter and ran away with it before we got there.”

My chest constricted, and the air stalled in my lungs.

So that was it? That was really the reason he was killed? He’d lost his life over something that useless?

My eyes pooled with tears as my heart broke into a million pieces. “I don’t know what Tyfun-1 is,” I insisted amidst a broken sob. “What makes you think I somehow had an involvement in my father’s business?”

“Because you were the last person he saw the night before he died, and he sent you a very specific message. Listen, all we need to do is find the drugs, and we’ll let you go. I know he passed on whatever information he had to you in that message.”

I scoffed with frustration. “Read the message. Does it make any sense to you?”

His eyes flicked to the paper and then back to me. “No.”

I slammed my hand on the desk. “Right. I guessed so. That is exactly how it looks to me. I can’t make sense of whatever message my father was trying to pass as well.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and I could hear the sound of my blood whooshing in my ears through the silence. I held my breath, hoping I’d been able to convince him I knew nothing about the drugs because I really didn’t.

Agent Fetcher leaned forward, reducing his voice to a whisper. “Miss Rae, I hope you understand you can be charged with obstruction of justice with your refusal to cooperate.”

“Charging me won’t change anything because I really have no freaking idea what Tyfun-1 is and where my father hid it. I didn’t even know it was a substance before you said it.”

He sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Then you leave us no choice.” He snapped the folder shut, his expression shifting from friendly to cold. “You’ll be held in custody until trial. Given the weight of this case, you’ll be facing real prison time until we determine your involvement.”

My chest tightened. “Prison?”

Panic surged through me. I had no money for bail. No lawyer. No way out. Mom was still grieving; she’d be absolutely heartbroken if she found out about this, and getting a lawyer wouldn’t change anything. I could really end up behind bars for this.

The grey walls felt like they were closing in on me. I wanted to protest even more, to plead with him to let me go, but the words that came out of my mouth weren’t what I intended. “I don’t want my mother to find out about this.”

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“My mother,” I repeated. “It would break her heart if she found out I was here. Please don’t call her. Find a lawyer for me if you believe I really know something about the drugs, but I can’t let my mother find out.”

He sighed and rose to his feet, ignoring my pleas.

I was even more desperate than ever for his assurance. I needed him to tell me Mom wouldn’t find out, but before I could say another word, the door swung open with a sharp creak.

An officer in uniform entered the interrogation room. He walked up to Agent Fetcher and whispered something to him.

I nearly froze in my seat when Agent Fetcher glared at me, clear disappointment clouding his gaze, and nodded.

My hands turned clammy. I was already in enough trouble as it was. I couldn’t stand anything else going wrong.

What’s the matter now?

The officer left the interrogation room, and Agent Fletcher turned to me with a smirk. “Looks like today is your lucky day, Miss Rae. You might’ve been able to escape us today, but you won’t for long. You’ll be back in that chair soon enough.”

My stomach churned, and I was confused as to what he was talking about. What did he mean by that?

I didn’t care to ask. I was okay with anything as long as it meant I was able to leave this place.

Agent Fetcher led me out of the interrogation room, and my breath caught when I saw who my savior was.

It was the man from the cemetery, and I didn’t even know what his name was.

Just like the first time I met him, he wore a crisp black suit, his presence heavy like a storm in the room. It was commanding, powerful, and suffocating. His blue eyes flicked to me for half a second before settling on Agent Fetcher.

A flash of something—nervousness—passed over Fetcher’s face.

The mysterious man stepped forward, his voice calm but laced with steel. “You can’t keep her detained if you have no evidence she was involved with the synthetic substance you’re looking for.”

Agent Fetcher’s throat bobbed. “Mr. Yezhov—”

“As for her trial, my lawyer will take care of that,” Mr. Yezhov said, cutting Agent Fetcher off.

His deep, gravelly voice carried so much authority that even I shivered at the sound of it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Yezhov, but she’s still a suspect on the case. We have to follow all due procedures before we clear her.”

A dangerous smirk played on the mysterious man’s lips. “I wasn’t asking, Agent Fetcher,” he drawled.

Agent Fetcher’s eyes grew red with rage, but I could feel even he knew he was no match for this mysterious man.

He inhaled beside me, and then, as if summoning his courage, he said, “You interrupted our interrogation session, sir. And I’m afraid only a relative can bail her at this point.”

“Is that so?”

Agent Fetcher nodded.

The mysterious man stepped forward with slow, calculated strides and curled his arm around my waist. “That means I can bail her.”

My body stiffened to his touch, my skin prickly with heat at the close proximity between us. He smelled like citrus and cigars, a scent so alluring that I wanted to lean into him and inhale every bit of it.

Agent Fetcher laughed nervously. “You’re not related to her.”

The mysterious man lowered his head, and his blue eyes bore into mine. “She’s my fiancée.”

My brain fogged, and my mind went silent. Air drained from my lungs as I tried to process what he just said.

His fiancée?

What?