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“ K eep moving.” I give the guy in front of me a helpful shove.

Stumbling into the ravine, he barely avoids a face-first landing onto the muddy underpass. “What the hell, man?”

“Oh, yeah.” I yank the cloth bag off his head. “Watch your step.”

Red-rimmed eyes blink into the low light, his hollowed cheeks and greasy brown hair completing the look. Weasel, they call him on the streets, and not just because he resembles one. He’s the type whose loyalties are easily bought, which means he’s been used by the department as an informant more than once.

Choosing Weasel as bait was risky; if he’s seen me with the wrong person, he could make the connection. But with the bulk of my days undercover or hidden away in a back office, I’m taking the gamble that my identity is safe.

Came close to blowing that cover publicly during my confrontation with the congressman. Good thing the politicians hushed the encounter to save face.

My arm brushes the gun at my waist. If I’m wrong, I’ll be forced to improvise.

“Why ya got to be like this?” Whatever Weasel’s been taking slurs his words. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

He’s got a line of victims that would disagree.

I push him to his knees in the middle of the largest puddle. “Oh, you’ve done lots of things, my friend.”

That’s when he sees where I’ve brought him. “What the…” His pitch rises an octave. “You asshole. There are no women here. You set me up.”

He was sitting in the alley getting high with a minor when I got off the phone with my contact. The perfect patsy; might as well have come gift-wrapped. After shooting a message to Tanner to take care of the teenager, I told Weasel I knew some women who’d love to share their talents in trade for the stash of cocaine he was undoubtedly carrying.

Five minutes later, he was in the trunk of my car.

The guy’s a known child molester, among other things. I don’t feel sorry for him.

Scanning the graffiti-strewn concrete of the underpass, he spits. “Always had a feeling you were a pig. Turns out you’re a rat, too.”

Maybe he does know about my former employment, after all.

His face turns a shade of red so dark it’s nearly purple, eyes glassy with the combination of chemicals and good old-fashioned hatred. Fucker looks like he wants to tear my face off. Too bad his hands are cuffed behind his back.

I clutch my chest in mock offense. “A rat? Aw, that hurts, Weasel .” A grin spreads across my face. “I’d rather think of myself as more of a fox…in a henhouse.”

Jesus, when did this turn into an animal farm?

Weasel’s mouth opens, but the sound of tires grinding on crumbled asphalt interrupts his retort. His head whips around, the sneer collapsing when he sees a dark SUV headed our way.

“Squawk for me, Weasel.”

“ Oh, fuck ,” he whispers, staring at the man getting out of the passenger’s seat in horror. Now he gets it.

After surveying the two of us with a stoic expression, my contact bends down enough to jerk his chin at someone in the car. The driver’s door opens, followed by one in the back.

That’s when Weasel loses his shit. “Wait…Dolph!” He struggles against his restraints. “Dolph! You don’t want me. It’s him. He’s a?—”

The butt of my pistol connects with the base of his skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes. I blow out a breath. That was close.

My contact strides toward me with his puppets close behind. Not one of them blinks.

Dolph Larsson is a Scandinavian transplant, also known as the Viking. Renowned for his skill in acquisitions, he knows how to find the people with more money than morals who will pay for all manner of fucked-up things. He sources his “products” from all over, but with the surge of black-market organizations spreading through this region of the United States, there’s plenty of work to be found.

Simply put, he’s a freelancer, a middleman, and, after tracing the string of kidnappings, I’ve developed a theory. If I were a betting man, I’d wager Dolph and his crew acquire many of the people who have been disappearing. That’s why I need to get in with him first. Then I’ll find out who he’s supplying and offer my services directly.

Once I’m inside, I’ll take them apart piece by piece.

He strolls toward me with measured steps, stopping when his boots touch Weasel’s nose. Running his tongue over yellowed teeth, he evaluates me, stretching the silence out like a rubber band. It’s an intimidation tactic I’m familiar with. On most people, it would be effective, but you have to give a shit about your safety to be intimidated.

I’m way past that.

My heart drums a steady beat. There’s nothing to do but stand here with an unfazed expression while Dolph takes my measure. The butterflies in my stomach are only because I’m winging it. I’m used to being prepared.

“Nick.” His accent gives his voice a lilt that doesn’t match his appearance. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

That’s my go-to alias in these circles. I was on the force the last time I dealt with Dolph, facilitating a weapons deal that mysteriously went bad at the last minute. Whoops. Rumor had it that Nick was behind bars for a few weeks when it all went down, which kept my cover intact.

Still, I need to tread carefully.

“Been busy.” I smile grimly. “You know how it is.” Better to stay vague, rather than risk talking too much. That’s how you can tell people are making shit up; they keep babbling until they babble themselves right into the ground.

“Ah. Busy. Right.”

I know his game; the trick is to wait it out. Show him I’m in control. My concern is I lost track of his two companions, and there’s no way to look around without taking my eyes off their boss.

We stare each other down for several minutes.

I cock my head.

You don’t scare me, asshole.

He breaks first. “You say you’ve got something I want?”

“Would I call you out here in the middle of the night for no reason?”

A grunt. “What’s with this?” Dolph pokes the guy sprawled out at our feet with his toe.

Snagging street trash like Weasel was a long shot, but surely the guy’s got something someone needs. A good kidney, maybe. “Word on the street says you’ve got a client who needs a guy for a thing.” An educated guess on my part. “He volunteered.”

That earns me a full snort. “He double-cross you or something?”

“Eh, you know.” I smirk. “Weasels will be weasels.”

“And what are you expecting out of this?” There’s a flash of movement to my left. I dare to break eye contact with Dolph enough to glance behind him, where I catch a glimpse of the blond-haired driver. Still no sign of the other guy.

“Call it an offering of good faith.” My mouth dries. It’s next to impossible to make anything out amid the shadows. “And a proposal.” A lift of bushy eyebrows is his only response, so I continue. “Rumor has it, you’ve got someone big buying these days.”

“Rumors, eh?”

Gravel crunches behind me. My gut hardens. This was a bad idea. I didn’t do the prep work. But it’s too late to go back; I can only forge on and do whatever’s necessary to make it out of this. My fingers twitch at my side. “I’m getting bored with the usual. Might be time to branch out. Thought you might need a partner.”

“Tempting.” His eyes flicker to something behind me. “You’re right about one thing: I am looking to fill a specific order for a very important client. But there’s one problem.”

“What’s that?” On the surface, our conversation seems casual, but it’s the subtext—the body language, the shady associates creeping around—that have the red flags waving. One wrong move could get me shot, so I hold my ground and play the part. My muscles tense, ready to reach for my gun.

“Your product,” he spits right on top of Weasel, “doesn’t fit the requirements.”

That’s because I was more concerned with grabbing a guy who didn’t leave a ding on my conscience. I’ve still got morals, they’re just a little looser than they used to be. It’s not like I’m risking an innocent.

Besides, this gets one more criminal off the streets. I call that a win-win.

Glancing at said criminal, I shrug. “You tell me the requirements, and I’ll find the right candidate.”

“Hmm.” His appraising gaze fixes on me, like I’m filet mignon. “We’re looking for more of a…challenger.”

My heart kicks up a notch .

What in the hell was I thinking, coming out here half-cocked?

“Ah. Who’d you say the buyer is, again?” Like he’s going to tell me.

“I didn’t.” There’s a gleam in his eye. “But I’m told there’s a hunting expedition involved.”

I force a chuckle. “Should I have brought a deer instead of a weasel?”

He stares at me, unnervingly void of expression.

“Well, no worries, man.” I regroup. “I’ll get this rodent out of your way and get back to you when I find something…challenging.”

Time to disappear.

Dolph’s smile is cold. “Don’t bother. We have exactly what we need.”

Alarm bells go off in my head. Sirens. Flashing red lights, the same color as the Viking’s gnarly mat of hair. “Great. I guess I’ll be seeing you, then.” I dart a glance around me, but it’s too late.

I know what’s coming before he opens his mouth. “Hold him.”

Shit.

A body brushes against my back. An arm closes around my neck. A chokehold.

I manage a lucky elbow-jab, knocking the wind out of the guy enough to loosen his grip. Then I go for my gun.

But the other guy catches my arm, twisting until something pops. Stars burst in front of my eyes along with a tearing, searing pain in my shoulder. My weapon falls.

I’m fucked.

As both arms are wrenched behind my back, Dolph kicks the gun away, leering with the excitement of a man who’s found his big payday. My head is yanked back by my hair. He’s saying something, but it’s drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears.

There’s a sharp stab at the side of my throat.

A needle.

“Fucking bastards,” I grit between my teeth. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I can h—” A hand around my throat cuts me off.

Oh, fuck, no. I am not going out like this.

Pure stubbornness surges through my muscles. A second wind. A Hail Mary. A roar rips from me as I jam my knee into Dolph’s gut, then slam my head forward. His nose crunches, spurting hot blood all over the two of us. A cry of pain and outrage sends another rush of energy through my veins. Gritting my teeth against the agony of my shoulder, I twist, dislodging the man behind me enough to make a break for it.

I make it five feet, ten…twenty.

Then everything blurs.

Stumbling, my knees hit the ground with an impact that echoes through my entire body.

Whatever they gave me, I’m suffocating in it. Drowning.

Something flickers in the corner of my vision.

A shadow. A figment. A ghost.

Maybe nothing.

The world tilts, and I fall forward, face first. “I’m…gonna kill…” The words slur into the mud.

A pair of shoes comes into view. One pulls back. Connects with my stomach. My ribcage. Over and over. Something snaps.

Fuck. Oh…fuck.

Then another connects with my face.

A punch lands. A kick.

“Agghh.” That’s my voice, cracked, broken. Moaning like a dying animal.

I pant through it. Shallow breaths.

Can’t get air.

Darkness rushes for me like a tidal wave.

No. I can’t lose consciousness.

I can’t…

lose…

Afternoon light filters through the blinds, painting gold stripes over the file-strewn desk. I haven’t used this office since before I started undercover work, years ago.

How—

My attention catches on a flash of blue: a gauzy dress draped like a waterfall over a metal folding chair. Thick waves of espresso-brown hair frame the shocking crystal eyes of a girl I know better than anyone.

I wish I could remember her name.

Relief and dread spread through my chest in equal measure. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Hug her. “How did you get here?”

She has a smile that could make flowers wilt and angels fall from the sky, but today, it breaks my heart. And when her lips part, the words come out as a song. “Where were you?”

“Where was I ?” I shake my head. “Where are you ?”

She’s right here in front of me. And yet, I know that she isn’t.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, and out of nowhere, her face begins to age.

Slowly, the life vanishes from her eyes until they sink into her skull and dark holes stare back at me. Her skin sags…dissolves. A string of wordless notes float through the room, dark and dissonant. A funeral dirge.

“ Where are you ?” I repeat.

“It’s too late.” A single tear trickles over the edge of an empty eye socket. “It’s too late… It’s too late.”

Something buzzes in my ear. Lands on my face. Another comes, and another. Flies. I swat at them, but there are too many. The buzzing fills the office.

Blindly, I lunge across the desk to protect the girl.

No. You can’t have her. Not her ? —

The scratch of a record cuts through the buzz. Time glitches. I’m standing behind my desk, where I started. It’s quiet as death.

I blink.

The flies are gone. Only a jewel-colored bird flits here and there, poking at the corpse that used to be a girl—now no more than a human-shaped pile of ash.

No.

I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. I can only gasp and exhale, over and over until my breath becomes a breeze that reaches the Ash Girl. Her remains lift in a swirling gray cloud, floating to the open window and scattering into the world.

Gone.

She’s gone.

The bluebird watches me from its perch on the edge of my desk.

I open my mouth and scream. I scream until my throat bleeds and my lungs collapse, and when I stop, the bird is gone, too.

Sinking down into the chair, I stay in the dusty ruins of the office. Alone.

Time fades.

An eternity goes by.

I still can’t remember her name.

Then—

“I’m sorry.”

Wait.

What was that? Was that a voice?

“Sara?” The name slips out, little more than gravel rattling in my throat.

With some difficulty, I crack an eye open, no more than a slit. A blurry shape swims in front of me. A rectangle. A door?

I’m awake…I think. But I feel like I’m underwater.

When I try to sit up, a lightning bolt of pain tears me in two. The air whooshes from me and I lose myself in a wave of vertigo. A groan vibrates in my ears. That hurts, too.

Fuck. Me.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

There it is again. Muffled. Covered, maybe?

“Sara.” It’s all I can manage to say.

“No, I?—”

I stop listening. Can’t think of anything but getting to that door. Finding her.

Finding her.

Without giving myself time to think, I roll over until my feet are under me. Ignoring the pain in my chest and the scraping sound behind me, I stumble toward the door like a rogue wrecking ball. Then?—

A violent snap. My ankle catches, twists. Obliterating agony. “ Ah, goddammit! Fuck! ”

I hit the floor face first. Hard.

A pathetic moan wheezes out of me as I curl up where I lay.

And I hear it again. A soft voice. Like a jewel-toned bird.

“Sara.” Oh, God …she’s here. She’s here, and I can’t lose her again. I can’t let her leave. “Don’t go.” The words slur.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again.

But as the room fades, I decide that maybe I didn’t hear anything at all.

Maybe I didn’t lose the only bright spot in my dark, damned life.

Maybe I’m not trapped in a room, God-knows-where, listening to the apologies of a ghost.

Maybe I’ve been dead for a long

long

time.