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It was over.

The call came in that Bryson Van Amee was safe and headed back to the States as soon as doctors stabilized him, and a cheer rang up from all the federal agents in the room. They high-fived and congratulated each other and Frank Perry like they’d all had a hand in the op that saved Van Amee’s life.

Danny Giancarelli just shook his head and pulled on his coat. He had no doubt Perry the Prick would make sure his face was all over the top media stations today, basking in the glory of the success.

Well, let him.

Gabe Bristow and his men sure didn’t seem like media whores, and all Danny wanted was to spend the final night of his so-called vacation with his wife and kids.

He passed his partner in the foyer.

“Gonna try to make it to the coast?” O’Keane asked.

“Yep.”

“Traffic will be a bitch.”

“Probably.”

O’Keane looked toward the great room, where the other agents were packing up equipment. “Crisis averted. That was something, wasn’t it?”

Danny didn’t bother pretending he had no clue what O’Keane meant. “Yeah. Something.”

“Can’t help but wonder,” he mused. “All those phone calls you made last night? They wouldn’t have had anything to do with this privately funded rescue operation…”

Danny gave him a friendly thump on the back. “See ya Tuesday, buddy.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I figured.” He lowered his voice. “Whatever you did, you saved the man’s life. Good job.” As another agent walked by, he plastered a smile on his face and said normally, “Give Leah and the kids my love.”

Danny stepped outside. The morning air was crisp and cool, the sky a gorgeous cerulean with feather-like wisps of clouds. It promised to be a beautiful day, perfect for stretching out on the beach with his wife while his kids played in the surf. He couldn’t wait.

His mind was already running ahead, a hundred miles down the highway, pulling up to the cabin with his kids squealing in delight at his arrival, and he almost tripped over Chloe Van Amee.

She sat on the front steps, hugging herself.

“Whoa, hey. Sorry.”

She blinked up at him, and he’d have to be blind not to see the glazed expression of shock in her dark eyes.

“Mrs. Van Amee, are you okay?”

She nodded, but it was an obvious lie.

Sighing inwardly, Danny postponed his trip for another few minutes and dropped to the step beside her. Yes, he wasn’t her biggest fan, and he especially disliked how little she had to do with her sons, but he couldn’t leave her sitting here like this, alone and in shock. He put an arm around her shoulders. She felt tiny and fragile, Barbie meets china doll.

“It’s over, you know?” he said. “Bryson is safe now. He’s coming home to you and your sons in a couple of days.”

“I—I know. I know. He’s okay. In the hospital, and he’s… okay.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself and raised shaking hands to cover her face. “I just—what about the men that took him? What happened to them? Are they… still out there somewhere?”

“I don’t know. Would you like me to find out?”

She looked at him, studied him with eyes far too world-weary to belong on the face of a selfish, pampered socialite like Chloe Van Amee. “Is it bad of me to hope they’re dead?”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” He gave her a light squeeze and then stood. “Lemme make some calls, okay?”