Page 114 of Vital Signs

Three hours of this surveillance bullshit and my skin crawled like insects burrowing under the surface. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to move.

I shifted in the passenger seat of Shepherd's SUV, leather creaking under my weight. The sound was too loud in the enclosed space, echoing off windows fogged with our breath despite the heater running full blast. My fingers twitched against my thighs, drumming patterns I couldn't control while my leg bounced restlessly.

"Stop fidgeting," Shepherd said from the driver's seat, not even glancing at me.

"I'm not fucking fidgeting," I lied, knowing damn well my body had a mind of its own. Lying came too easily. Too natural. Like slipping into old skin I swore I'd shed.

"Movement," River announced from behind me. "Three vehicles. Black SUVs, tinted windows."

I grabbed the binoculars so fast the strap caught on my jacket, nearly yanking them from my hands. Three identical SUVs approached the clinic, their dark paint gleaming under streetlights. Too clean, too expensive, too coordinated for some shitty medical practice in Athens, Ohio.

The kind of cars that meant someone was about to disappear.

"Same vehicles from our surveillance photos. Wright's security detail." Shepherd’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

Eli leaned forward. "This late? Security doesn't run midnight shifts for routine protection."

The first SUV vomited four men in tactical gear hidden under civilian jackets, moving like soldiers who'd done this before.

"That's not security," I said. "That's cleanup. These fuckers are here to erase evidence."

The other vehicles brought dollies, equipment cases, and personnel wearing latex gloves.

"Jesus Christ," River muttered. "They're sanitizing the place."

My phone buzzed against my thigh, and I grabbed it like a lifeline, desperate for contact with Misha, for proof that somewhere across town he was still breathing, still safe, still real, still mine.

But it was just a notification. Some app update. Nothing from Misha.

My chest felt hollow without his heartbeat against it. This morning I'd woken up wrapped around him, his back pressed to my chest, his hair tickling my nose. Nine hours ago, I'd known exactly how his skin felt under my hands, soft in some places, scarred in others, always warm, always real.

Now my body ached with more than just stress. Physical withdrawal from the person who'd become my favorite addiction. I missed the weight of his arm across my ribs. The way he mumbled French in his sleep.

The silence stretched until it became a living thing, wrapping around my throat. It was choking instead of claiming like Misha's hands. Pressure built in my chest, that familiar spike of panic that used to send me straight to Jimmy's trailer for bagged relief.

I tried calling him. Straight to voicemail.

I slammed my phone against my thigh, hard enough to bruise. "Goddammit, Misha," I muttered under my breath.

I tried War next. Same shit.

Xander's phone rang once before dying with a click that sounded final as a coffin lid closing.

"Anyone getting responses from Team One?" Shepherd asked, his own phone glowing in the dashboard light as he scrolled through unanswered messages.

River shook his head. "Radio silence since their last check-in."

"Forty-three minutes ago," Eli said.

"They're dark," I said, and my voice sounded like I'd been swallowing gravel. "All of them. Something's wrong. Something's really fucking wrong."

Through the clinic windows, the cleanup crew worked methodically. File cabinets emptied into burn bags. Computer hard drives ripped from towers. Everything that could hold data disappeared into metal containers.

Every record of Wright's victims vanished into smoke and ash.

Pressure built in my chest until each breath became a conscious effort. The panic crawled up my throat like acid. The urge slammed into me, sudden and devastating and completely fucking undeniable. My nervous system screamed for relief. I needed to forget that somewhere across town Misha mightbe bleeding out in some basement while I sat here having a breakdown like a worthless piece of shit.

I reached for my phone. My thumb hovered over Jimmy’s contact like it knew the way already.