The fire chief leads me toward his team, but my attention remains fixed on the ambulance. Every second away from Liv feels like a physical ache.
“Multiple ignition points.” Andrews flips through his notes. “Deliberate placement to maximize smoke production while minimizing structural damage. Care to explain?”
“No.”
His eyebrows rise at my tone. “This wasn’t an accident, Remy.”
“Handle the smoke.” I turn back toward the ambulance. “Send the report to my office, and I’ll pay for the inconvenience and overtime.”
“We’ll need statements—”
“Later.”
Marcus intercepts me halfway back, his expression tense. “Sir, the EMTs want to transport her to Chicago General.”
Ice slides down my spine. “No. Call my doctor. Have him meet us at the west tower.”
“She needs a hospital—”
“She needs to be somewhere I can protect her.” My fists clench as I watch the EMTs prepare for transport. “Get Reynolds here. Now.”
Marcus nods, already dialing. Around us, the chaos continues—evacuees huddle in groups while firefighters sweep the building.
I finish answering the fire chief’s questions through gritted teeth, my patience wearing dangerously thin. When I turn back toward the ambulance, something’s wrong. The EMTs are packing their equipment, and there is no sign of Liv on the gurney.
My stride lengthens as acid burns through my veins. “Where is she?”
The younger EMT barely glances up, continuing to wrap cables. “Oh, the woman? She woke up about five minutes ago.”
“And?” The word comes out as a growl.
He shrugs, maddeningly casual. “Mumbled something about being fine and bolted. We can’t force treatment if a patient refuses—”
My fist slams into the ambulance door, the metal reverberating with a hollow boom. The EMT jumps back, finally showing appropriate concern.
Ice spreads through my chest as the realization hits. Liv played me perfectly—used the fire as a distraction, knowing I’d rush in to save her. The unconsciousness, the shallow breathing—all an act to get past my security.
“Fuck.” The curse tastes bitter. She’s outsmarted me again.
I force air through my lungs, stepping away from the chaos of flashing lights and concerned voices. My fingers dig into my palm until pain cuts through the rage.Think.
My phone is already in my hand as I stride toward the quiet corner of the parking garage. Each step steadies my racing thoughts, replacing fury with cold purpose. I don’t have any more options.
I dial the number I swore I’d never use. It rings twice before his gravelly voice answers.
“Montoni? It’s Harding. I’m in.”
Chapter 18
My breath burns in my lungs as I force myself forward through the night. Each shadow feels like a trap, every echo a threat. The burner phone digs into my palm, my lifeline to what’s left of our network after Roberto—
I push the thought away. Can’t think about Roberto now. Can’t let grief slow me down.
A car idles nearby. I duck into an alley, pressing myself against cold brick, counting heartbeats until the sound fades. Five days since I escaped Remy’s penthouse. Five days of running, hiding, piecing together the fragments of evidence I’ve gathered over all those years of investigation.
The files from the cloud drive weigh on my mind. Shipping manifests. Bank records. Names of missing girls. My two dead contacts in Europe. All of it leading back to my father, Ano Montoni. The great philanthropist. The caring businessman. The monster who put a twenty-million-dollar bounty on his own daughter’s head.
Footsteps echo behind me. I slip deeper into the shadows, my worn sneakers silent on wet pavement. The exhaustion burns through my muscles, but I can’t stop. Won’t stop. The warehouse district lies ahead, a maze of abandoned buildings and broken dreams. Perfect for hiding. Perfect for an ambush.
