But the tightening continues. Not painful exactly, but present. A warning.
Stress. The doctor said stress was bad for the baby. Said it could trigger early labor. And I’ve just been drugged, kidnapped, terrorized, and left in a freezing warehouse.
“Please don’t come yet,” I whisper to my stomach. “Please, baby. Just hold on a little longer. Your father will find us. I know he will.”
The tightening eases. The baby settles, going still.
I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Try to stay calm for Dante’s sake.
And I pray. For the first time since my mother died, I actually pray.
36
LEDGER
Three days.
Seventy-two hours since Savannah was taken from our home.
I stand at the windows of my office, staring down at the city that’s supposed to be mine. Every building, every street, every dark corner should be under my control. But somewhere down there, in one of those buildings or warehouses or abandoned properties, my pregnant wife is being held by men who want her dead.
And I can’t find her.
Behind me, Silas is on his fourth pot of coffee, coordinating searches across a dozen locations simultaneously. The desk is covered in maps, surveillance photos, lists of Kozlov properties and associates. We’ve torn this city apart looking for her.
Nothing.
“The industrial district is clear,” Silas says, hanging up his phone. “Twenty warehouses searched. No sign of her.”
“Then search them again.”
“Ledger, we’ve been through?—”
“I said search them again.” My voice comes out flat, dangerous. “She’s somewhere. They didn’t make her disappear into thin air.”
My phone is on the desk, face up. The fake texts from Savannah’s number stopped coming yesterday. Thirty-seven messages total, over two days, all designed to make it look like she ran away and doesn’t want to be found.
I’m safe. I just need time.
Please stop looking for me. I made my choice.
I’m starting over somewhere new. Somewhere you can’t control me.
The door opens. Alexi walks in, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. He probably hasn’t.
“Anything?” he asks.
“No.”
He sinks into a chair, running his hands through his hair. “This is my fault. I should have been there.”
“Don’t.” I turn from the window. “They would have gotten past you too. They had Isaac on the inside. Had Pedro lured away. They planned this carefully.”
“Isaac is still missing?”
“Silas’s men found his body this morning. Dumped in the desert with a bullet in his head.” I walk to my desk, pick up the surveillance photo of his corpse. “The Kozlovs don’t leave loose ends.”
“So they killed him after he helped them?”
