Strike leans over, reading the email with a frown knit between his brows. “What’s this shit?”
“Order the chopper,” I say. “The takedown happens now.”
My mind plunges into a dark, unforgiving place. Rage feels like it’s taking me hostage. If I’d known—hell, if I’d evenimagined—for one second that bringing von Graf into She’s the One would lead him to Josie, I never would’ve created the damn thing in the first place. But regrets are a luxury I can’t afford right now.
I think back to all the safeguards I put in place—the firewalls, the encryptions, the trapdoors meant to shut everything down if anyone got too close. I’ve never encountered a coder who could get through my traps. Somehow, von Graf slipped in anyway. My precautions weren’t enough. Not for him. Who the fuck is he? Where did he come from? Former CIA?
No time to dwell on that now. No time to let the rage boiling inside me take control. The clock’s ticking, and every second that slips by is a second Josie’s farther out of my reach. No more waiting, no more games. We’re burning this entire operation to the ground. Whatever it takes.
—
I storm into the gala, heart pounding, the noise and lights barely registering as I shove past partygoers. I scan the crowd, even though I already know it; Josie’s not answering her texts, and she’s nowhere to be found. I push through the throng of people, calling her name, my worst fears confirmed.
Von Graf planned this from the start. And now Josie’s in his hands.
“Primogen Capital headquarters,” I say.
Strike nods. “Chopper’s on the roof.”
We’re coming for her, and Hell’s coming with us.
Five minutes later, we’re tearing through the night sky, the helicopter blades slicing the air like a knife through flesh.
Below, the city blurs by; I notice none of it.
Von Graf’s office is exactly like the man, a slick front for something far darker. At first glance, it’s nothing more than a high-endcorporate lair—gleaming steel, polished floors, all sharp lines and cold edges. It wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. Which is exactly the point. But beneath the surface, it reeks of something far worse.
Getting in is laughably easy. The security guard at the front desk is already distracted, scrolling videos on his phone, so we pick the lock on a side entrance and slide right in without worrying about the cameras he’s definitely not looking at.
Strike drops into the chair behind von Graf’s massive desk. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he hacks through the layers of encryption protecting his mainframe.
“Almost there,” he mutters, his fingers moving rapid-fire. He’s brilliant, but I’m running out of patience. “A few more seconds.”
“Seconds we don’t have,” I snap, my voice tight. My phone buzzes in my hand as I pull in intel from our FBI contacts. “His private jet took off from Blue Bell Airport. No flight plan was filed,” I read. “Three passengers—two women, one man. No passports registered.”
Fuck. So, for all we know, they could be halfway to Kathmandu by now.
Strike pulls up a series of encrypted files and starts downloading them onto a secure drive. I can hear him muttering under his breath, something about firewalls and proxy servers. He’s speaking my language, but it’s all white noise to me. My head’s already a thousand miles away—or, more accurately, halfway across the Atlantic, assuming they went east. The chopper is on the roof to take us to my G700 the moment we get intel on their direction.
And in the meantime, we’re going to crush von Graf’s business into dust.
Strike’s fingers pause briefly, and he leans back with a satisfied smirk. “Got it,” he says, tapping a final key. “The mainframe’s cracked. I’m pulling up everything now.”
Screens light up all around us, with row upon row of files. Hundreds of names flash by, each belonging to a young woman caught in von Graf’s web. I grit my teeth as images appear, showing women of all ages, some as young as fourteen. It’s beyond reprehensible, beyond disgusting.
I glance over at Strike; his jaw is tight, eyes burning with the same fury I feel twisting inside me. “Flight coordinates confirmed,” he says, indicating a screen on his left.
When I see the coordinates, a howl rips out of my throat before I can stop it. My chest tightens, a flood of rage and desperation surging through me. Of all the places, it had to be there. This is not a coincidence. Niles is fucking toying with me, has been the whole time, like a cat with a mouse.
I am no one’s goddamn mouse.
“Are you sure?” My voice comes out sharp, almost desperate. I can feel my heart pounding harder with each beat. My mind spins, flashing back to memories I’ve kept buried for years. Every corner of that cursed place is filled with ghosts I’ve tried to outrun my whole life.
And now von Graf is taking Josie there, dragging me right back.
What I don’t understand is why.
By the time I’ve pulled myself together, Strike is already disconnecting the system, wiping our tracks.
