“She sent me a message, a code we made up to tell me if she was in danger. And she just sent it.” She could have gone in there alone and left him hanging. But she just proved everyone wrong—sending that text was the equivalent of showing them she was a team player.
“Shit!”
“I know where she is.” The words felt like flaming gravel as he forced them out. “I need to go get her.”
“Sinner, wait—”
He’d already slammed the vehicle he’d “borrowed” from the hotel parking lot into gear. The tires screeched when he punched the accelerator, the engine roaring like it understood his urgency. He gripped the wheel hard enough to feel it bite into his palms.
He had to get to her. If Cipher himself didn’t have her, he’d sent one of his dogs to do his dirty work.
How did he get her alone and exposed? He had to be holding some leverage over her. Otherwise, she would’ve fought him.
Why the hell had Sinner let her walk out that door? He should have defied orders rather than letting the woman he loved walk straight into the jaws of a predator.
His phone buzzed with a text from Con.
Wait for us.
Sinner ground his molars and typed back one-handed while he crossed into oncoming traffic, blowing past a car on a double line without slowing.
How long?
Seven minutes out.
Seven minutes was too damn long. A fucking eternity when the women he loved was in the hands of a terrorist who was out for blood after she drew it first.
When he didn’t respond to his CO, his phone rang immediately. With a huff of irritation, he answered with a sharp swipe.
Con’s voice was deathly calm. Dangerously calm. A certain sign that he was not pleased with Sinner’s actions. “Sinner. You do not go in without backup.”
His voice came out flat. “Seven minutes is too long. If Cipher has her—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, wouldn’t let himself think about what could happen in seven minutes…or might have already.
“Sinner. Final order.”
“I can’t wait, Commanding Officer.” He cut the wheel hard, taking a turn that made the car fishtail before he corrected.
Silence stretched between them for a beat. Con’s voice was even when he said what Sinner didn’t expect. “Keep the line open.”
Sinner didn’t respond. He focused on the road, boot locked to the gas pedal.
He killed the engine half a block away and approached on foot in a crouch, his steps silent. The house at the end of the street looked abandoned. He scanned the cracked windows. Opal wasn’t visible in any of them.
But her car was parked crooked in the driveway, like she’d been in a hurry…to get to what?
His heart slammed his ribs like it hit a brick wall at full speed.
He navigated the perimeter with stealth that was as natural as breathing. Every window he passed, he peeked inside, but all he saw were rooms littered with trash and broken furniture.
Then—movement.
He pressed his back against the siding and angled for a better view through the grimy window and a single crack between slats of a broken blind.
The figure was male with the lean build and brown hair Opal had described.
Cipher.
He was talking. Sinner couldn’t make out the words but the cadence was off—the voice of a man who held all the power and knew it.
