Stone knows where I am—Steel tracked the SUV. That means they’re already planning a rescue. The question is whether they’ll wait for FBI backup or come in hot on their own.
They’ll wait. Lee will make Stone wait. Going in without backup is suicide.
But waiting means hours. And Ivan is coming.
I test the zip ties again. They’re tight, but not impossible. If I can dislocate my thumb I might be able to slip free. But then what?I’m on the second floor of a building full of armed men, with no weapons and no backup.
You’re a lawyer, not a soldier. Stop trying to be an action hero and focus on what you’re good at.
Information. I need information.
I scan the office, looking for anything useful. The desk drawers are locked. The filing cabinets too. But there’s a laptop on the desk—closed, probably password-protected, but still. And through the glass windows, I can see the main floor of the warehouse.
It’s exactly what Steel’s surveillance footage showed. Processing tables. Packaging equipment. Stacks of product ready for distribution. A dozen workers moving with the efficiency of a well-run operation.
And guards. I count six on the main floor, plus Tattoo Neck by my door. All armed. All alert.
This is a fortress. Even the FBI is going to have a hard time breaching it.
Unless they have inside help.
I think about the layout. The main entrance is heavily guarded, but there’s a loading dock on the east side—I saw it when they brought me in. And the windows on the upper floor are old, probably single-pane. Easy to breach if you’ve got the right equipment.
Stop it. You’re not planning a raid. You’re just trying to survive until Stone gets here.
Stone.
I close my eyes, letting myself think about him for just a moment. The way he looked at me this morning, soft and rumpled from sleep. The way he kissed me before we left for the rally.
He’s coming and he’s going to be so fucking pissed.
The thought almost makes me smile.
The door opens, and my moment of comfort evaporates.
The man who walks in is huge—easily six-four, built like a linebacker gone to seed. His face is a roadmap of violence, broken nose, scar through one eyebrow, the kind of flat eyes that have seen things and enjoyed them.
Ivan.
My stomach curdles. Every instinct I have screams at me to run, to fight, to dosomething—but there’s nowhere to go. I’m zip-tied to a chair, and this monster is walking toward me like he has all the time in the world.
I swallow hard, forcing the fear down past the lump in my throat.
Don’t let him see it. Don’t give him that.
“Ms. Bright.” His voice is surprisingly soft. Almost gentle. Somehow that’s worse than if he’d been growling. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“Wish I could say the same.” My voice comes out steady. Thank God for small mercies.
He pulls up a chair, positioning it directly in front of me. Close enough that I can smell him—cigarettes, cheap cologne with a metallic underneath. When he sits, our knees are almost touching.
My skin crawls. I want to recoil, to put distance between us, but I force myself to stay still. Any reaction is a weapon he can use.
“Mr. Caruso tells me you’ve been uncooperative.”
“No, I’ve been honest. Just because I’m not telling you what you want to hear, doesn’t mean I’m uncooperative.”
“Doesn’t it?” He tilts his head, studying me like a specimen. “In my experience, honesty and cooperation go hand in hand. People who are honest have nothing to hide. People who have nothing to hide don’t need to be... persuaded.”
