"A location, yes. But you're not going to like it," Maddie warned, her tone shifting to something more cautious. "Whoever grabbed Harper took her to a small island about fifteen miles off the Florida coastline. It's owned by a tech billionaire named Declan Hewes."
"What would a tech billionaire want with Harper?" I frowned, my mind racing through possibilities and discarding each one. My mate was beautiful, smart, strong, and stubborn, but she was a schoolteacher of small younglings, not a tech wizard.
"I wondered about that too," Maddie said, her fingers flying over the datapad lying on the table before her. "But look at this."
A picture materialized on the screen. It showed a ceremony with a lovely female with dark red hair holding, her posture formal and official, holding a medal encased in a velvet box out to Harper. My mate wore a smile, but it was forced, and her eyes appeared haunted and sad. She was beautiful, breathtaking even in her sorrow. But my gaze tore from her toward the male standing in the background.
He stood apart from the ceremony, partially obscured by other attendees, but his focus was unmistakable—a laser beam of attention cutting through the crowd. The male watched Harper with an intensity that made my blood run cold. Hiseyes tracked her, hungry and possessive. This wasn’t a casual appreciation of my mate’s beauty. This was the look of a predator who had already picked his prey and was merely waiting for the right moment to strike.
"This is a photo from the Medal of Valor ceremony for Harper's first husband, Seth, who was killed in the line of duty." Maddie's voice held regret, then a twist of disgust as she continued. "It's the only instance I can find where she and Declan Hewes were in the same location."
My hands clenched into fists, knuckles going white with the force of it. "He took her for himself."
"That's what we think," Adtovar said grimly, his jaw tight. "He must have seen her at the ceremony and became... obsessed."
"We will get her back, brother," Cristox swore, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder as though he feared I might bound from my seat and take off in a rage, consequences be damned. He wasn't far off in his assessment.
"We leave now," I insisted, glancing out the porthole where the sun was setting, painting the sky with streaks of orange, purple, and crimson. "The darkness will give us an advantage." Our eyes were far more acclimated to the night than human vision.
"Here's a satellite photo of the site," Maddie said, and the image shifted, pixels rearranging themselves to show a small island with a mansion and compound clustered at one end.
"We'll land at the deserted end," I said, already calculating approach vectors and cover positions.
"Take both shuttles," Adtovar commanded, his face solemn. "There's no telling what you'll find there."
"Be safe," Maddie insisted, then her face softened as her eyes found mine, her expression gentling. "It will be okay, Xabat. You'll get her back."
Her words heartened me more than she would ever know.
"Let's suit up," Rickon suggested.
We moved toward the back of the shuttle, each of us locked in our own thoughts, making mental preparations for what lay ahead. I pulled open the weapons locker and retrieved a stealth suit from the compartment. The familiar weight settled into my hands, the material cool and supple against my palms, woven from fibers engineered to drink in light rather than cast it back. In the darkness, we'd become nothing more than shadows, phantoms moving through the enemy's midst.
I stripped off my shirt, the fabric pulling away from my skin, and held it bunched in my hands. For a long moment, I couldn't bring myself to set it aside. Harper had chosen this for me, had run her fingers over the material, and smiled when I'd put it on. The shirt was precious beyond measure, despite the dirt and the dried blood that stiffened portions of the fabric. I pressed my face into it, drawing in a deep breath, desperate for her scent. Only the faintest hint remained, a ghost of her presence that made my chest ache with longing. I carefully folded the shirt, smoothed each crease, and placed it in the locker.
I stepped into the stealth suit, the fabric molding itself to my body like a second skin. My fingers found the activation button at the neck, and I pressed it. The armor plating engaged with a series of mechanical whispers—chest plate, shoulder guards, and forearm shields. Each piece locked into place with a satisfying click.
Beside me, Rickon fastened his own armor, his movements economical and practiced. Cristox checked his weapons, sliding knives into sheaths positioned along his thighs and forearms.
I secured my own blades—one at each thigh, another at my lower back, a smaller one tucked into my boot—then reachedfor the energy weapon. My thumb found the charge indicator, and I watched the display glow a steady, reassuring green. Full charge. Good. I holstered it at my hip, then grabbed the scanner and clipped it to my belt.
"Ready?" Rickon asked, his voice steady and calm despite the tightness around his eyes.
I nodded, forcing myself to breathe, to center my thoughts. I couldn't afford to let rage cloud my judgment, couldn't let the fury burning in my chest consume my mind. Harper needed me sharp, clearheaded, not reckless. The males who had taken her were skilled—I'd seen ample evidence of their capabilities at the beach house. But we were better.
I returned to my own shuttle, my boots ringing softly against the deck plating as I climbed into the pilot's seat. I lifted off, bringing my vessel into formation beside Rickon and Cristox, the two crafts cutting through the darkening sky. During the flight, I studied the aerial photographs until every detail burned into my memory—calculating approach trajectories and fallback positions. My eyes kept returning to the other image on the screen. That of Declan Hewes, to the way he watched my mate with such naked hunger. The arrogance radiating from his gaze, the way he regarded her as though she were already his possession, made something feral rise within me. A low growl rumbled up from deep in my chest before I could suppress it. Declan Hewes would die for daring to touch what was mine. Of that, I was absolutely certain.
The shuttles were ten times faster than any Earth aircraft, and we reached the island within minutes. I followed Rickon's lead as he descended, bringing my shuttle down onto the soft sand at the far end of the island. We touched down behind a stand of massive boulders that would hide our vessels from sight, the cloaking features keeping us practically invisible.
The island stretched before us, roughly a mile and a half from end to end. Dense tropical vegetation covered most of the landscape, with palms and thick undergrowth creating natural cover. At the northern tip, lights blazed from an elaborate compound. A sprawling white-stone-and-glass mansion dominated the landscape, surrounded by several smaller outbuildings. High walls ringed the entire complex, topped with barbed wire and security equipment that glinted in the artificial lighting. The southern end where we'd landed was wild and untouched, nothing but sand, rock formations, and the whisper of waves against the shore. It didn't appear the hurricane had come near this place.
We exited the shuttles into complete darkness, the cloaking fields humming softly around us. I moved in single file behind Rickon, my boots sinking into the sand with each step. We followed the curve of the beach until a jagged break in the rocks revealed itself—a natural stairway of stone worn smooth by centuries of wind and water. I climbed, my fingers finding purchase on the rough surface, hauling myself up until I crested the top of a hillside. From this vantage point, the entire compound spread out before us. Every building and wall was illuminated by harsh security lighting that carved sharp shadows across the grounds.
Cristox dropped to one knee beside me, pulling the scanner from his belt. The device cast a faint blue glow as he swept it methodically across the beach, the compound, and finally the dark water surrounding the island.
His expression darkened. "Multiple energy signatures—cloaked vessels, at least three of them, Trogvyk design."
The confirmation settled into my gut like a stone, though I felt no surprise. The Trogvyk had made a profitable business of human abduction; their involvement was almost inevitable.
