The front door is locked. My pulse spikes. I run around to the back, feet slapping against the boards. The door is ajar.
Inside, chaos greets me. A vase shattered, petals scattered across the floor. Frames crooked, pictures askew. Whoever did this wasn’t careful… Lucky fought back. The thought should comfort me. It doesn’t. It means she could be hurt. And that anger—that white-hot fury—burrows under my skin.
I hear engines out front. Two. I sprint to the porch, keys out, type in the security code, and see it's been disabled.
Fuck!
I unbolt the door and the multiple locks and open it.
Sam’s truck rolls to a stop first. He jumps out, eyes instantly on the tire tracks. “Skid marks,” he says flatly. “They were hauling ass.”
Dawson follows with his deputy, tablet in hand, badge glinting in the sunlight. He doesn’t need to say anything; I already know he’s got news. He slides the device toward me. I snatch it.
Sheifer. My gut tightens. CIA. Tech ops. Hacker. Every word of this man screams danger. He doesn’t just break in—he studies, he waits, he exploits every weakness.
I pace, head snapping between the marks, the wreckage, the tablet. How the hell did he get in? I scan the house in seconds—window sensors, cameras, locks. Compromised. Clever bastard used a blind spot I didn’t anticipate… and he waited for my distraction at the bank.
I grind my jaw. Lucky. She’s not in the house. She could be anywhere now. She could be—no. I won’t let myself finish that thought.
“Ethan,” Sam says. His tone is low. “We need a plan.”
I snap my gaze to him, fire in my chest. “Plan? He was in her house. My client, my rules—my responsibility. Lucky’s alive, I hope. That’s all I know.”
Dawson clears his throat, voice steady but tight. “We’ve got you covered, Maddox. But you need to hear this—Sheifer’s not some garden-variety criminal. The Agency flagged him years back. Obsession issues.” He taps the tablet with two fingers. “He got too fixated on a civilian during an op. Psych wrote it up, but the report disappeared into the black hole. They retired him quietly and buried the file even quieter.”
He meets my eyes. “Point is—he doesn’t just break in, Ethan. He fixates. And he knows exactly how to bypass systems.”
“The fuck…?” Sam’s voice trails off to infinity.
“Agency,” I say, not quite sure what to believe anymore.
Dawson exhales hard, like the words taste wrong coming out. “This isn’t a rumor, Maddox. My source on this is solid. What you’re looking at—this isn’t the normal file. The real report was sealed. Locked in the black hole.”
He glances at Sam, then back at me. “They didn’t want this getting out—not about their agency, and sure as hell not about him.”
His thumb taps the screen once. “Sheifer fixates. He studies. And he knows how to walk through a security grid like it’s a damn bead curtain.”
Dawson’s jaw flexes. “Reliable source, Ethan. Dead serious. This guy doesn’t ‘break in.’ He stalks his way in.”
I tighten my hand against the tablet’s edge, heart hammering. Of course he does. Of course, he knows every trick. He’s patient, methodical, and obsessed. Seven years. Seven goddamn years. And now he’s here.
I take a breath, forcing control into my limbs. Sam and I exchange a look—years of trust and shared missions condensed into a single nod. No chatter, no hesitation.
Sam crouches beside the tire ruts, fingers brushing the churned-up dirt like he’s reading braille. He lets out a low whistle. “He was in a hurry. Rear tires kicked out twice—driver forced her in fast.”
He squints toward the tree line. “Coupe. Rear-wheel drive. Heavy front axle. Early 2000s Ford, maybe a Taurus or Crown Vic.” He stands, dusting his hands. “Guy’s using an old government fleet car. Cute.”
The deputy stares at him. “How the hell do you know that from—”
Dawson cuts him off with a flat look. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, son.”
I barely hear them. I’m taking in the scene—the front door still locked, the back door hanging open, the mess inside. Broken vase. Scuffed floor. Picture frames knocked sideways.
Lucky fought.
Which is good. And bad.
Because it means he put his hands on her.
