Once the guards were led away, Leland turned toward the long crate abandoned in the sand. He crouched beside it, flipped the metal latches open, and lifted the lid.
He revealed a haphazardly wrapped canvas in colors he recognized even through soot and grime—the triptych. Álvarez’s crown jewel.
Leland’s jaw tightened. Even now, while innocent young women ran for their lives, these men had tried to profit.
Movement stirred inside the tunnel again.
Leland drew his weapon and turned but relaxed as soot-smudged members of his team came into view. He keyed his mic again.
“The rest of my team is coming out.” His eyes skated past Mateo, past Rhys, and landed on the young woman clutching Gaby’s hand.
“And one survivor,” he added, relieved that he could.
He switched off his comm.
Álvarez was in custody. His guards were in restraints. The muses were being gathered and escorted to safety. The fucking mansion could burn to ash and cinder for all he cared. But teams were already working to contain the blaze.
There was still much to do. The operation was still active, still shifting under their feet.
But as his gaze slid to Gaby, and the raw relief on her face as she clung to her sister like she might blow away on the breeze, something in him settled.
For one of their own, at least, mission accomplished.
***
They sat on the sand. Twenty-three of them in all. Barefoot. Wrapped in blankets. Thin, pale, shaken—no longer muses for anyone, but free young women.
Natalie leaned against Gaby’s side, fingers still laced through hers as if letting go might undo everything. Medics moved among them, murmuring reassurances, applying oxygen, checking burns, bruises, and watching for shock.
Out on the water, boats idled in a loose perimeter. More were arriving from the far side of the island to ferry the rescued women away.
Gaby watched the operation unfold. A mix of OIJ, FBI, Coast Guard, and the small Devlin contingent worked alongside one another, methodical, professional, and calm. They couldn’t disguise their disgust, however, while escorting the guards up the beach in cuffs. Or when the equally complicit guests, who’dtried to vanish into the smoke and chaos, were arrested and read their rights.
At the center of it all stood Leland.
He didn’t bark orders. He didn’t posture. He simply spoke, and people moved. Under his direction, the chaos resolved into order, shaped and contained, leaving no gaps.
The composition of the team suddenly made sense. Rhys had been the spear. Mateo, the shield. And Leland was the net, allowing no one connected to Álvarez to slip through.
Natalie moved restlessly beside her.
“You okay?” Gaby asked.
Natalie considered the question longer than expected. She looked out at the water. At the boats. At the officers moving with purpose. At the men who’d turned the last few months into a living nightmare.
“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “But if not now, I will be.”
That was the sister she knew—thoughtful, direct, and determined. Gaby squeezed her hand. The future didn’t feel like such a threat anymore. It felt possible.
***
The sun was high overhead, the beach all but cleared. The rescued women, everyone except for her and Natalie, were long gone, ferried toward the mainland on two boats with medical personnel and trauma counselors among them.
The guests had been transported too. There was no elegance now. No entitlement. Just wealthy, once-powerful men, and one woman, who had believed themselves untouchable. Now bound and helpless like the victims they once used and controlled.
Only two boats remained.
“One of those has to be for us,” Natalie murmured, leaning into her.
