“You’re betting everything he wants you,” McGuire said.
“Oh, he does,” Savvy answered, voice like gravel. “He wants me dead. But more than that, he wants to win. He wants to prove he’s the one holding all the cards.” She glanced down at the comms unit. “I’m going to let him think that he does.”
A sharp chirp buzzed from the encrypted device.
One new message.
No one moved.
Savvy picked it up, thumb hovering over the interface. “Either this is him… or it’s a goodbye.”
She opened the message.
It was short. Too short.
"Meet. Alone. One hour. 27.3041° N, 91.8824° W."
McGuire was already inputting the coordinates into the GPS, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s twenty minutes south. On the water.”
“Middle of the swamp,” Patch said. “Smart. No vantage points, no approach on foot. But Remy and a small team can be just south of my place. That’ll work.”
“Except for one thing,” Savvy said. “I’ll take the eastern canal. Use the fog.”
“Are you kidding me?” McGuire said flatly.
“He said alone.” She pocketed the device. “But he didn’t say unarmed, and I’ll have a weapon.”
“No,” Patch said, the word so final it echoed.
“You said yourself—we’re not waiting to get picked off in our sleep.” She glared.
“I said we bait him, not walk into his trap.” Patch shook his head.
“We are the trap,” she said. “But we won’t spring it until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
McGuire paced behind her, then stopped, facing the table again. “We set up a perimeter. Eyes on. No engagement unless she gives the signal. But we need time to set it up and get Riven downriver safely.”
Patch’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue.
“We’ve got an hour,” Savvy said, heading to the back room. “Somebody gas the boat.”
The others had already gone. Slipped silently into the swamp like ghosts with rifles, scattering into the dark to set the trap.
Only Patch and Savvy remained.
And Patch couldn’t help but wonder if he’d lost his mind.
Savvy stood at the edge of the dock, one hand on the mooring line, the other adjusting the small sidearm strapped beneath her jacket. She looked ready—sharp, focused, terrifyingly beautiful in a way that knocked the wind right out of his chest.
But he wasn’t ready.
Patch leaned against the post beside her, arms folded, jaw tight. “You sure you want to do this?”
“No,” she said softly. “But I have to.”
She didn’t look at him when she said it. Her gaze was on the water—moonlight rippling over the surface like silver veins. It had always calmed her, the quiet murmur of the bayou. But tonight, the silence buzzed with what-ifs.
He stepped closer. Not touching her. Not yet.
