Outside, the snow continues to fall in light, small flakes that reflect in the security lights and vanish as they hit the ground. Charlotte looks peaceful from a distance.
It isn’t. Not tonight.
The drive to the storage complex takes twenty minutes. The roads are slick in places where snow has turned to slush and refrozen. My driver keeps the speed steady, his grip firm on the wheel, the headlights slicing through the thin swirl of flakes.
I sit in the back seat and watch the city pass. Streetlights. Empty sidewalks. A late-night diner with a single car in the lot. A gas station with a neon sign flickering in the window. Normal life, moving on.
Rowan should be in the apartment, wrapped in one of her thick sweaters, complaining about the cold and teasing me for never wearing a scarf. She should be drinking coffee and reviewing chart notes because she refuses to stop working even when I tell her she needs rest. Instead, she’s in a place she didn’t choose, surrounded by men who see her as leverage.
My hand tightens against my knee.
Mikel sits across from me, his eyes forward. “Karp’s team is already in position.”
“Good.”
A few minutes later, we turn off the main road and follow a narrower side street lined with chain-link fencing. The storage complex sits back from the road, with rows of metal units and a small office building in the center. Security lights glare over the lot. Snow has gathered along the base of the doors.
We don’t enter through the front. We pull to the far side, where the fence line meets a strip of trees. My door opens. The cold hits immediately, pushing under my coat. Snow crunches under my boots.
Karp emerges from the shadows near the tree line, tall, broad, and silent. His face is hard in the way it gets when he’s ready for violence. He gives a short nod to Mikel, then to me.
“We have movement,” Karp murmurs. He keeps his voice low. “Two vehicles came through forty minutes ago. One stayed. One left.”
“Any sign of the women?”
He shakes his head. “No visuals. Only men.”
I stare at the complex, the lights, and the calm. Calm can be false. It can be staged.
“Show me,” I instruct.
Karp leads us along the fence line to a position where we can see the central corridor between two rows of units. A black SUV is parked near a corner unit. Two men stand near it, theircollars turned up against the cold. One smokes. The other keeps scanning the lot, his hand near his waistband.
They’re not Arkady’s standard. His men are disciplined. They don’t linger and they don’t smoke where they can be seen. These men look like hired muscle.
Ivan’s.
Karp gestures subtly. “Unit C-17.”
I scan the numbers painted along the row until my eyes land on C-17.
“Entry plan?” I prompt.
Karp’s gaze stays fixed on the men by the SUV. “We can take the two outside silently. Then breach the unit.”
“And if Rowan isn’t here?” I ask.
Karp glances at me. He understands the question. If Rowan isn’t here, a breach is noise. Noise triggers relocation and makes her harder to find.
I study the men again, not for what they are, but for what they’re guarding. Their focus wanders too easily. There’s no tension in their shoulders and no layered perimeter. If Arkady put Rowan here, security would be tighter. Which means the unit isn’t used for protection. It’s bait. A decoy.
Arkady’s voice echoes in my mind.“You won’t find her where you expect.”
I glance at Mikel. “Polina.”
“She’s tracking both properties,” Mikel replies. “Mint Hill is quiet. The lake house has movement. But no confirmation Rowan’s there.”
I stare at Unit C-17 and make a decision.
