The note Ivan pinned to Arkady’s body sits folded in the inside pocket of my coat, the paper still warm from my hand even though I stopped touching it half an hour ago. Warehouse 17.Old Stowe Yard. Midnight. Alone. Rowan and the child she carries are alive.
The child.
The words continue to move through me in waves that never quite break cleanly. Rowan is pregnant, and Ivan knows. I learned both truths at the same time, standing over a dead man delivered to my gate like a warning from a rival arrogant enough to think I would read it as fear.
Mikel glances toward me. “You can still decide not to walk in.”
I keep my attention on the warehouse. “No.”
His mouth flattens slightly, though there’s no surprise in it. He knew the answer before he asked.
“We have men at the north fence, the south access road, and the west service line,” he states, his voice low enough that it blends with the hum of the engine. “Karp is covering the back lot with four more. If Ivan brought extra vehicles in through the loading side, we should see movement there within minutes.”
“Should,” I say.
Mikel nods once. “If they parked earlier and killed the engines, the thermal picture gets worse.”
I open the glove compartment and take the small earpiece from inside. It’s barely larger than a coin, matte black, and simple enough that it disappears against the ear once it’s in place. I turn it once between my fingers while I study the warehouse lights glowing faintly through the windshield.
Ivan demanded I come alone. Which means he expects exactly that. No visible backup. No obvious communication. No hintthat I took the warning less seriously than he meant it to be taken.
Men like Ivan build their confidence on details that most people overlook, and they spend years learning how to read the smallest irregularity in a room. The trick is giving them what they expect to see.
I lift the earpiece and slide it into place, pressing it lightly until it settles behind the curve of my ear. From the outside, it disappears completely.
“Mikel,” I murmur.
A faint crackle answers in my ear.
“Still here.”
“Keep the channel open,” I reply, watching the dark warehouse entrance through the windshield. “You hear everything. If the conversation changes direction, you move the team.”
There’s a short pause before he answers. “Understood.”
I close the glove compartment and release a deep breath.
“Give me nine minutes before you decide I’m taking too long,” I add quietly.
Mikel exhales once, the sound coming through the earpiece. “Don’t make it ten.”
“You’ll have line of sight on the western wall once I’m inside?” I ask.
“On the upper windows and the side entry,” Mikel replies. “Not the center of the floor.”
“That means he’ll keep himself in the center.”
Mikel studies the building with me. “If he wants you exposed, yes.”
I lean back into the seat and let my eyes move across the yard one more time. A stack of old pallets sits near the east dock. Two forklifts rest under a corrugated overhang near the secondary lot, forks lowered, paint dulled by grime and weather. A line of freight cars waits farther down on a switching track.
Nothing about the place tells me Rowan is here. That matters. If Ivan wanted a handoff, there would be signs of containment. More guards. A perimeter near the entry. A separate point of control. He wants conversation first. Possibly blood. Likely both.
Mikel watches me from the corner of his eye. “You’re already deciding where he’ll stand.”
“I’m deciding where I would stand.”
“And?”
