Remy's already coordinating with his team. "APB out on any vehicles registered to Julien LaSalle or his known associates. NOPD expanding search radius from the loading dock. Margot's pulling Dominion's records for any properties Julien mentioned during membership vetting."
"What can I do?" My voice is steadier than I feel.
"Think," Andy says. "Anything Julien said. Any places he mentioned. Any detail that might tell us where he'd take someone."
Julien and I scened together months ago. Brief relationship that ended when his behavior crossed from intense to disturbing. He talked about control. About privacy. About wanting extended scenes without club protocols limiting him.
"He complained about Dominion's time restrictions," I say slowly. "Said real power exchange needed more time. More privacy. That club sessions were too performative, too rushed."
"Meaning he'd want a private location," Remy says. "Somewhere he controls completely."
Andy's already pulling up databases. "Running property searches. Julien LaSalle, registered properties in Louisiana."
The results load. An address in the French Quarter—his primary residence. A condo on the Westbank—rental property. And a third entry. Rural address. St. Tammany Parish.
"Significant acreage," Andy reads. "Purchased eighteen months ago. Registered under an LLC, but Julien's listed as primary on the deed."
Remy leans closer. "Satellite imagery?"
Andy pulls it up. The property shows a main house set back from the road, surrounded by wooded land. Private. Isolated. No neighboring structures visible.
"That's where he'd take him."
"How do you know?" Remy asks.
"Because it's what he wanted. Privacy. Control. Time. Everything he complained the club didn't give him." I point at the screen. "And if he's trying to prove Luc can't protect me, he needs somewhere he can work without interruption."
Andy's already coordinating. "Mobilizing tactical. NOPD SWAT and Medical standing by. ETA to property nearly an hour."
"Too long," I say. "If he injected Luc with something?—"
"I know." Andy's jaw is tight. "But we can't go in blind. We need approach coordination, thermal imaging, tactical positioning. Rushing in gets people killed."
He's right. But nearly an hour feels like an eternity when I don't know if Luc's alive or dying.
Remy moves to the SUV. "Simone. You should stay here with part of Andy's team. Secured location until?—"
"Not happening."
He looks at Andy, who shrugs. "She's not budging. I'll keep her secured in the vehicle."
"Fuck." Remy runs a hand through his hair. "Fine. But you stay in the vehicle until we clear the property. No exceptions."
"Understood."
The convoy assembles quickly. Multiple vehicles—Remy's team, Andy's operatives, NOPD tactical support, emergency medical. I climb into Andy's SUV, and we pull out, heading north.
I-10 across Lake Pontchartrain. The causeway stretches endlessly ahead, lights reflecting off dark water. North into St. Tammany Parish. Forty minutes that stretch like hours.
No emails. No updates. Just the crushing weight of knowing Luc walked into a trap meant for him. Because of me.
The convoy slows as we approach the target area. Rural road, trees pressing close. Remy's voice comes through the comm system.
"Convoy halt. Down the road from target property. Switching to tactical approach."
The vehicles stop. The tactical team exits, gearing up with night vision, communications equipment, weapons. The team is efficient, controlled.
Remy appears at our window. "Thermal imaging shows multiple heat signatures in the main structure. Two moving. One still."
