FORTY-EIGHT
TRISTAN
Istand at the edge of the cliffs early this morning, watching the sun bleed over the water while I run through the plan one final time.
The gala tonight isn't a party.
It's a kill box.
Every major player in the trafficking network will be on that yacht, lured by the promise of expanded territory and new partnerships. No authorities, no media, no trials.
Just elimination.
Zoe extracts Hale from the hotel during the gala, takes him to a safe house in Connecticut. Thirty minutes later, Cat gets Keira off the yacht through a service exit. Dom will take her to Hale, where they'll be reunited and safe before the blood starts flowing.
Once they're clear, Aaron and I move through the vessel. Every trafficker on board disappears into the Hudson by sunrise. The evidence Cat's compiled isn't for the feds. It's for hunting down every remaining cell in the months that follow.
And Calder?
Calder is mine.
Everyone knows it. Whatever happens to him, however long ittakes—that's between me and the man who stole seven years from the woman I love.
Every variable accounted for. Every contingency mapped. Nothing left to chance.
By tomorrow, Keira will be free. Calder's reign ends in blood.
I should feel confident.
Instead, I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something I can't see the bottom of.
The convoy loads justafter seven.
Three black SUVs idle in the pale morning light, exhaust curling into the cold air. Calder's security detail moves quickly—loading luggage, checking vehicles, doing everything they're paid to do without ever seeing what's right in front of them.
It never ceases to amaze me how much fear, power, and money warp perception. In the wrong hands, blindness becomes a feature, not a flaw.
I'm positioned by the lead car when Keira emerges from the house.
Even from this distance, dressed simply for travel, she hits me like a blow to the chest. Hair pulled back. No makeup. A cream sweater that makes her look soft in a way that's completely at odds with the steel I know lives inside her.
I still don't understand Calder's obsession with dressing her in light colors. Like he's trying to turn her into something pure. Something he can corrupt.
Hale is holding her hand, chattering about something while clutching a stuffed dinosaur to his chest.
My son.
My blood.
Walking toward me without knowing who I am.
The urge to cross the gravel and pull them both into my arms is so strong.
You can do all of that soon.
Calder walks out last. Navy suit, silver cuff links, hair still thinning on schedule. He glances at me as soon as he steps outside.
Strange.
