The fear is a fist around my heart, squeezing tighter with every mile. Sera doesn't know I'm coming. Doesn't know she's in danger. She probably thinks I'm dead—five days of silence, no calls, no texts, nothing. And Rosie—God, Rosie just turned six. She's supposed to be learning to ride a bike, fighting about bedtime, and being a kid, not a target.
"Twenty minutes out." The pilot's voice cuts through my spiral. "Where am I putting you down?"
"Private airfield on the east side."Mitzy again."I've got a vehicle waiting."
The helicopter banks, and Sacramento sprawls beneath us. Somewhere in that maze of suburbs is Sera's house. Rosie's room with the butterfly decals. The backyard where everything went wrong.
We land hard and fast. A black SUV is waiting near the hangar, and we're inside and moving before the rotors stop spinning.
Jon drives. His hands are steady on the wheel, his eyes scanning constantly. The easy charm from earlier is gone—he's all operator now, focused and sharp.
"Thirty minutes to Sera's neighborhood." He glances at the nav screen. "Mitzy, anything new?"
"I've got eyes on the street via traffic cams. Nothing unusual yet—no suspicious vehicles, no movement. But there's a van parked two blocks north that I don't like. Could be nothing. Could be a staging point."
"Keep watching."
The city streams past. Strip malls, gas stations, ordinary life. People who don't know that killers are hunting a woman and her six-year-old daughter.
"We need to talk about the approach." Jon’s voice pulls me back.
"What about it?"
"I go in first. Clear the house, make sure there's no threat." He doesn't look at me. "You stay in the vehicle until I give the all-clear."
The words land like a slap.
"No."
"Evie—"
"I said no. You’re looking for hostiles, but you aren't looking for Mrs. Gable across the street. She’s a retired dispatcher who sits behind her lace curtains with a landline in her lap. If she sees a stranger approaching that porch with a weapon, she won't hesitate. You'll have sirens at your back within three minutes. And Sera has a silent alarm under the kitchen island—if she sees a man she doesn't recognize through the peephole, she’s going to trip it. You’ll be fighting the cartelandthe Sacramento PD."
"Better than you walking into a kill zone."
"I'm walking into my best friend's house.”
"You're walking into an unknown tactical situation with zero training and zero backup." His jaw is tight. "I'm not letting you?—"
"Letting me?" The anger flares hot and sudden. "I'm sorry, did I miss the part where you get to make my decisions?"
"I'm the one with the gun. I'm the one who's done this before. I'm the one who?—"
"You're the one who doesn't know Sera's face or Rosie's favorite hiding spot or which floorboard creaks in the hallway.” My voice cracks. "They're my family. Mine. And I'm not sitting in a car while you?—"
"While I keep you alive?" He finally looks at me, and there's something raw in his expression. Something that goes deeper than tactical disagreement. "That's the job, Evie. That's what I do."
"Your job is to get me to safety. I'm telling you that my safety doesn't matter if Sera and Rosie?—"
"It matters to me."
The words hang in the air. Too heavy, too soon, too much for whatever this thing is between us.
I force myself to breathe. To think past the fear and the anger and the desperate need to do something.
"Jon." I use his name deliberately. "I hear you. I know you're trying to protect me. But I need you to listen."
He's quiet. Waiting.
