Mason turns to me sharply. “What?”
“They’re not here for the building,” I repeat. “They’re watching the street.”
“For her?” Mason grits out.
It clicks immediately. This isn’t about the warehouse, the office building, or a transfer point. It’s about the neighborhood.
It’s about Liv.
My chest squeezes. “They’re not staking the location,” I say, already reaching for the radio. “They’re staking the area.”
Mason’s eyes narrow. “She better be good about locking her door.”
Another vehicle passes, a similar SUV. It slows but keeps going. The same pattern and intent.
My pulse spikes. “Shit,” I mutter.
I press the radio’s button, alerting the other unmarked vehicles in the area. “They’re not watching the office building; they’re watching the apartment building across the street, and a woman inside it who fits the same description as the victims and missing women.”
“They’ve turned their focus on her,” Mason grits out beside me. “She might be their next grab.”
It’s too coincidental, after a vial of their medicine goes missing a few nights ago and now they’re focusing on a paramedic who lives in the area, fits their target demographic, and has been seen at the gala and around the area with a detective working the trafficking ring’s case.
My stomach drops. “They know.”
Mason’s head snaps toward me again. “Know what?”
“That someone got inside the warehouse the other night,” I reply. “That something was taken.”
This is my fault.
“They’re looking for the leak,” I continue. “And they think the paramedic is involved. She’s-”
“-exposed,” Mason finishes.
Yeah, she is.
My jaw clenches.
“Units, adjust positions,” I say into the radio. “We’ve got a possible surveillance shift. Eyes on all vehicles passing through-”
The words die in my throat because headlights flare at the far end of the street. Going fast… too fast.
“Vehicle approaching,” Mason says, already reaching for the door.
The first SUV swings back around the block. And this time, it doesn’t slow. It accelerates…
Straight toward one of our unmarked units.
“Move!” Mason shouts.
Too late. The impact is violent, metal screaming and glass shattering as the unmarked car slams sideways into the curb, spinning half a rotation before going still.
For half a second, everything freezes.
Then gunfire erupts, sharply and controlled. It’s not a panic shooting; it’s directed right at the front seats of the car.
It’s an execution.
