Headlights sweep across the hallway outside the control room.
A car door slams.
Footsteps on gravel.
I'm up and moving, laptop forgotten, phone in hand, every nerve firing as I grab a gun from the foyer table, cross the space, and yank open the front door.
Jino stands on the porch, grinning, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, looking relaxed, and happy, and completely unaware that the world just collapsed.
"What's with the lights? You will notbelievewho I just talked to on the way home," he starts, still smiling. "Cassie from thestrip club, weren't we just talking about her a couple weeks ago? Total submissive energy, and I'm thinkin' maybe I should?—"
He stops mid-sentence.
The smile dies.
"What happened?"
I try to answer. My mouth opens. Words should come out. They don't.
I try again.
"Someone—she's—Emmaleen?—"
The stuttering fragments sound pathetic even to my own ears, syllables jamming together like a car crash in slow motion. I tell myself to get it together. To speak like a functioning adult instead of a panicked child.
I can't.
Jino drops the duffel bag and grabs my shoulder. "G. Look at me. Breathe. What happened?"
"Emmaleen's gone." The words finally break free, sharp and jagged. "Someone broke in. Professional. Hacker, probably. Shut down the entire grid. Power, cameras, alarms, everything offline. Four minutes. In and out."
Jino's expression shifts from concern to tactical assessment in half a second. "How do you know?"
I speed walk back into the control room, Jino at my heels. Then rewind the footage. We watch until the man puts Emmaleen in the trunk.
"LaRiccia," Rico says flatly, not a question.
I nod, turning back to the footage. Then I reach down and press the space bar, halting the footage mid capture.
I just… stare at it as my whole world stutters.
Because it's… it can't be.
What the fuck is he doing here?
Jino presses a contact. Brings the phone to his ear. "Yeah, it's Moretti. We've got an emergency. I need?—"
I cross the space between us and take the phone from his hand. Jino stares at me, confusion flickering across his face. The voice on the other end says, "Moretti? You still there?"
I keep my eyes locked on Jino's as I answer back. "Forget you got this call." Then I end it.
Jino's shakes his head. "What the fuck are you doing?"
I don't answer. I turn and walk back to the laptop, Jino following. I point to the footage frozen on the frame.
Jino leans in. "What? What am I looking at?"
I point at the screen again. At the frozen image of the man shoving Emmaleen into the trunk. The angle catches his left arm as he lifts it, pushing her down. The ski mask hides his face. The black clothes hide his identity.
