"No, I’m not,” she shouted.
He tilted his head. "You don't seem to understand."
"I understand perfectly,” she spat.
Dante's voice became lethal. "Take one more step, and you’re dead."
The man actually smiled. "You must be Dante." Something about the way he said his name made Lark's blood run cold. "You've become inconvenient."
Rocco appeared beside them, pistol trained on the newcomers. "So have you," he shouted.
The stranger looked toward him. "Agent Bertoni."
Rocco's expression didn't change. “I seem to be at a disadvantage, since you know my name and I don’t know yours."
"I know everyone involved in this game,” the man said as his smile widened. "You've all been chasing the wrong enemy."
Silence settled over the dock. "What are you talking about?" Rocco asked.
"Rafael Santos doesn't run this operation anymore,” the man said.
Lark felt the world tilt beneath her. "What?"
The man looked directly at her. "Your father sold something far more valuable than drugs, Lark." His gaze hardened. "And now people much more dangerous than Rafael Santos want what belongs to them." Before anyone could respond, a deafening roar echoed overhead. Everyone instinctively looked up as ahelicopter swept low over the river, its spotlight flooding the docks with blinding white light.
The man smiled. "Looks like our ride's here."
Dante's grip tightened around Lark's hand, and Rocco raised his weapon. The operators spread into defensive positions, and all Lark could do was stare at the helicopter descending toward them. Her freedom had lasted less than fifteen minutes, and somehow, she had just become even more valuable than she'd been while inside her father's prison.
Dante
The downdraft from the helicopter hit Dante like a freight train. Dust, gravel, and river water whipped through the air, reducing visibility to almost nothing. The spotlight pinned them in place, washing the dock in harsh white light while the rotor blades thundered overhead. His grip tightened around Lark's hand because nobody was taking her—not while he still had breath in his lungs.
The armed men who had stepped from the SUVs didn't fire. They simply spread out with disciplined precision, creating a semicircle around the STARR team. They were professionals, and that bothered him because professionals didn't posture—they killed.
"They're waiting," Dante muttered.
Rocco glanced sideways without lowering his weapon. "For what?"
"They've got us surrounded,” Dante said.
"So?" Rocco said.
"If they wanted us dead, we'd already be dead,” Dante said.
The man who had spoken to Lark earlier smiled. "I'm glad someone here is paying attention." Dante wanted to put a bullet between his eyes. Instead, he stayed focused. Lark stood justbehind his shoulder. He could feel the tremor running through her hand despite how hard she tried to hide it. He squeezed her hand gently.
"I'm here,” he breathed.
Her fingers tightened around his. "I know." Her words were simple, but they settled somewhere deep inside his chest. For years, he'd wondered if she'd ever trust him, but now she did. He'd die before breaking that trust.
The helicopter descended another ten feet, and its side door slid open, and a man stepped out. He wore an expensive charcoal suit instead of tactical gear, as though he'd arrived for a board meeting rather than a firefight. Silver threaded through his dark hair at the temples, and his polished shoes looked absurd against the concrete dock.
He smiled warmly, but it was the coldest smile Dante had ever seen. "Miss Santos."
Lark stiffened. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."
"I can't say the same,” she drawled.
