Rocco slowly turned toward the satellite image. "No, it couldn’t be that easy." Dante followed his gaze to the abandoned church where his sister was possibly being held. Everything felt as though it was crashing together.
Lark whispered the thought none of them wanted to say aloud. "What if she’s being held at that church?"
The technician suddenly stood. "I've got the call." Everyone rushed over. "It bounced through multiple towers." She enlarged the map and then froze. "Oh—” Rocco looked over her shoulder.
"Damn,” he breathed. The blinking location marker settled directly on top of the church from Rafael's message. Dante couldn't breathe because everything seemed to be connected to one location.
Avery looked around the room. "We leave in ten minutes."
"No." Everyone looked toward Dante. "I'm leaving now."
"You'll get yourself killed,” Avery said.
"Maybe." He grabbed his rifle from the table. "But I'm done waiting."
Rocco stepped directly into his path. "I'm coming with you."
Dante looked at him. "You don't have to."
"I know." Rocco smiled grimly. "But your sister needs help, and I have a feeling that you will too."
Lark walked toward both men. "I'm coming too."
"No." The word came simultaneously from Dante and Rocco.
She folded her arms over her chest and scowled at them both. "There you go again, telling me what to do."
Dante sighed. "Lark?—"
"My mother hid that ledger." She looked between them. "My father sent me those coordinates." Her green eyes burned with determination. "If we're walking into whatever waits inside that church—” She reached for the rifle Avery had left leaning against the table. "Then we're walking in together."
Dante looked at Rocco, and Rocco looked back at him. Neither man liked the idea, but both knew one thing. Trying to stop Lark Santos from making her own choice was exactly what Rafael Santos would have done, and neither of them intended to become the next man who caged Lark.
The engine of the armored SUV rumbled beneath him as they sped through the sleeping streets of Chicago. Rain had started sometime after they left the warehouse. It streaked across the windshield in silver ribbons, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and white.
Dante sat in the front passenger seat, his rifle resting between his knees while he watched every intersection they passed. He wasn't looking for Keller's men. He was looking for Rafael Santos, because if the coordinates were real and if Sofia had somehow managed to call from the same location, then Rafael had sent them into the middle of whatever game he'd been playing for the last twenty-five years. And Dante hated games because games got innocent people killed.
"You've checked your phone six times.” Rocco's voice came from the seat behind him. Dante looked down at the black screen. He had no new calls, no messages—nothing. He slipped it back into his pocket.
"I know,” he breathed.
"You'll hear it if it rings,” Rocco said.
"I know,” Dante insisted.
"You aren't convincing anyone,” Rocco said.
Dante rested his forehead briefly against the cool window. "I heard her voice." The words came out rougher than he'd intended. "For three years, I thought she was dead." The SUV grew quiet, and even Avery, who rarely stopped talking, kept her eyes on the road.
"You know what bothers me?" Dante asked. No one answered. "I don't know what her favorite color is anymore." His hands tightened around the rifle. "I don't know if she still hates broccoli." He laughed once. "When she was twelve, she tried to dye our dog purple."
A small smile tugged at Rocco's mouth. "How'd that work out?"
"The dog stayed purple for a month." The smile faded almost immediately. "I've missed three years." Silence settled over the vehicle.
Lark finally spoke from the back seat. "You didn't choose that." He turned to find her watching him with an expression that made his chest ache. "You didn't abandon her."
"I still failed her,” he insisted.
