Page 107 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

"The guys you left watching Anna—one didn't pull out. Smart kid. Saw her get dragged into a vehicle, tossed a tracker inside. Signal veered off the usual route twenty minutes ago. I pulled surveillance from three intersections nearby, caught the whole thing."

He took a breath, kept going. "Black van, no plates. Stopped for less than five seconds. She walked out of a convenience store; they grabbed her. There was a witness across the street, but didn't get the plate. Tracker's still live, signal's stable. She's at an industrial complex on the outskirts."

"I've got people moving that direction now. What's your call?"

I stood. The chair legs scraped across the floor, sharp and loud. Everyone in the room looked at me. I didn't look back. Just grabbed my suit jacket from the chair, slipped it on one-handed.

"Meeting's over."

Then I walked out.

The hallway was dimmer than the conference room. The fluorescent lights were spaced farther apart, and every few steps I passed through alternating patches of light and shadow.

The carpet swallowed most of my footsteps, leaving only the soft rustle of fabric. I switched the phone to my other ear, pushed through the fire door into the stairwell, and started down.

"Snipers first," I said. "High ground cleared and rifles up in thirty minutes. Seal the perimeter around the warehouse—front door, back door, ventilation shafts, everything. You find Gary yet?"

"Found him. Vanished from his last known address three days ago, but we pulled surveillance from a two-mile radius around where Anna was grabbed. Got one frame with a possible match. Gait and build line up with Gary. He's involved. Odds are he's working with Sergei's crew."

I stopped on the landing between floors.

Outside the window, gray-white daylight pressed down through low clouds, smudging the city skyline into a blur of shadows.

I looked at that light for about three seconds. Then kept moving.

"What's Sergei doing?"

"He's been quiet. Too quiet. Intel from multiple sources says he's been moving people around, but nobody knows what for. Now we know. He was waiting for this."

I pushed through the glass door into the first-floor lobby. Wind rushed in, carrying the cool bite of morning and the smell of wet earth. A car was already waiting at the bottom of the steps—Dmitri's people had brought it around. I walked over, pulled open the driver's door, got in. The engine's rumble filled the empty entrance.

"Twenty vehicles," I said. "I want nothing moving within five hundred yards of that warehouse. Anything coming through gets stopped at checkpoints. No explanations. You take the back door yourself. Seal that road. Don't let anyone slip out."

"Understood."

I hung up, set the phone on the center console. The map on the navigation screen showed a red dot moving slowly, its trajectory smooth—no detours, no stops, like a vehicle heading exactly where it was supposed to go. I stared at that red dot for a few seconds, then released the brake. The car slid out of the lane.

The rain began to fall. Fine droplets struck the windshield, only to be swept away by the wipers again and again beforequickly covering the glass once more. The buildings on both sides of the street gradually changed—from neat residential neighborhoods, to low-rise shops, and then to empty industrial lots. Potholes and cracks began to appear on the road, while the structures around us turned into rusted steel frames and gray, weathered concrete walls.

At an intersection, I called home. Antonia answered, her voice carrying the clarity and steadiness of morning.

"Sir?"

"I won't be back for a couple of days," I said. "You're in charge of the kids. If Alex asks about his mother, tell him she's handling something. She'll be back soon."

Antonia paused for a beat. Then, "Yes, sir." She didn't ask questions. That's why she'd been with the Volkovs for thirty years.

I was about to hang up when I heard light footsteps on the other end, then Alex's voice, muffled through the receiver, still rough with sleep. "Is that Dad?"

Antonia hadn't stopped him in time. I could already hear the boy moving closer to the phone.

"Dad," he said. "Mom didn't come home last night."

My hand stilled on the steering wheel. The light ahead turned red. I eased onto the brake, the car stopping smoothly at the line, wipers sweeping back and forth.

"She's taking care of something," I said. "Stay with Antonia for a few days, okay?"

Silence on the other end for a few seconds. I could almost see him standing there, head down, fingers twisting the sleeve of his pajamas. Then he spoke, quieter than before. "Will she come back?"