Page 102 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"No, I'm fine, I'm okay." Sharon is shaking, her words tumbling out fast and panicked. "They didn't hurt me. They just locked me in here. I don't know how long I've been here. What day is it?"

"Wednesday morning," Russ says, his voice gentler than I've heard it in days. He puts a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "Come on, let's get you outside."

He guides her out of the room while Alex and I stay behind, looking around the small space. There's a blanket on the floor, a bottle of water, an empty food container. Someone fed her. Someone made sure she was comfortable enough to survive.

This wasn't about making her disappear permanently. This was something else entirely.

"This was staged," Alex says quietly, echoing my thoughts exactly. "She was never in real danger."

"No," I agree, my jaw tight. "She wasn't."

We return to Russ's property an hour later. The mother-in-law building erupts into chaos the moment Sharon walks through the door. Marla throws herself at her friend, both women crying and holding onto each other like they're afraid to let go.

Ekaterina immediately takes charge, fussing over Sharon with blankets, hot tea, and offers of food. She guides Sharon to the couch and wraps her in a thick quilt despite Sharon's protests that she's fine.

"You're not fine," Ekaterina says firmly. "You're exhausted and frightened. Sit. Drink this."

Sharon accepts the tea with shaking hands. Marla sits beside her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. The relief on Marla's face is almost painful to watch. She's been carrying guilt about Sharon's disappearance since the moment we told her Sharon was missing.

"What happened?" Marla asks, her voice thick with emotion. "Who took you?"

"I don't know." Sharon takes a sip of tea, then sets the cup down on the coffee table. "I was leaving work Tuesday night. Someone said you were waiting for me in the parking lot, that you needed to talk to me about something urgent. I followed them outside, and then someone grabbed me from behind. They put something over my head so I couldn't see, threw me in a vehicle, and drove for what felt like forever."

"Did you see their faces?" Russ asks from where he's standing near the fireplace.

"No. They kept me blindfolded the whole time until they locked me in that room. I never saw anyone, never heard names." Sharon's hands tighten around the blanket. "They brought me food and water a few times, but they never spoke to me. I didn't know if I was going to die or if they were keeping me for something else."

I watch her carefully as she speaks, noting the details she includes and the ones she leaves out. She's telling the truth about not seeing faces or hearing names. But there's something calculated about the entire operation that bothers me.

"They used Marla's name to lure you outside," Alex says, his tone thoughtful. "That's specific."

"Yeah." Sharon looks at Marla, her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry. I should have been more careful. I should have called you first to confirm."

"Don't apologize," Marla says immediately. "This isn't your fault."

But it is someone's fault, and I'm starting to piece together exactly whose.

Sharon wasn't the target. She was never the target. The entire kidnapping was a message, carefully constructed and deliberately executed. Someone knows Sharon was feeding us information from the Ivory Wolf. Someone knows we've been using her to gather intelligence about who's been asking questions about Marla.

Using Mark to deliver the warehouse address guaranteed I would take it seriously and respond immediately. They wanted us to find Sharon. They wanted us to see that she was unharmed, well-fed, and left alive intentionally.

This wasn't about revenge or intimidation. This was about demonstrating power and knowledge. Someone is telling us they know exactly what we're doing, who we're using, and how we're operating. They're showing us they can reach anyone in our network whenever they want.

"This kidnapping was a message," I say aloud, my voice cutting through the quiet conversation. Everyone turns to look at me. "Someone knows Sharon was feeding us information."

The room goes silent. Marla's face drains of color. Sharon looks confused, then frightened as understanding dawns. Russ's expression hardens, and Alex's jaw tightens.

"We found something else in the warehouse," Russ says quietly.

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a clear evidence bag. My stomach tightens before I even see what's inside.

It's a photograph. Professional quality, taken with a telephoto lens from a distance. The image shows Marla and Sharon standing outside the Ivory Wolf, laughing together under the neon sign. The date stamp in the corner reads three weeks ago. The night Marla first walked into that club.

Someone has been watching her from the very beginning.

42

RUSS