Page 65 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and read the message from one of my captains. They've traced the missing truck from Nick's warehouse to an abandoned lot near the industrial district. Stripped clean, no useful evidence left behind. Another dead end.

I text back instructions to check surveillance footage from nearby businesses, then scroll through additional updates. The port security routes that were accessed before the attack covered shipments for all three organizations, not just Nick's. Whoever planned this knew exactly what they were looking for and where to find it.

The level of inside knowledge required makes my jaw tighten. This wasn't opportunistic theft. This was calculated sabotage designed to test our defenses and expose our vulnerabilities.

Could Arina be behind it? She has the intelligence and the motivation. She resents Nick for becoming pakhan instead of her, and she's ambitious enough to make a play for power. But orchestrating an attack this sophisticated would require resources and connections beyond what I thought she had access to.

I move back through the cottage, checking the bedroom windows. One has a crack in the corner that's been covered with tape. Another doesn't latch properly. I make mental notes of everything that needs to be reinforced or replaced.

In the bathroom, I notice the window above the shower is large enough for someone to climb through. The lock is rusted and barely functional. I test it, and it comes loose in my hand with minimal pressure.

This place is a security nightmare.

I return to the main room where Marla is still working. Her concentration is impressive, her eyes focused on the screen as her fingers fly across the keyboard. She's writing something, probably one of the blog articles she mentioned. I wonder what it's about, what kind of content she creates when she's not researching romance novels through one-night stands with dangerous men.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's Nick, asking about the cottage security. I text back a brief assessment: inadequate locks, vulnerable windows, too many blind spots in the surrounding woods.

I pocket my phone and walk to the back door again. The lock needs to be replaced entirely, not just reinforced. I crouch down to examine the doorframe, looking for the best place to install something more substantial.

That's when I notice the footprints in the mud, pressed into the ground just outside the kitchen window. The prints are clear despite the afternoon shadows, showing the distinct tread pattern of large boots.

I stand slowly, my hand moving automatically to the gun at my back. The prints lead from the treeline to the window, then back toward the woods. Someone stood here recently, looking into the cottage.

The prints don't match any of our boots. These are different, with a pattern I don't recognize.

Someone else has been here.

26

RUSS

I pull up to Marla's cottage just as Nick's SUV rolls to a stop beside the front porch. The sun has already set, leaving the woods around the property dark and oppressive. The single porch light casts long shadows across the gravel driveway, and I can see Alex moving past the front window inside.

Nick gets out of his vehicle at the same time I do. We don't speak as we walk toward the door, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. He's been on edge since the warehouse attack, and the fact that we still don't have solid answers is making him dangerous.

The front door opens before we reach it. Alex stands in the doorway, his expression grim. That's all I need to see to know something's wrong.

"What happened?" Nick asks immediately.

"Inside," Alex says, stepping back to let us enter.

The cottage is warm compared to the cold night air outside. Marla sits at the small kitchen table near the window, her laptop closed in front of her. She looks up when we enter, and I notice immediately that something's off about her. Her face is pale, her shoulders rigid, and her hands are clenched together on the table surface.

Alex closes the door behind us and locks it. "I found fresh footprints outside the kitchen window this afternoon. Someone's been watching the cottage."

Nick goes still, his green eyes narrowing dangerously. I feel my own muscles tense, my hand automatically moving toward the weapon at my back.

"Show me," Nick says.

Alex leads him toward the back door without another word. I hear them step outside, their voices low and controlled as they discuss what Alex found. I stay in the main room, my attention fixed on Marla.

She hasn't moved since we arrived. She's staring at the table, her breathing shallow and controlled. The fear is obvious, but there's something else beneath it. Something deeper and more personal than simple concern about an unknown threat.

I walk over to the kitchen table and pull out the chair across from her. The wood scrapes against the floor, and she flinches slightly at the sound. I sit down slowly, keeping my movements calm and deliberate.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Fine," she says, but her voice is too tight and controlled. I guess it's possible she's this upset about footprints, but for some reason, I doubt it.