Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 31866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“Crewe.” She uses my first name like a command. “You will not compromise the base response.”
“I’m not compromising anything,” I say, voice low and lethal. “I’m retrieving my asset.”
There’s a pause on the line.
Then her voice softens by half a degree—not kinder, just… more human. “She isn’t an asset.”
I close my eyes for a second, breathing once, hard. “No,” I say quietly. “She’s not.”
That’s the problem.
Because if she were just an asset, I could do the math. I could do the job. I could accept the risk.
But she’s Riley.
Riley who hates cheddar cheese like it personally insulted her.
Riley who held my hand like she wasn’t afraid of what she saw in me.
Riley who kissed me like she meant it.
Riley who fell asleep with her face tucked against my chest like she trusted my heartbeat more than her own thoughts.
My throat tightens.
“Crewe,” Chen says again, controlled. “We are mobilizing. We will find her. We will bring her back.”
“You can find her,” I say. “But I’m the one who brings her home.”
Silence.
Then, clipped and resigned: “Copy. Stand by. We’re getting eyes.”
I cut the call and move.
Not aimless—focused.
I check the lab door lock. I scan the floor. I track the smear again and follow it out into the corridor, one step at a time, keeping my head down like I’m just another man walking.
But my senses are on fire.
I find the second scuff at the corner.
Then a third.
Then a syringe. Fuck me.
My jaw locks.
Sedation.
My hands curl into fists.
If Hammond touched her—if he scared her—if she’s awake enough to know what’s happening— I shove the thought away before it shatters my control.
Control is what gets her back.
I reach the hallway junction where the lab corridor opens toward a side exit.
And there—half-hidden behind a base directory sign—is a tiny smudge of glittering plastic.
A broken piece of her keychain. I recognize it because I noticed it last night when she dropped her bag.
A stupid little charm shaped like a tiny wrench.
My pulse slams.
Direction confirmed.
I take a photo, send it to Chen with one sentence:
FOUND TRACE. SIDE EXIT.
Then I move faster.
I reach the side exit and push through—cold air hits my face, sharp and clean. The service area outside is active enough to hide movement.
There are tire tracks in the thin layer of snow—fresh. A van-size tread pattern leading out.
My nostrils flare.
I grip my phone so hard the edges bite into my palm. Chen calls me. I answer in a hurry. “Go for Crewe.”
“We have a visual.”
“Show me,” I say.
“I’m sending stills,” she replies.
My phone pings.
A grainy frame loads: the side exit door, captured from a cam mounted above the service bay. A white van angled just enough to block the view from the main walkways.
Another still: two men in civilian jackets, moving quickly.
Another: Hammond.
And then—
Riley.
Her head down, her body slack in that way that makes rage go white-hot. A man has her under the arms, guiding her like she can’t stand on her own.
My vision goes sharp and cold. “She’s drugged,” I say.
“Agreed,” Chen snaps. “We have the plate.”
“Run it,” I say.
“Already did.” Chen’s voice is clipped, vicious. “It’s a contractor vehicle. Stanton Dynamics.”
My blood turns to ice.
“You were right about the contractor angle,” Chen says. “Hammond has a consulting history with Stanton. It was disclosed, but—”
“Stop,” I cut in. “He’s dirty. He’s been dirty. He used my call to get her alone.”
“Copy,” Chen says, voice hard. “We’re issuing an immediate BOLO and coordinating with local law enforcement outside the gate. Ridgeway Security is sweeping Hammond’s quarters. NCIS has been notified.”
NCIS. Law enforcement. Procedures.
All I hear is time.
I stare at the still image of Riley being carried like she’s nothing, like she doesn’t matter, like she isn’t the brightest damn thing in that whole base.
My throat burns.
“Where’s the van heading?” I ask.
“We’re tracking through external cams,” Chen says. “They exited the service gate before the lockdown fully hit. We have a line-of-travel. They’re heading into the foothills. West.”
Toward the mountains.
Toward the same kind of terrain I’ve spent my whole career jumping into to bring people back.
My mouth goes dry.
“Why would Hammond take her?” I ask, even though I already know.
Chen answers anyway, and her words are as sharp as the wind outside. “He needs her access. He needs her to unlock what he can’t unlock.”
The hardware key.
Riley couldn’t find it because Hammond already took it—or knew where it was.
He doesn’t just want the program.
He wants it alive. He wants her hands and her brain and her compliance.
Rage threatens to pull me under.
I force it into a single point.
A mission.
“Find the location,” I say. “Now.”
Chen’s voice tightens. “We’re triangulating with traffic cams. There’s limited coverage in the mountains.”
“Then use what you have,” I snap. “Phone pings. Contractor GPS. Anything.”
A beat.
Then, she says, “We might have something.”
My heart stops for half a second.
Chen continues, fast. “Stanton’s fleet vehicles have a telemetry unit. We’ve got legal clearance and a tech pulling the data—”