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The iron gates of the Mercer estate did not open easily for anyone, let alone a ghost in a faded gray coat. When Prescott led her across the cobblestone courtyard, she didn’t look like an assassin, a spy, or a desperate beggar. She looked like a woman who had already died once and forgot to lie down. / Chapter 7 / 20

Chapter 7 - The North Shore AmbushThe rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time our three armored SUVs cut their lights and pulled off the paved highway onto the private access road leading to Vane’s North Shore aviation hangar.

Through the pouring rain, the massive corrugated steel structure loomed like a concrete beast against the dark shoreline of the lake. A sleek Gulfstream jet sat on the tarmac outside, its turbines already whining, warming up for an emergency takeoff.

"Vane's boarding in less than three minutes," Elena whispered from the passenger seat of my vehicle, checking the magazine of her assault rifle. "His men have established a perimeter around the hangar doors—roughly twelve guards near the main entrance, four on the catwalks above."

"Marcus, take your team around the rear service access," I ordered over the secure comms link. "Cut the power grid the second I give the signal. Elena and I take the front."

"Copy that, boss," Marcus's voice crackled back through the earpiece.

We waited in the suffocating darkness for sixty agonizing seconds. The wind howled off the lake, thrashing the pine trees along the fence line.

"Now," I murmured.

The lights across the entire aviation complex suddenly flickered and died, plunging the hangar and the surrounding tarmac into absolute darkness, save for the flashing red strobe lights of the private jet.

Chaos erupted instantly among Vane's guards. Shouting voices echoed through the rain as flashlights flickered on, cutting erratic beams through the gloom.

"Move!" Elena hissed, bursting out of the vehicle door.

We moved as a single unit. I raised my rifle, dropping the two guards nearest the sliding metal doors before they even realized where the shots were coming from. Elena swept left, taking down an elevated sniper on the catwalk with a single, perfectly placed shot that shattered the glass railing above.

In less than two minutes, the outer perimeter was cleared.

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The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped, dimly lit kitchen, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest raging inside Adrian Whitmore’s mind. Standing just beyond the rotting wooden doorframe of her apartment, hidden by the heavy shadows of the crumbling stairwell, the millionaire tried to steady his breathing. His expensive wool coat was soaked through, but he didn’t care. His eyes were entirely fixed on the scene unfolding a few feet away.

The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped,...

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, the source of the warmth against my side wasn't an assassin, an operative from a rival syndicate, or a traitorous lieutenant.

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The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the slow, heavy drip of my own pulse in my ears. Dominic Rossi’s dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a feverish intensity that should have sent me running back down the hallway and out into the rain

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I kicked open the heavy side access door of the hangar, stepping into the cavernous, echoing interior with my weapon raised.

"Crosby Vane!" I roared, my voice echoing off the concrete floors and metal girders. "your flight is cancelled!"

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