JAKE

"Are you sure you don't want me there with you?" Luke asked, his brows furrowed with concern. "I could pose as your bodyguard or something."

I smiled, fastening the fake Rolex securely around my wrist. "I'll be fine. Plus, I've got my lucky charm right here."

The watch was equipped with a GPS tracker and voice transmitter—my lifeline to the team if things went sideways.

Luke let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders tense. "Just promise me you'll watch your back. Declan's small-time, sure, but with Vitale backing him? That makes him a whole different kind of dangerous."

For weeks, we had poured everything into unraveling Declan's criminal network—endless stakeouts, dissecting every detail of his operations, and gathering evidence piece by piece. The breakthrough had come when intel confirmed his involvement in smuggling stolen Egyptian artifacts. It was the opening we needed to nail him.

Tonight, I would be stepping into the role of Charles Kingsley, a wealthy art collector with an insatiable hunger for rare and questionable antiquities. Through our informants, we had spread the word that Kingsley was looking for something exclusive. It didn't take long for Declan, ever the opportunist, to take the bait.

Now, all that was left was to play the part and hope everything went according to plan.

I gave Luke's shoulder a firm squeeze. "You know I could handle Declan blindfolded. Besides, you guys are just one activation phrase away."

A grin finally tugged at his lips. "Damn right, we are."

I returned the smile, slipping on my suit jacket with a flourish. Adjusting my tailored suit, I paused to catch my reflection in the window. Charles Kingsley, spoiled heir and eccentric collector, stared back at me with a self-assured smirk.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar figure—Michael Ashford, my boss—leaning against the stairway railing. Around him, the team buzzed with activity, strapping on bulletproof vests and performing last-minute equipment checks. Ashford's expression remained unreadable, but when he gave me a small nod, the message was unmistakable—don't mess this up.

Needles to say, I wasn't planning to. Declan was the missing link between the buyer and the thieves, and bringing him in could unravel the entire network behind the Met case. There was no room for error.

Nodding back, I stepped into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, I caught one last glimpse of Luke briefing the team, ready to tail me at a safe distance to preserve my cover.

The 20-minute drive to the warehouse gave me time to survey the area. Parking a short distance away, I checked for exits and radioed the information back to the team.

My gun was tucked securely under my jacket, and the suitcase on the passenger seat held three hundred grand in cash courtesy of the Bureau. Of course, I had no intention of letting Declan—or anyone else—walk away with it.

As I stepped out of the car, I moved cautiously toward the warehouse, keeping an eye on my surroundings. The cold night air bit at my skin, and the quiet amplified every crunch of gravel beneath my shoes.

Near the entrance, the sound of footsteps echoed, and a figure emerged from the shadows.

"Charles Kingsley, I presume?"

I gave him a curt nod, my gaze sharp, silently urging him to hurry things up because my time was valuable.

"I've heard you're a man with an appreciation for the finer things," he said, his eyes narrowing as he studied me.

"Indeed," I replied smoothly. "I hear you might have access to some remarkable pieces."

A smug smile spread across his face. "I've got just what you're looking for." He motioned for me to follow him inside.

We stopped in front of a makeshift pedestal, where an ancient Egyptian statue gleamed in the dim light. The gold caught the faint glow, exuding an almost ethereal brilliance.

The artifact was stunning—a piece of history that had survived millennia. I stepped closer, picking it up to examine the intricate details. The weight of pure gold was unmistakable.

"You know," I said, setting it back on the pedestal, "meeting in a place like this feels... undeserving of something so extraordinary."

Declan chuckled. "Ah, Mr. Kingsley, a man of taste. But discretion is key in our line of work. After all, not everyone understands the value of what we do."

I flashed a knowing smile. "I understand you perfectly."

Handing him the suitcase, I watched his eyes light up with greed as he inspected the cash.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," I said.

That was the signal.

The warehouse doors slammed open, and armed agents flooded in, their shouts cutting through the silence. Declan's head snapped toward the commotion, his hand already moving toward his holstered gun.

Our eyes met, and in that split second, I recognized the look—wild desperation laced with murderous resolve.

A glint of metal caught the dim light as he drew his weapon, his knuckles white around the grip. "You bastard! I'll take you down with me!" he growled, his voice raw with fury as he aimed at my chest.

Instinct kicked in.

Before his finger could reach the trigger, I moved. My foot struck his wrist in a sharp, precise strike, the force sending the gun clattering across the concrete floor.

For a heartbeat, Declan froze, his shock flickering across his face—a split-second mistake that was all I needed.

I didn't hesitate. Closing the distance in one fluid motion, I delivered a bone-jarring punch to his jaw. His head snapped to the side, and before he could regain his footing, I swept his legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground, the impact echoing through the warehouse.

In an instant, I was on him, my knee pressing firmly into his chest as I drew my gun and aimed it squarely at his face.

"It's over, Declan," I said, breathing heavily. "You're under arrest."

His furious glare met mine, defiance burning in his eyes, but he stopped fighting when the agents closed in. They cuffed his hands behind his back and hauled him to his feet, his bravado faltering as reality set in.

Luke stepped out of the chaos, shaking his head with a grin. "That kick? Seriously impressive. You'll have to show me how you pulled that off."

I smirked. "I'll give you pointers later. Right now, let's just be glad it did the job."

He clapped me on the back. "We got him, Jake. Maybe it's time for you to relax a little."

I shook my head. "You and I both know the game's far from over."

"True." Luke nodded. "But this is still a win. One step at a time."

"Fair enough," I said with a sigh. "Let's go. Something tells me Declan has plenty to say."

I pushed open the door to the interrogation room and stepped into the dimly lit space. The harsh overhead lights threw sharp shadows across the gray concrete walls, and the two-way mirror concealed the watchful eyes of the agents silently observing from behind it.

Declan's head snapped up as I entered, his eyes blazing with rage. He was handcuffed to the metal table, his fists clenched like he was itching to break free. I pulled out the chair across from him, sat down, and let a long, silent moment pass as I stared him down.

"I hope you're comfortable with us here, Declan," I said finally, my tone calm but pointed.

"Fuck you, Kingsley," he spat.

My expression didn't waver. I was used to suspects trying to rile me up, but I never let them get under my skin. An interrogation was a game of wits, and I was the one holding the board.

"Oh, we're off to a rocky start, aren't we?" I replied with a slight smirk. "Well, allow me to introduce myself properly. Special Agent Jake Parker."

Declan snorted. "Special Agent, my ass. What are you going to do, threaten me with some petty charges?"

"Petty charges?" I let out a laugh and shook my head. "Oh, Declan, you have no idea."

He leaned forward as far as his restraints allowed, a smug grin plastered on his face. "You think you can scare me? I've dealt with your kind before."

"Maybe. But you've never dealt with me." My voice was steady and controlled. "You don't seem to grasp just how deep you're in. You're facing a mountain of charges, and we're going to discuss every single one of them today."

"You know where you can stick those charges, right?"

I stayed still, studying him with a measured gaze. Then, after a moment, I let a slow smile spread across my face. "Do you realize you were caught red-handed selling a stolen artifact? There's no dodging that. And we've been following you for a while now, gathering enough evidence to bury you. Even as we speak, agents are combing through your safe house and any other properties you've got. I can't wait to see what else we find."

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg," I continued, leaning forward slightly. "Let's not forget you resisted arrest. Oh, and the cherry on top? Attempted murder of a federal agent."

His smug grin faltered as the weight of my words began to sink in. He shifted uncomfortably but tried to hold on to his carefree act.

"If I were you," I said sharply, "I'd put that sharp tongue to better use. It might be the only chance you have."

His mask cracked. Declan swallowed hard, eyes darting to the table as though it might offer an escape. He finally shook his head and looked at me with eyes I could tell were clouded with real fear.

"I ain't saying a word."

I shrugged casually. "Suit yourself. Just remember, the deeper you dig this hole, the harder it'll be to climb out."

He let out a frustrated sigh, his gaze darting to the two-way mirror. Finally, in a barely audible voice, he muttered, "What do you want?"

A triumphant smile tugged at my lips. "Let's start simple. What do you know about the painting Corridor in the Asylum?"

His face drained of color, and his eyes widened slightly. He quickly tried to mask his reaction, but the damage was done.

"We know you were involved in selling it," I said firmly. "So here's the deal—give me the identities of both the seller and the buyer, or you'll rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice trembling.

"Oh, please," I replied, unimpressed. "Save the act for someone who'll buy it. We've got enough evidence to tie you to that painting, and you're not slipping out of this."

The flicker of doubt in his eyes told me I was hitting my mark. This was the moment to press.

"We both know you're just a pawn," I said, letting a hint of sympathy creep into my voice. "But your cooperation could help us take down the real players in this game. Help us, and we'll consider a more lenient sentence."

Declan's jaw tightened as he avoided my gaze, sweat glistening on his forehead. "I can't," he muttered after a long silence. "There are important people involved. You don't know what they're capable of."

A name flashed in my mind. Vitale.

"We can protect you," I said. "But you have to trust us and cooperate."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Declan wrestled with his decision. I watched the internal struggle etched on his face, the war between loyalty to his boss, and the realization that clinging to him might cost him everything—his freedom, even his life.

This was it—the moment that could shift the entire course of the investigation. I held my gaze steady, but the relentless tick-tock of the clock echoed in my ears, each second a heavier weight on my chest. Declan was running out of time, but so was I.

Finally, Declan exhaled sharply. "Alright," he said. "But you better protect me, or I won't last a day in prison."

I leaned back, allowing a small smile of satisfaction. "You'll get your protection. But let me be clear—if I catch even a hint that you're playing us, the deal's off. And then you'll have to face the music on your own."

Declan was still hesitant, and I could see a few tears welling in his eyes, but he quickly pushed them away and nodded. Slowly, he began to talk, unraveling the web of deceit and manipulation that had trapped him in Vitale's world.

Once a small-time fence, Declan's life took a sharp turn when he stumbled upon something Vitale wanted. That single moment had sealed his fate.

"He gave me an offer I couldn't refuse," Declan said bitterly. "From that day on, I was his puppet. He pulls the strings; I dance."

His voice hardened as he continued, "Vitale's a real piece of work. The guy loves flaunting his stolen paintings and ancient artifacts, showing them off to his crime buddies like trophies. Then he stashes them away in some dungeon, left to collect dust."

Declan's resentment was palpable, but so was his fear. "He makes you feel like you owe him everything," he muttered. "It's like he knows your deepest secrets and uses them to keep you in line. And if you slip up? A bullet's waiting for you—or a one-way dive into the Hudson."

His shoulders slumped, his voice dropping into defeat. "Even with everything I've told you, I don't know where the painting is. It's like you said—I'm just a pawn in his game. I follow orders, no questions asked."

"You've already given us valuable information," I said, though I couldn't fully mask my disappointment. I needed more. Still, this was progress—if I played my cards right, I could use it to get closer to Vitale.

His eyes met mine, filled with bitterness and doubt. "You think it's that simple? Betraying Vitale is signing my own death sentence. He has eyes everywhere. He doesn't forgive."

"We can offer you witness protection," I assured him. "A fresh start. You don't have to live under his thumb anymore. But you have to take the first step. Help us bring him down."

Declan studied me for a long moment before muttering, "I'm not a hero."

"This isn't about being a hero," I said quietly. "It's about taking back control. You've got a chance to change the game, to start fresh. The question is—are you ready to take it?"

His jaw tightened, and I saw him bite the inside of his cheek. Finally, he spoke. "How do you plan to catch him, anyway?"

A hint of a smile played on my lips. "I've already got a plan. When the time comes, all you'll need to do is follow it."

The operation would be like toppling a line of dominoes—one piece down, and the rest would follow. But Vitale wasn't just any piece; he was the keystone, the one that had to fall last. First, I needed to find another link in the chain—the thief.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about the person who sold you the painting."

Declan sighed again. "Honestly, I don't know much," he admitted. "The guy was like a ghost. He only contacted me through burner phones, went by the name Steve. The one time we met, he wore a cap and huge sunglasses—completely hid his face. I didn't care. I just wanted the painting."

He huffed. "Once I authenticated it, I handed him the cash, and he disappeared. Business is business, right? If he wanted to stay anonymous, that was fine by me. This is a free country, after all."

So I was right. She didn't work alone.

"That's fine," I said evenly, watching the confusion flicker across Declan's face. He was likely wondering why I wasn't pressing harder.

"As I said," I continued, "I have a plan."

Leaning forward, I began filling him in on what I needed from him—each detail laid out meticulously.

Just like domino pieces.

And I had a feeling the first one was about to topple very soon.