JAKE

They found the BMW about an hour later, abandoned near the Red Hook pier.

It had been rented a few days earlier under an alias—Thomas Vale—using a prepaid card that would take weeks to track. The doors were unlocked, the engine cold, and the passenger seat was smeared with dried blood already confirmed as Emma's.

They hadn't been in it long. The vehicle was dumped only a few miles from the shooting, just enough distance to reach another edge of the docks before Adam switched routes. Maybe they had slipped out before the first units even arrived at the scene.

From there, the rest wasn't hard to piece together. Harbor Patrol hadn't reported anything unusual, but daylight turned the harbor into a mess of ferries, tugs, barges, and private boats weaving between them. If Adam had timed it right, he could've disappeared into that chaos without raising a single alarm.

Maybe he had used a private skiff or a maintenance boat, something no one bothers tracking. Maybe he had even had help, someone to pilot while he kept her down and hidden. Either way, by the time the Coast Guard realized a vessel hadn't checked in, he was already across the bay, heading toward New Jersey.

But New Jersey was locked down now. Every airstrip in the tri-state area had been flagged. Linden was crawling with federal and state units, and so was Republic over on Long Island.

The bastard couldn't fly or leave the city this time without us knowing.

But my gut told me Adam had moved Emma somewhere nearby, somewhere he believed was safe enough to buy himself time until he figured out another exit. With the size of the manhunt now, time was the only thing he had left.

By late afternoon, we were stationed around Linden, covering a five-mile radius around the airfield. Helicopters droned overhead, the sound threading through the air like a warning, while tactical teams swept the hangars and warehouses in rotating patterns.

The sun had dipped behind the hangars, turning the tarmac into a sheet of dull gold. Luke was speaking with a few marshals near the patrol SUVs. Radio chatter buzzed behind me with static, updates, and clipped information. But we had nothing solid yet.

I leaned against one of our SUVs, tablet in hand, studying the map of the surrounding area, forcing myself to think like him.

Where would a hunted man go?

Where would he hide an injured woman, one he had failed to control once already?

My grip tightened on the tablet. The fear I tried to bury kept pushing back, whispering that he might've hurt her again after she called me. The only thing keeping me steady was logic. And logic said he hadn't done all this just to get rid of her now.

He had gone to great lengths to take her and keep her alive, which meant he had a plan. And I had to find her before he got the chance to carry it out.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. My pulse jumped before I could stop it. Pulling it out quickly, I found it was an unknown number.

For a moment, I thought, hoped, prayed, it was her.

I pushed off the SUV I had been leaning on and slipped into the driver's seat. The moment the door closed, the outside noise fell away. I swiped the screen and answered.

"Parker."

"Well, well," a man replied, his voice smooth and taunting. "The knight himself. You've had quite the day, haven't you?"

Adam Blake.

My blood went cold. I knew I should've gone back out, signaled the team, let them run the trace, but my body wouldn't listen. I stayed frozen in place.

"Don't bother tracing this," he added casually, as if reading my mind. "You won't get far. Consider it a courtesy call."

My grip on the phone tightened until my hands ached. "Where is she?"

He laughed softly, like I had said something amusing. "Straight to business, huh? You Feds are no fun. I thought we might chat first... about consequences."

"Where. Is. She."

He clicked his tongue. "No patience at all. Well, before you get too excited, she's still alive. For now, at least."

I could feel the heat pulsing through my veins. If I could just get my hands on him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"You see," he answered, "Emma's been... difficult. Exhausting, really. She thought she could run, that she could call you, and that you'd come charging in to save her. Adorable, isn't it? But in doing that, she made you my business too."

"Well, you've been my business for a while now, Blake," I shot back. "And if you hurt her, I swear to God—"

"Ah, there it is," he cut in. "You Americans are all threats, no manners. Always so dramatic."

He sighed, the sound long and theatrical and bored. "Between us, I'm running out of patience. So, I thought, why not make it interesting? You and I, we meet. Maybe I'll even let her see you. Give her something to look forward to... before I shut her up for good."

His threats and the way he talked about her narrowed the world around me to a single point. My instincts were a storm, roaring at me to move, to shout, to do something, but all I could do was grip the phone harder.

"You come alone," he continued, his tone suddenly dropping into something sharp and lethal. "No Bureau. No hero act. You try to bring anyone else, and the next thing you'll get is the location of her body. I'll send you the address. Don't be late. I hate waiting."

Before I could say another word, the line went dead.

I let out a slow breath, surprised by the tremor in it. Frustration cracked through me, and I hit the steering wheel, my gaze still locked on the phone. A moment later, the screen lit up with one new message, a single line of text, and a location.

I knew exactly what this was. A trap.

Every word he had said was designed for it. He wanted me rattled, emotional, off-balance. He wanted me alone.

I let out another slow breath, my pulse pounding in my ears. Protocol said I needed to report the call and the location. This was supposed to be handed over to our Hostage Rescue Team. That was what I should've done.

But it wasn't enough.

I trusted my team with my life, but we had no proof of life. Nothing but the word of a madman. And by the time the Bureau built a plan, she could already be gone.

And I couldn't shake the truth we all learned the hard way. Sometimes negotiations weren't enough. Sometimes we misread people, underestimated them. Sometimes we lost hostages because of it.

Emma couldn't be another statistic.

She was alive. I could feel it. But with the way that psychopath thought, I wasn't sure for how long. He didn't care about her, only himself, and how much he could make her suffer.

I ran a hand over my face, the weight of everything pressing down on my chest. I was about to break every rule that had kept me alive in this job, jeopardize my badge, the case, and maybe even her life and mine if I didn't handle this right.

But doing nothing wasn't an option, not when there was even the smallest chance she was at that location he had just sent.

My hands clenched around the wheel, the tendons in my arm pulling tight like they were about to snap.

I thought of Emma, of what she must be feeling right now, still in his grip, in pain, terrified, with her leg bleeding, and how her voice had trembled on that call when she said my name.

Something inside me snapped into focus.

Adam wanted me to come alone. Maybe to negotiate. Maybe to kill me in front of her as another twisted performance of power.

I didn't care.

If that was what it took to find her, I would walk straight into it. Not just as an agent, but as the man who loved her, the man who promised he would always come for her, no matter what.

I unlocked my phone, opened the messages, and typed a quick note to Luke; a scheduled message set to be delivered in ninety minutes.

If I didn't cancel it by then, he would get everything—the unknown number, the call timestamp, the coordinates. Enough to find us both.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, started the engine, and pulled onto the road.

If Adam Blake thought I would be an easy prey, he was about to learn otherwise.

The place looked dead from the outside.

It was just another rust-stained, forgotten warehouse, abandoned decades ago and left to rot between storage yards and the highway. The last light of the day had already slipped away, leaving only a few weak bulbs that made the building look even more haunted. Every few seconds, headlights from the interstate flared through the cracks, sweeping across piles of machinery and crates like passing ghosts.

I killed the engine and stepped out. Gravel crunched under my boots, the sound too loud in the dead quiet. My pulse stayed steady, but my hands were trembling with a wired, restless energy, my whole body pulled tight like a tripwire, ready to snap.

He was here. I could feel it.

The air smelled of oil, salt, and rusted metal. I raised my gun, the attached flashlight throwing a thin cone of light across the entrance. My finger rested on the frame as I slipped through a side door that barely clung to its hinges.

The warehouse opened up into one wide, empty hall lined with rusted steel beams stretching overhead and old equipment scattered like abandoned bones. It was quiet. Too quiet. It would've been easy to hide a dozen people here.

"Blake!" I called, my voice cutting through the stillness.

There was silence at first, but then I heard a rustle, something brushing metal, a scrape sharp enough that it spiked the adrenaline already coursing through my veins. I swung my gun toward the sound instantly, every fiber of my body locked and ready.

"Evening, Agent Parker."

Adam Blake stepped out from behind a crate, his face half-lit by the weak glow of a far bulb and the beam of my flashlight. The scar along his cheek tugged when he smiled. His hands hung open at his sides, palms empty.

At first glance, he looked unarmed. But I knew better.

"You people really do love your guns," he said. "Always straight to the violence, aren't you?"

I didn't move. "Where is she?"

He tilted his head. "Come on, man. No hello? No pleasantries? Disappointing, but so predictable."

"I'm not here to talk."

"Ah, but I am." He took a few slow steps closer, his boots striking the concrete in deliberate, measured taps. "You know, I almost didn't believe she'd have it in her. I mean, calling you like that and risking everything for a man who put her in a cage." He smirked. "Romantic, in a tragic sort of way."

My jaw tightened. I resisted the urge to put a bullet in him right then and there. I had to know Emma was safe first.

"Last warning, Blake. Where is Emma?"

His eyes narrowed as he studied me, then a low chuckle slipped out of him. "Oh, you'll see. I wouldn't want you thinking I'm a liar."

He turned and walked toward the far end of the warehouse. I followed, my gun fixed on him, every instinct screaming not to take my eyes off him, but I needed to know.

He stopped at a metal door. "Brace yourself, Agent. She's had a rough day."

He rolled it up, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.

Emma sat tied to a chair in the middle of a small storage room, her wrists bound tightly with rope. Her hair clung to her face; her skin was pale, and her lower lip was split and bleeding. Fresh blood streaked her left thigh, like the wound had reopened when she must've struggled against him. But she was conscious.

Her head jerked up at the sound of the door. Her blue eyes found mine, and they went wide, terrified.

"Jake..." Her voice cracked on my name, her head shaking. "No. You shouldn't have come."

My heart clenched at the sight of her, at what this bastard had done to her. Every part of me wanted to rush to her, cut the ropes, take her into my arms, and tell her it was over. Tell her she was safe.

But I didn't move. Not yet. My gun stayed trained on Blake.

He turned to me, that smirk widening. "Touching, isn't it? She's been waiting for you."

"Let her go."

"Oh, I will," he said lightly. "Eventually, when we're out of here, and she remembers how to behave. But not before we have our little chat."

He took a few steps toward me, his hands still visible, but his eyes gleamed with something sharp and calculating.

"Now, why don't we lower that weapon? You're making the lady nervous."

"She's not the one I'm aiming at."

He chuckled. "Still playing the hero." He glanced over his shoulder at Emma. "You really picked a stubborn one, love."

"Adam—" Emma's voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, don't—"

"Quiet," he snapped.

The word cracked through the room like a whip, and my finger tightened on the trigger. For a split second, his mask slipped, just long enough to reveal the monster beneath, then the smile snapped back in place.

"See, Agent," he said softly, "here's the problem with men like you. You think you can fix broken things like her. But trust me... tonight, you become the blade I'll use to carve what's left of her."

Emma flinched at his words, her eyes flying wider. She turned to me, panic rising in her voice. "Jake... please. Please go."

A hot pulse throbbed at the side of my neck, a vein tightening as I leveled the gun at his chest.

Adam stepped closer.

"Stop right there," I snapped. "I won't hesitate to shoot you."

He paused, then let out a low, amused laugh, and still took another step, his gaze locked on mine.

He moved faster than I expected. The gun flashed out from inside his coat in a single motion, metal catching the dim light.

I fired first. The shot cracked through the warehouse, splintering the crate behind him. He twisted sideways, but not fast enough. My bullet grazed his upper arm.

He hissed, stumbling back and clutching the wound, then looked up with a grin that turned my stomach.

"Not bad," he said through clenched teeth. "But you'll have to do better."

"I'll give you one last warning," I said, gun steady. "Drop the weapon now and raise your hands where I can see them."

He flexed his bleeding arm and let out a low, rough laugh. "Oh, this is why I didn't ask you to come unarmed. I do love it when they fight. It adds a certain excitement to life."

I shifted my aim, ready to fire again, but he moved faster this time.

The round slammed into a beam near my head, sparks bursting. I ducked behind a rusted support column, trying to control my ragged breath as I listened to the echoing footsteps.

"Come now, Agent," he called, voice echoing. "Don't tell me you're hiding already. You're ruining my fun."

Another shot rang out, ricocheting off metal. I risked a quick glance. Emma was still tied to the chair, terrified and trembling. My stomach twisted at the sight. She was too close to the line of fire.

Taking a breath, I shifted automatically, adjusting my angle to keep her clear.

And that was my mistake.

Adam caught it instantly and smiled like he had been waiting for it.

"Ah," he said, "there it is. The weak spot."

He fired again. This time, not at me, but at the stack of metal pipes behind Emma. They crashed to the ground with a deafening metallic roar. Emma screamed, eyes squeezing shut.

I reacted before I could think. I broke cover, lunging into the open to get to her, to pull her out of the line of fire, but then, the world exploded before I even made it halfway.

The shot punched into my side. A blunt, brutal force that tore the breath out of me. It felt like taking a sledgehammer straight to the ribs. My knee buckled, and the floor rushed up. My vision tunneled at the edges as I hit the ground hard.

"Jake!"

Through the haze, I looked up. Emma was fighting the ropes, her face streaked with terror, her whole body shaking.

And the world narrowed to her voice.

Her fear.

Her scream.