"My mom sneered at the fancy dinner table that I was just as useless as my grandpa rotting out in the backyard shed, so I smashed open the locked steel door and found him starved, shivering, and barely clinging to life—then tapped my hidden panic button and called in the full tactical team I commanded. For three years my whole family laughed at my “pathetic government job” filing parking tickets, right up until the moment heavily armed SWAT trucks blockaded our house and they realized I was the elite counterterrorism captain they’d been mocking the whole time. I lifted my phone and ordered my unit to move in on the dangerous suspects in our home, and my parents only stopped sneering when the first armored truck skidded to a halt in the driveway—then my grandpa rasped one single sentence that made even my trained, battle-ready team freeze."

I was out of the hospital and in my SUV before Jesse finished the sentence.

We raced back toward my parents’ house, lights flashing, siren off. My mind was spinning a hundred miles an hour. Hale’s men were there. They were looking for the drive. If they found the decoy box Grandpa had buried to throw them off, they’d know it was fake. They’d come for Grandpa. They’d come for me.

“Call the field team,” I snapped, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. “Tell them to hold position. Do not engage unless fired upon. I want to know who’s leading them. I want to know exactly what they’re looking for.”

Jesse relayed the order, his fingers flying across his radio.

We crested the hill overlooking the house five minutes later.

The scene was chaos.

Three matte-black SUVs were parked in the front yard, their engines still running. Six men in black tactical gear—identical to my team’s, but without the federal insignia—were swarming the backyard. Two were swinging sledgehammers at the old shed, reducing the rotting wood to splinters. Three were digging massive holes under every tree in the yard, dirt flying everywhere.

The sixth man stood on the back porch, watching it all.

He was huge, easily six and a half feet tall, 250 pounds of pure muscle. A jagged scar ran from his left eyebrow down to his jaw, his head shaved completely bald. He held a suppressed pistol loosely in one hand, tapping it against his thigh like he was bored.

I knew that man.

Rook.

Hale’s personal enforcer. The man who’d killed more people than most small-town serial killers. The man who’d been at the top of our most-wanted list for five years.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered.

Jesse leaned forward, his binoculars pressed to his eyes.

“Cap, they’ve got Michael, Diane, and Brandon tied to chairs on the porch. Rook’s talking to them now. It looks like he’s not happy.”

I grabbed my own binoculars, zooming in.

Jesse was right.

My parents and Brandon were bound hand and foot, duct tape across their mouths. Michael’s face was already swelling, a cut above his left eye dripping blood down his cheek. Diane’s wrist was bent at a sickening angle, her silk blouse soaked through with sweat and tears. Brandon was sobbing, snot running down his face, struggling uselessly against his bonds.

Rook leaned down, getting in Michael’s face. He said something I couldn’t hear. Michael shook his head frantically, screaming behind the tape.

Rook didn’t hesitate.

He slammed his fist into Michael’s stomach so hard my dad doubled over, falling out of the chair and onto the wet porch.

Diane screamed behind her tape, thrashing in her chair.

Rook turned to her, tilting his head like he was curious. He reached out, wrapping his big hand around her broken wrist and squeezing.

Diane’s scream was so loud I heard it from a hundred yards away, muffled as it was.

Brandon went completely still. His eyes locked on Rook’s face, and I saw a decision cross his face that I’d seen a hundred times on men facing death.

He was going to talk.

Rook ripped the duct tape off Brandon’s mouth. Brandon gasped for air, sobbing so hard he could barely speak.

“Please! Please don’t hurt us! I’ll tell you anything you want! I’ll take you right to her!”

Rook smiled, a cold, cruel thing that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Take me to who, kid?”

“Claire!” Brandon screamed, the words pouring out of him like water from a broken dam. “My sister! She’s the one who took Grandpa! She’s a federal agent! She has the box! I heard her say she took him to the secure medical wing at the hospital! I can take you there right now! Just please don’t kill me!”

My blood ran cold.

I’d spent three years building my cover, keeping my identity a secret even from my own family, and my little brother had just sold me out to the most dangerous man in the country in ten seconds flat.

Rook laughed, a low, rumbling sound. He patted Brandon on the cheek so hard Brandon’s head snapped to the side.

“Good boy. See? That wasn’t so hard. Now here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take me and my boys to this hospital. You’re gonna get us inside. You’re gonna bring me the old man and the drive. And if you do exactly what I say, I might just let you and your worthless parents live. If you don’t… I’m gonna kill every single person in that hospital. Starting with your sister. Do you understand?”

Brandon nodded so fast his neck looked like it would snap.

“Yes! Yes, I understand! I’ll do anything! Just let me go!”

Rook cut Brandon’s bonds with a flick of his knife. He pulled a small black tracking device from his pocket, knelt down, and taped it to the inside of Brandon’s left shoe.

“Just so you don’t get any stupid ideas about running to the cops. If you deviate from the route even one inch, my boys will put a bullet in your mom and dad before you make it to the end of the driveway. Now move.”

Brandon scrambled to his feet, running to his fancy sports car parked in the driveway. He peeled out, tires screaming, heading straight for the main road.

Rook signaled to his men. They stopped digging, piling back into their SUVs. Within thirty seconds, they were gone, following Brandon toward the hospital.

The field team ran up to the porch, cutting Michael and Diane free. Diane collapsed onto the steps, sobbing, holding her broken wrist. Michael lay on his side, gasping for air, too stunned to speak.

I jumped out of my SUV, running toward them. Jesse followed, his hand on his pistol.

Diane looked up when she saw me. For a second, I thought she’d apologize. I thought she’d finally realize how badly she’d messed up, that she’d beg for my help.

Instead, she screamed at me, her voice raw with hatred.

“This is all your fault! If you’d just given them the stupid box, none of this would have happened! You and that crazy old man have ruined everything! Brandon is gonna get killed because of you!”

I stared at her, completely numb.

After everything. After selling Grandpa out. After letting Brandon lead Hale’s personal killer straight to the only secure facility we had. After all the pain and the lies and the years of abuse.

She still blamed me.

I turned to Jesse, my voice flat, dead inside.

“Call the hospital. Initiate full lockdown. Move my grandfather to the level-five panic room immediately. Activate all perimeter defenses. If Rook so much as drives past the front gate, I want him and every man with him in custody or in the ground. No exceptions.”

Jesse nodded, already reaching for his radio.

I looked back at Diane, who was still screaming, still blaming everyone but herself.

“As for you two? You’re not going to jail for elder abuse anymore. You’re going to jail for conspiracy to commit murder, treason against the United States, and aiding and abetting a known terrorist organization. You’ll be lucky if you ever see the sun again.”

I turned and walked back to my SUV, not looking back.