"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."

Rook was locked in the maximum-security interrogation room at the federal field office, his hands and feet cuffed to the metal table.

He didn’t look scared.

He looked bored.

He leaned back in the chair, his scarred face twisted into a smirk, watching me through the one-way mirror like he knew I was there.

I took a deep breath, pushing open the door and walking inside. I sat down across from him, folding my hands on the table, my face blank.

“Rook.”

He nodded, his smirk widening.

“Captain Whitmore. I’ve heard a lot about you. Hale’s been talking about you for months. Said you were a pain in his ass. Said you were just like your grandpa. Stubborn. Stupid. Too loyal for your own good.”

I didn’t flinch.

“Where is Hale?”

Rook laughed, a low, rumbling sound.

“Nice try. You think I’m gonna tell you that? Hale pays me better in a month than the feds pay you in a year. He’s got people everywhere. Cops. Judges. Feds. I tell you where he is, I’m dead before the sun comes up. No offense, Captain, but I’d rather spend the rest of my life in prison than take my chances with Hale.”

I leaned forward, my voice cold.

“You’re already gonna spend the rest of your life in prison. Six counts of murder. Human trafficking. Drug smuggling. Conspiracy to commit treason. That’s twelve consecutive life sentences, no chance of parole. The only thing you have left to bargain with is Hale’s location. Give it to me, and I’ll make sure you get a cell with a window. Keep it to yourself, and I’ll make sure you spend the next fifty years in a six-by-six cell in the middle of the desert, alone, with no one to talk to but the rats. Your call.”

Rook’s smirk faltered for half a second.

I had him.

He opened his mouth to speak.

Before a word came out, the door burst open. An agent stood in the frame, his face white.

“Captain! You need to see this. Your parents just made bail. Someone posted their entire bond in cash. And we just intercepted a text from Diane’s phone. Sent to an unknown number. It says, The feds have Rook. They know everything. Claire is planning a raid on the docks tonight. Come in through the south entrance. Bring enough men to kill them all.”

My blood ran cold.

The docks.

I’d told Jesse three hours ago that we were planning a fake raid on the old abandoned docks on the river to draw Hale out. It was a ruse. A trap.

Only four people in the entire world knew about it.

Me. Jesse. Mila.

And my parents.

I’d told them the plan an hour earlier, when I’d gone to see them in holding. I’d pretended to trust them, pretended I was giving them one last chance to make things right. I’d told them every detail of the fake raid, knowing Diane would run straight to Hale with it.

It was part of the plan.

But I’d never expected her to actually do it.

I’d never expected her to actually try to have me killed.

I ran out of the interrogation room, sprinting down the hall to the holding cell where my parents were being kept.

The cell was empty.

The lock had been picked from the outside. The two agents assigned to guard them were unconscious on the floor, their guns missing.

A note was taped to the bars, written in Diane’s perfect, looping handwriting.

You should have stayed the worthless little girl we all knew, Claire. Now you’re going to die just like your grandma.

I crumpled the note in my fist, turning to Jesse, who’d run up behind me.

“Change of plans. The fake raid is off. We’re going to the docks right now. Diane just told Hale we’re coming through the north. He’s gonna hit us from the south. We’re gonna flip the trap. We’ll come in through the south. We’ll be waiting for him when he arrives. Move!”

We ran out to the parking lot, jumping into our SUVs.

Ten minutes later, we were hiding in the trees on the south side of the old docks, watching and waiting. The docks were a ghost town—rusted shipping containers, rotting pilings, the dark river lapping at the shore. Perfect for a meeting. Perfect for a trap.

Thirty minutes later, two black SUVs pulled into the north entrance, their lights off.

Five men got out, all armed, all wearing night vision goggles. They spread out, moving slowly toward the empty warehouses, checking every corner.

Hale wasn’t with them.

I frowned, leaning forward, my binoculars pressed to my eyes.

“Where is he?” Jesse whispered beside me.

Before I could answer, a third car pulled into the parking lot behind us.

A silver Mercedes S-Class, the windows tinted pitch black.

The driver’s door opened.

Michael stepped out, his hands shaking, holding a pistol in one hand.

The passenger door opened.

Diane stepped out, her wrist in a cast, wearing a sleek black dress and heels, her hair perfectly done. She held a small black pistol in her good hand, a cold smile on her face.

She walked around to the back of the car, opening the rear door.

A man stepped out.

He was in his sixties, tall, lean, with silver hair and a perfectly tailored suit. His face was handsome, charming, the kind of face you’d see on a magazine cover or a political campaign poster.

But his eyes were dead.

Cold, empty, black eyes that looked right through you.

Victor Hale.

He smiled, wrapping an arm around Diane’s waist like they were old lovers.

“Thank you for the information, my dear. You’ve been very helpful. Once we kill your daughter and get the drive, the two million I paid you will be nothing. You’ll have more money than you ever dreamed of. And your little Brandon will have a place at my side, as my heir.”

Diane smiled up at him, leaning into his chest.

“Thank you, Victor. I knew you’d take care of us. Claire was always a mistake. A disappointment. I should have gotten rid of her years ago.”

Michael made a small, choking sound behind them, his pistol shaking so bad I thought he’d drop it.

“Diane… what are you talking about? What do you mean, Brandon is his heir?”

Diane rolled her eyes, turning to look at him like he was a bug she’d stepped in.

“Oh, please, Michael. Don’t act so stupid. You’ve known for nineteen years. Brandon isn’t your son. He’s Victor’s. I got pregnant with him the summer Victor came to town looking for your father-in-law. Victor promised me that if I helped him get the drive, Brandon would take over his entire empire one day. All you ever were to me was a cover. A weak, stupid cover who was too scared to ever question anything I did.”

Michael froze.

The pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the asphalt.

Hale laughed, a warm, charming sound that sent chills down my spine.

“It’s true, old friend. Diane has been mine since the day we met. The only reason you’re still alive is because you were useful. Now? You’re not useful anymore.”

Hale pulled a suppressed pistol from his suit jacket, aiming it straight at Michael’s chest.

“Goodbye, Michael.”

Before he could pull the trigger, a loud, broken scream tore through the night.