“Oh, my God.”

“WHAT PART OF ‘LEAVE IT to the professionals’ didn’t you understand?” Marshal Doherty roars so loud I’m sure everyone in the hall can hear him. “You nearly got yourself killed! Not to mention, you completely screwed up the sting operation the FBI was planning on Capo’s, when they had to jump early and go save your ass. Come on, Decker! You’re an intelligent man. What were you thinking?”

As I lean back in the uncomfortable hospital bed, I watch him pace across the linoleum floor, wishing he’d finish the lecture and leave so I can go about checking myself out of this hellhole. I agreed to stay forty-eight hours for observation, as they were concerned about the results of my MRI, and now the doctors are trying to make me stay another night, because the brain swelling isn’t subsiding as fast as they’d like. Ain’t fucking happening.

It’s been six days since Blake was taken, and these “professionals” aren’t any closer to finding her now than they were then. A concussion, broken nose, and shattered ribs aren’t going to keep me from searching for her. I won’t stop until I find her or take my last breath.

“You told me you were doing everything in your power to find her. It’s been almost a week, and you still have no fucking idea where she is,” I snap, my tone clear I don’t appreciate being reprimanded like a child. “Did you even know she’s not in Chicago? Those goons mentioned ‘when they bring her back home,’ indicating we’re all looking in the wrong place!”

The other man in the room, who’s been uninvolved in the conversation up until now, stands up from the chair in the corner and pads over to the bed. He’s a short, round man with dark hair and darker eyes, dressed in black slacks and a light blue button-down business shirt. “Mr. Decker, I know you think you’re helping us out, but—”

“First off,” I cut him off, holding my hand in the air, “I have no fucking idea who you are or what us you’re referring to, but my intentions aren’t to help anyone. The woman I love has been abducted, most likely by some very dangerous people, and my only priority is getting her back, safe and sound. Secondly, I understand that Marshal Doherty shares a similar goal, and I can only assume you do too, since you’ve spent the better part of the morning sitting in my hospital room. So if sharing information with each other leads to bringing her home quicker, then I’m all about playing for the team. But you’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m gonna sit around and do nothing while I wait to hear from one of you assholes.”

Clenching his jaw, he glares at me in what I can only assume is supposed to be an intimidating look. “I apologize for not properly introducing myself,” he replies in the most insincere tone imaginable. “I’m Agent Craig Diomassi, FBI. I’m the man who saved you Tuesday from getting yourself killed. And it was also my six-month undercover investigation you managed to unravel the minute you stepped foot into that shop. One of those three goons was one of my men, and we were so close to getting the last piece of evidence we needed to formally indict Vincent Ricci . . . but now he’s fled the country, gone into hiding somewhere in Italy, and the whole operation has been exposed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it a thank you or an apology you’re wanting from me?” I sneer, heavy on the sarcasm. “Either way, I wouldn’t hold my breath. If you’ve been running surveillance for the last six months and have had a man on the inside, then you should’ve known the fucking Dagos don’t have her here.”

“We did know that!” he bellows angrily.

Shifting my attention over to Doherty, I raise my eyebrows. “If you knew she wasn’t in Chicago, then why are you here and not out there looking for her? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it your job to make sure your witnesses in the Witness Protection Program stay fucking protected?!”

The machine hooked up to read my vitals screams at us as my blood pressure skyrockets. I don’t care who the hell these guys are with their fancy bureaucratic titles. It seems they’re just as efficient and effective as everyone else who works for the damn government. It’s a good thing I have an IV needle buried in each arm, or I’d probably be getting arrested for assaulting one of these fuckers.

A nurse rushes into the room as a result of the monitors blowing up, probably thinking I’m suffering from a massive heart attack. But as soon as she realizes the three of us men are involved in a heated standoff—or sit-off, in my case—she pulls up short of the bed, eyeing each of us warily.

“Gentlemen? Is there a problem?” she addresses Doherty and Diomassi with a no-nonsense tone. Apparently, she’s not impressed with their badges and guns either. “If you’re going to upset the patient to the point he’s bordering on a code blue, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Marshal Doherty offers her a complacent smile. “No need to worry, Kristin,” he replies, his gaze lingering a few seconds longer than necessary over the nametag pinned above her left breast. “Mr. Decker just got a little upset, but everything is fine here. We assure you it won’t happen again.”

She turns and eyes me, clucking her tongue. “You press that call button if you need me, okay? I have no problem asking them to leave.”

I don’t hesitate. “I want them to leave. And I want to leave, too. Please have the doctor prepare my discharge papers.”

Her face morphs from concern to surprise to suspicion in less than ten seconds. “But, sir, Dr. Rodner recommended that you stay until we do another MRI tomorrow.”

“I’m well aware of the recommendation, Nurse Kristin, but I’m ready to go home,” I respond with forced politeness. “So either you can discharge me, or I can get up and walk out. Either way, I’m leaving this hospital today.”

Five hours later, I’m sitting in a first-class window seat on a flight back to L.A., washing a pain pill down with a vodka cranberry, minus the vodka. My entire body throbs in agony. My face looks like I got in the ring with Floyd Mayweather, and feels about the same. But it’s the gaping hole in my chest slowly filling with helplessness and despair that hurts the worst. My body and face will heal in time, but I’m not sure I can survive losing Blake forever.

“What if we don’t find her?” I ask as I lean my head back on the leather seat and close my eyes.

“We will find her,” Marshal Doherty, who’s in the seat to my right, grunts. “People don’t just vanish off the face of the earth. She’s somewhere, and whoever has her is just waiting for the right time to do whatever they’re planning.”

I open my eyes and stare at the rounded ceiling of the plane, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots through my mid-section with each breath I take. After the nurse left my hospital room earlier, Doherty, Diomassi, and I decided to call a truce after they ensured they’d keep me in the loop about what’s going on with the investigation, as long as I promised not to do any more renegade missions. I’m aware they were lying to get me to agree, and that they’ll probably feed me as little of the information as possible to make me think they’re holding up their end of the bargain, but so was I.

My only problem now is that Diomassi is insisting I have an agent assigned to me for protection purposes. He claims after my stunt at Capo’s I put a target on my back for not only the Ricci clan, but also for whoever really has her. And though I understand his concern, I think the point of the detail is more to make sure to keep tabs on me than anything else. Whenever I figure out what my next move is, I’ll have to figure out a way to be extremely discreet. I already have plans to get an untraceable phone first thing tomorrow. There’s no way the feds won’t be tracking my current phone for calls and texts, making sure they know what I know.