“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE HE took you to see her. I don’t get it. What was his motive?” Jae narrows her suspicious eyes across the booth at me as she picks up the steaming cup of coffee and brings it to her a mouth, taking a long sip. I’ve just finished recapping the past thirty-six hours to her, from the moment she dropped me off at LAX yesterday morning until now, late Saturday night, at a local ma-and-pa-type diner, and honestly, I’m still somewhat in disbelief myself.

Shrugging, I glance out the window to my right, quickly perusing the cars in the parking lot, then look down at my watch, wondering where the hell Easton is. He was supposed to be at my house, pretending to be me until I returned, so my federally-appointed shadow, Lance, would think I’m spending the weekend holed up at home, nursing my injuries. Instead, when we pulled up in my driveway a little over a half hour ago, Easton, my car, and the annoying FBI agent were all gone, and inside there was a two-word note left on the refrigerator. Be back.

That’s all it said, with absolutely no explanation on what in the fuck could be so important that he would need to leave the house and put all of us at risk of getting caught in this scheme we put together. I’m irritated. I’m exhausted. And I’m nervous about going back to my house now in case he comes driving up with Lance in tow, blowing all of our covers. Despite my assistant Caroline’s claims that my brother has suddenly become Mr. Responsible and Dependable at the office in my absence, it’s clear he’s still the same old Easton I’ve always known. A liability and a selfish prick.

“I don’t know,” I finally respond. “I don’t get it either, but Blake seems to trust him, and obviously with good reason. He’s not mistreating her. She’s got plenty of food to eat, a shower to bathe in, and a bed to sleep in. She didn’t have any bruises or contusions—self-inflicted or otherwise—and she seemed to think he brought me there on his own doing, without any of his people knowing about it. But I’m not sure how she’d know that or not, since she had no idea I was coming.”

“Do you think he’s gonna k-kill her, and he was giving her a chance to say goodbye?” She visibly shudders when she says the word kill, and I can tell she’s struggling to keep her composure at the thought of Blake dead.

Sadly, that exact thought has crossed my mind no less than a thousand times since Raze dropped me off under the fast food icon this morning—the exact place he’d picked me up less than twenty-four hours before. As a matter of fact, since I stepped foot off the flight from Reno this evening, it’s been the only thing I can figure that makes sense. But still . . . why do that for someone you’re holding captive?

My shifty gaze scans the restaurant, looking for people overly interested in our conversation. I’m already pretty sure either the FBI, the Italians, or the Russians—and quite possibly a combination of all three—have bugged my place of residence and office, so it’s no longer a safe place to discuss important matters. But I wouldn’t put it past any of them to have someone eavesdropping on me out in public either. Or maybe I’m becoming a paranoid freak.

Bending forward, I lower my voice to a hushed whisper. “That’s what I’m afraid of, but if that’s the case, I’m not sure what our next step should be. If I get the feds involved, I take the chance of pissing the Russians off and forcing their hand to act prematurely and hastily. And if by some chance killing her isn’t their end game, that they truly are planning on letting her go after she takes care of Vincent, then I’ve put her, me, all of us in unnecessary danger. Plus, it’s not like I know exactly where she is, other than some remote, heavily wooded place a couple hours from Truckee.”

“I’m sure with the technology the FBI has they could use some kind of thermal lenses or something to search the area,” she contends, obviously choosing the route of me telling the authorities what I know.

“Maybe . . . probably . . . I’m not sure what the fuck to do.” I check my phone again. Still nothing. Growling, I drag my tense fingers through my overgrown hair. “Right now, though, my biggest concern revolves around where Easton is and why he hasn’t texted or called back. What in the hell was that note? He knew how important it was for him to stay at my house. You told him you were on your way to pick me up at the airport, right?”

Jae nods as she slumps back on the vinyl-covered bench. “I texted him with the code word we’d discussed, so yeah; as long as he had his phone on him, he should’ve known.”

I blow out a frustrated sigh and tap my fingers on the tabletop, feeling like a caged animal inside. The woman I love more than life itself is being held hostage by one mafia family, while preparing herself to murder the leader of another. My brother is MIA, probably getting himself involved in shit that will lead to problems for all of us. And other than the friend sitting across from me now, and possibly my housekeeper and personal assistant, I trust no one. I have no clue what I should do next, but I have to do something.

“I guess I’m going to get you to take me back home,” I say after the two of us sit in silence for several minutes. “If we get caught, we get caught. I can’t spend the night in this diner, and I know you need to get home too. I’m going to pull up the satellite view of Google maps around Truckee and see if I can narrow down her location. At least it’s something—”

“Don’t use your computer,” she cuts me off, holding her hand up in the air. “Not unless you want them to know what you’re searching. We can stop by my place and you can use mine. Plus, that buys us a little more time to try to locate Easton too.”

I knew I liked this woman. “Good point and good plan.” Digging my wallet out of my back pocket, I toss a twenty on the table, which should be more than enough to cover the two coffees and a tip. “Let’s go.”

We make our way out of the restaurant and across the pavement to her SUV, and just as I open the passenger-side door to climb in, a very familiar bright red sports car zooms wildly into the parking lot with a blacked-out Tahoe right on its tail. Not even bothering to park in an actual spot, Easton jumps out of his car and rushes over to us, frantic and frazzled.

“What? What happened? Where were you?” I demand as Jae and Lance join us. My heart is thudding uncontrollably in my chest, because I know by the wretched look in his eyes whatever he’s about to say is going to bad.

Struggling to find his voice, he attempts to speak a couple of times before the words finally spill out. “I-I swear I wouldn’t have left, but . . . but I got a call from the Listers. It . . . it . . . it’s Emerson. She’s dead.”

THE MOANING AND HISSING OF the hot water heater outside the cabin, just on the other side of the thin bedroom wall, wakes me up just as it’s done every morning since I started sleeping in this room. The poor thing sounds like it’s on its last leg, and if it wasn’t for the fact I really enjoy taking hot showers, I’d probably take Raze’s gun out there and put it out of its misery once and for all. But as I roll over in the bed onto my back and stare at the white popcorn ceiling, I remind myself this nightmare is almost over.

Cabin fever. I suffer from it in the most literal form. And if I wasn’t already planning on killing someone soon, I’d definitely be contemplating it after being cooped up in this cabin for the last two plus weeks. Even though I enjoy Raze’s company for the most part, and I’ve accepted the fact that not all men who live the ruthless mob lifestyle are heartless monsters like Ish and Vincent, I’m ready to return to my life . . . to Madden.