“There!” Brodie yelled because he’d just caught sight of the car. At least, he thought that was the car. Driving hell fast, no license plate on the back. I’m coming, Jennifer.

“He said...he said you were getting shot—that Shayne was turning on you.”

Brodie couldn’t think of Shayne’s betrayal right then. “Go faster!” He’d left his old friend behind because he’d been so worried about Jennifer.

The sedan screeched around a corner.

Davis surged after them, but a taxi turned right in front of them. Davis yelled and jerked the wheel hard, narrowly avoiding that taxi. Then he pounded on the horn. “Get out of the way!” Davis shouted.

The driver shouted back and slowly moved. Moved too slowly. Because by the time they rounded that corner, there was no sign of the sedan.

The road to the left was empty.

The road to the right was littered with a few cars—only none of them were sedans.

“Which way?” Davis demanded.

Brodie stared down those roads. “Right.” Because it would have been easier for the jerk to blend and vanish in that bit of traffic. “They went right.”

Davis spun the wheel, and they gave chase again.

* * *

STEPHEN DRAGGED HER out of the car. He’d taken her into an old garage, one a few yards off the road. She could hear the buzz of traffic around her.

“They’re not going to find you. They’ll just drive past us.” His hand locked around her side, right over the bullet wound. “By the time anyone finds you, it will be too late.”

He yanked her forward, and she realized he’d been staying there—in that abandoned garage. Because there were supplies inside. Glowing lanterns. Rope. Handcuffs. Knives.

This is where he’ll kill me.

He pushed her into a chair, tied her legs to the wood. Yanked her arms behind her back and handcuffed her so tightly that she had to choke back a cry of pain.

Then he crouched before her, putting his face right in front of hers. It was her first time seeing him clearly, and Jennifer gasped.

This wasn’t the man she remembered. Gone was the handsome, suave businessman who’d lied so easily as he destroyed lives.

His face was haggard, his eyes wild. His hair had been shaved, a buzz cut that made him look even deadlier.

And...there were scars on his face. A slash on his cheekbone. A long, thick line on his throat. His nose had been broken—by the looks of things, at least a few times.

“Kill or be killed... That was the law where you sent me.”

“I was doing my job! You were selling drugs, weapons!”

“The Russian mob thought I’d betrayed them. They couldn’t figure out how the authorities had gotten all that intel. They didn’t know about you.”

He put the gun on the floor.

“I knew about you, though. I put the pieces together. There were a few people—so damn few—who were still loyal to me.” He caught her chin in his hand to force her to keep staring into his eyes. “I got one of those men to keep watch on you. He was my eyes, when I couldn’t be there to see you for myself. He followed you, noticed the pattern. Wherever you and your dear old dad went, arrests seemed to follow you.”

“Stop blaming me!” she yelled at him. “You were the one selling the weapons. You were the one making the drugs. You were—”

His fingers dug into her skin. “If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t have gone to hell. Because that’s what that Russian prison was...hell. Every day was a battle. The attacks never stopped. At one point, I even wanted to die.” He smiled. “Then I realized...I couldn’t. Not yet. Because somewhere, you were out there. And you had to pay for what you’d done to me.”

He freed her. Rose to his feet. Stalked away.

She twisted her wrists, struggling against the cuffs.

“Once I got out, it was easy enough to track you down. Getting out—that took some time.”

“You faked your death.”

He laughed, the sound rough. “Guess that was something Nate and I had in common.”

Nate. The pain in her heart was worse than the throbbing burn of her bullet wound. “You went after Nate. You killed his wife!”

Stephen glanced back at her, surprise rippling over his face. “Is that what he told you? Oh, I see... He probably spun some bull about me killing the old broad because that made it look like he had to turn on you.” He laughed again, the sound seeming to echo around them. “That woman is dead, all right, but not by my hand. Nate got bored. He got tired of living an ordinary life.”

Jennifer shook her head. “No, you’re—”

“I planned to kill him. I mean, he was helping you back in Russia, wasn’t he? But I thought I’d use him first. So I just offered him money. Money to help me get to you. Told him that when you were cold in the ground, he’d get a big payday.”

Her wrists twisted inside the cuffs.

“He’d gone from living like a billionaire to living on a clipping-coupons budget. He jumped at the chance to turn on you.”

She swallowed. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.” He turned his back. Kept walking. “Cling to your delusions if that makes you feel better. If you’d rather he turned on you because he was facing his own death—go right ahead.” He stopped near a table and picked up a gleaming knife. “But the truth is this... He didn’t care about you. No one has ever cared. You’re disposable. To the government. To Nate.”

Each word seemed to stab into her.

“You wrecked lives, and now, it’s your turn to suffer.”

The hell it was.

He advanced on her.

“I saved lives!” Jennifer shouted at him as she lifted her chin. “Innocent lives. Women and children in France. Refugees in the Middle East. Orphans in Russia. Yeah—the same orphans you were trying to use as drug mules.” Her breath rushed out. “I put away criminals. Men like you who deserved to be behind bars. So spin me your lies about how I messed up your life, if that’s what you have to believe, but the truth is...” Her chest heaved. “The truth is that you destroyed yourself long before I ever came along.”

He held her stare a moment longer. Then he glanced down at the blade in his hand.

* * *

THE YOUNG COP was dead. Shayne Townsend gazed at Randy Mullins. The rookie had been so excited about his job. So eager to help.

“What happened here?”

Shayne looked over his shoulder and saw Grant McGuire pushing his way through the small crowd that had gathered on the street.

Grant saw him and shouted, “Shayne! Shayne, where is Brodie?”

Shayne turned away from the sight of that still cop. His death is on me. He hadn’t intended for the man to get hurt. There were so many things he hadn’t intended. He strode toward Grant. “I’m sorry.”

Grant blanched. “No, not Brodie—”

“He’s not here. Jennifer was taken, and Brodie went after her.”

Grant spun away, but Shayne grabbed his shoulder before he could leave. “I...I haven’t been...the friend you thought.” Once, he and Grant had been so very close.

Once.

“Shayne?” Now there was suspicion in Grant’s voice. On his face.

Shayne swallowed and said, “Call Brodie. Tell him...Fifteen-seventy-eight Ridgeway. That’s where he’ll find the man he’s looking for.” He flashed his friend a tired smile. “If I don’t find him first.”

Because he wasn’t going to have Jennifer Wesley’s blood on his hands. He wasn’t going to hurt the McGuires again.

His career was over. The lies...the secrets...they were all about to come out into the open.

* * *

BRODIE’S PHONE RANG, vibrating in his pocket. He yanked it up, saw the name on the screen, then shoved the phone against his ear. “Grant, the guy has Jennifer! We lost them and I need you to—”

“Fifteen-seventy-eight Ridgeway.”

“What?”

“Shayne said you needed to get there. He’s on his way, too, and as soon as these cops get out of my way—” anger roughened Grant’s voice “—I’ll be en route.”