“Okay,” she replies, her voice easy and relaxed. I think the prospect of this all being over soon—at least to her—has put her mind at ease. I hate that she’s got no clue what’s about to go down, and I can only hope my Jameson mates are in position to follow.

  “I love you, JJ.”

  “Love you too,” she chirps. “Call me once you’re settled.”

  “Will do.” It’s hard to choke out the lie, but I do and disconnect the call.

  I quickly shoot a text to Kynan: They’re here.

  Shoving my phone in my pocket, I open the car door. By the time I unfold my body, the men have reached me. I don’t even pretend to be shocked they’re here. I recognize one of the men who approached me and Jess that day at her house—the one I didn’t shoot.

  “You need to come with us,” he says, holding a hand at the edge of his jacket, a silent indication he has a gun. “You can do it the easy way, or the hard way.”

  “Gonna have to be the hard way,” I say, knowing that every minute I can buy is going to give the team time to assimilate. I don’t wait for them to make the move, doing my father’s patented bulldozer move. Lowering my shoulder, I plow into the nearest man. He grunts as I catch him off guard just below his sternum. He flies to the pavement.

  I turn to face the next attacker, but four on one are not good fighting odds. I might be built like a tank, have a good year of training in martial arts, and one of the bad guys is on the ground, but I can’t fend off the other three who jump me all at once. I catch a fist to my jaw, my head ringing. Two of the men grab my arms and then there’s another fist to my gut. I tighten my abs, but it still knocks the breath clean out of me.

  I struggle to throw them off, but it’s useless. The Russian I’d sent to the pavement stands up, and he’s seriously pissed. I pay for what I did to him with an elbow to the side of my head, and my vision goes fuzzy.

  I do not yell for help because I want to be taken. I also don’t want any innocent bystanders to intervene. Although I put up a struggle, I don’t fight too hard. I want in that car and I want to be taken to Borovsky.

  Dragging me toward their large sedan, the men speak in Russian. The trunk opens and before they shove me in, they pat me down. My phone gets thrown to the pavement and crushed under a stomping foot. My wrist watch is torn off.

  I hold my breath, hoping those are the only things they want to take. If my shirt goes, then my only hope is that the Jameson crew is able to follow these guys wherever they’re taking me.

  If they lose me, I’m as good as dead.

  There’s another elbow to my temple, and I pitch forward over the open trunk. My arms are wrenched backward and a zip tie goes over my wrists, pulled tight and biting hard. Multiple hands are on me, shoving me in even as I try to fight against them. I don’t want them to think this is a setup, but also the thought of being in that trunk scares the shit out of me. I’m slightly claustrophobic, and I’m a big guy.

  There’s another punch, this time a hammer fist to my cheek, and the fight goes out of me. I fold like a lawn chair and am shoved in hard before the trunk slams closed, rendering the world around me pitch-black.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jessica

  After talking to Dozer, I take a quick shower to get rid of the sweat from my run. I then change into shorts, a T-shirt, and summer sandals and head down to the kitchen, from which a delicious aroma wafts toward me. It’s amusing to find the hulking former professional football player not only in the kitchen cooking but wearing an apron. Granted, it’s a manly apron that says This Shit Is Going to Be Delicious, but it’s an apron all the same.

  Pulling a casserole dish from the oven, James sets it on a trivet and takes off the oven mitts. “Let that cool about ten minutes, and it will be ready to serve up.”

  I lean across the counter and give it a deeper sniff. “Smells delicious. What is it?”

  James shrugs. “Just a little something I whipped together with chicken breasts, Boursin cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and artichokes. No clue how it will taste.”

  Laughing, I sit down on the stool, crossing my forearms on the counter. “Everything you’ve cooked the last few days has been gourmet. I may not ever leave here.”

  James chuckles. “Well, this place is so big, I have enough room for you, Dozer, Claire, and little Thea if you all wanted to move in with me.”

  I smile at the man I’ve gotten to know well over the last couple of days. There’s a wistful tone in his offer, and I know he’s not saying it to be cute and funny. He would love for us to move in because I’ve learned that he is lonely. He’s surrounded by muscled friends every day, and yet, he’s very much alone.

  James’s marriage with Dozer’s mom didn’t work out, and he never had another committed relationship after that. Without giving explicit details, he told me the other night after dinner that his wild partying days and chasing women were long over, and I believe him. More than anything, I think he regrets not fostering a closer relationship with Dozer over the years, which has led to much of his loneliness.

  “I really want to thank you, James, for letting me stay here.”

  “Please, girl,” he says with a wave of his hand. He rests his forearms on the kitchen counter opposite me, leaning forward. “It’s been a pleasure having you in the house. Bebe, too, although we haven’t seen much of her.”

  “She doesn’t come out of work mode often. When I was at the Jameson headquarters, she rarely came out of the lab.”

  “Well, here’s hoping the smell of my food gets her downstairs.”

  “I’ll take her a plate if not,” I say, laughing. I’ve done it for more than one meal since we’ve been here.

  “Have you talked to Dozer lately?” James asks.

  He’s been careful not to reach out to his son directly because he knows he’s under immense pressure and doesn’t want to add to it. I found out not long after we arrived that James had no clue what the game plan was—to dangle Dozer as bait. He was mad and worried, but he also respects Dozer’s decision.

  So rather, James has me relay messages to his son—“Be careful,” “I’m proud of you.” It’s super sweet and when I do share his messages, I can tell Dozer appreciates them. He’ll often ask me to offer something back, like, “When this is all over, we’re going to have to pound some beers together” or “I’ll need a ride on that fancy boat of yours.”

  It’s a conversation back and forth, delivered through me, that indicates their relationship is on the mend.

  “He called about forty-five minutes ago. Said he’ll call later once he gets some food and settles into his hotel room.”

  James straightens. “Would you like some wine with dinner?”

  I incline my head. “Why, yes, sir. A glass of wine would be lovely.”

  James turns to the refrigerator. “I’ve got a really nice chardonnay that will go perfect with this meal.”

  The doorbell rings, though it’s not your classic doorbell. A mansion this size requires something strong and fitting. When it goes off, it sounds like Asian gongs reverberating through the house.

  Neither I nor James move for the front door—one of his men has been stationed there since Bebe and I arrived. Because of the threat level, they’ve been openly wearing guns in either hip or chest holsters, and I’m grateful for it.

  James works on uncorking the bottle, and I move to the butler’s nook where cocktail and wineglasses are kept. I pull three down on the off chance we can entice Bebe to join us.

  When I turn around, I’m shocked to see Kynan walking into the kitchen. The look on his face … The most intense fear I’ve ever had floods through me, and one of the glasses slips out of my hand, shattering on the tile floor.

  James whirls toward me. “Are you okay?”

  My gaze is frozen on Kynan, and James looks that way.

  “Am I going to be okay?” I ask in the barest of whispers, the question directed to Kynan. I can tell he’s here with bad news.

  He doesn’t hesitate. Rips the Band-Aid off. “They took Dozer.”

  “Oh God,” I moan and feel myself start to sag.

  James is there in a heartbeat, arm around my waist and plucking the other wineglasses from my hands to set them on the counter. He leads me backward, away from the shards on the floor, into the living room. Kynan follows. James settles me into a chair, and I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

  But before I let them fall, I swallow hard and brace not for the worst news, but for whatever bit of hope I can glean from what Kynan’s about to share.

  Bebe comes flying down the stairs, sliding into the room, panic on her face. She looks wildly at Kynan and says, “I just got your text. What’s going on?”

  He nods toward the couch where I’m sitting. “Better take a seat.”

  Bebe snarls in anger. “Don’t try to fucking handle me. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  Kynan doesn’t blink in offense over her harsh words. He looks back to me, then James who stands beside me, his big hand on my shoulder for comfort. “They were waiting for him in the hotel parking lot. Jackson and Cage were there and watched it go down. There was a scuffle, but Dozer was unharmed when they put him in the trunk.”

  “Oh God,” I moan, my hand fluttering near my throat. “We were just on the phone when he pulled into the parking lot.”

  “You say unharmed, but there was a scuffle,” James says, needing more details.

  “Fists were thrown. Dozer got some licks in, but it was four against one.”

  “Tell me you were able to follow the signal,” Bebe demands, her mind already propelled toward sending in the cavalry for a rescue.

  Kynan’s eyes swing her way, but his expression is grim. “Yes. For a bit, but we’ve lost it.”

  “What?” Bebe exclaims.

  “They took his watch and phone from him before they left the parking lot. The tracking chip in his clothing worked fine. We followed it all the way to Coral Gables where the vehicle pulled into a gated community about fifteen minutes from here. Jackson and Cage couldn’t follow beyond the gate, but the signal was strong. Unfortunately, it went dark while the vehicle was still moving, so we don’t know where it stopped.”

  My head flits back and forth between Bebe and Kynan. “What does that mean? Dark?”

  “It means the signal is either not transmitting or the receiver is not receiving. Where is the receiver?” Bebe demands.

  “They’re still waiting outside the neighborhood. I came here to pick you up so you can look at the equipment.”

  “Let me grab my computer.” She dashes from the room.

  “Why aren’t the police or FBI going in right now to get him?” I ask, desperate for some type of proactive movement.

  “You know that’s not the plan, Jess,” Kynan reminds me gently. “We need time to make sure Borovsky is there.”

  “We can’t know that.” My voice is almost hysterical. “And he could be there already, torturing Dozer.”

  “Who is tough and determined and can handle this.” Kynan’s gaze is unwavering, his tone firm. “I’m not ready to pull the plug because Dozer wouldn’t want me to.”

  I stand from the couch. “I’m going with you.”

  “You’re really not,” Kynan replies briskly.

  “We’re both going with you,” James says. “And don’t try to dissuade.”

  For the next minute, Kynan and James bicker. James threatens to follow in his own car, and Kynan threatens to have his men forcibly stopped. James tells him he’d like to see him try and cracks his knuckles like a caveman.

  Bebe flies back into the room with her equipment bag and scolds, “Stop arguing. Let’s go.”

  Kynan’s eyes flash with anger, but he relents, pointing first to James, then me. “You’re both going to stay in the car when we get there.”

  “Fine,” I snap and move toward the front door. Everyone follows me out to Kynan’s vehicle.

  James and I take the back and Bebe is in front, already clacking away on her laptop when we pull out.

  As we’re exiting the driveway, Dozer’s dad reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a quick squeeze before releasing it again. It comforts me, and I reach back for his hand, gripping it.

  “I’ve pinged the receiver, and it seems to be functioning,” Bebe says.

  “Did the chip malfunction?” I ask.

  She glares over her shoulder at me. “Of course it didn’t malfunction.”

  I give her an apologetic look.

  “They either have a jammer set up, or they found it with a wand and destroyed it. I’m thinking a jammer since it went dark not long after pulling into that neighborhood while the car was still moving. But I’d guess that jammer was in a house fairly close by.”

  “How close?” Kynan asks.

  “Three square blocks?” she guesses. “Maybe more.”

  “That’s a lot of houses,” Kynan muses.

  “I’m guessing going door to door posing as vacuum cleaner salesmen isn’t going to work,” James says.

  “And it won’t work for the police to knock on doors. They have absolutely no probable cause to enter any particular home unless the vehicle Borovsky’s men were in is parked outside, and we know damn well they’re not that stupid. If I had to guess, I’d say the jammer is in the house, not because they were expecting Dozer to be bugged, but as a general protection against eavesdropping by the police.”

  “In other words,” I conclude, “that house belongs to someone in the criminal organization.”

  “Maybe. It’s a very high-end neighborhood, so it probably belongs to someone high up in the chain,” Bebe muses. “Or it could simply be a house they broke into because the owners are away somewhere, and they brought a jammer with them. The FBI can work those angles.”

  “Jess.” Kynan glances in the rearview mirror at me. “Did you meet many of Borovsky’s friends when you were dating him?”

  “Not a lot, but we went out to dinner with some. Met some at nightclubs. A few dinner parties. None who lived in this area, though.”

  “That’s okay,” Kynan says thoughtfully. “Bebe… can you get pictures of the owners of these houses?”

  Bebe turns to look at him. “You know I hacked our country’s nuclear codes.”

  “Sorry,” Kynan replies with a sheepish smile. “Get on those pictures. And maybe tap the security cameras around the area. We’ll have Jess look at photos to see if she can identify anyone she’s met before.”

  That’s brilliant. That seems like it would take a lot of time, but Bebe is a wizard when it comes to getting things she shouldn’t.

  Kynan picks up his phone, eyes moving from the road to the screen, and taps in a number. It comes through the Bluetooth speakers, and I recognize Malik’s voice when he answers. “What do you need?”

  “Go to the SAC and have him give you the list of informants they’ve been dealing with. You go to them directly. Offer $100,000 for viable information to find Dozer.”

  “On it,” he says and disconnects.

  “SAC?” James asks.

  “Special agent in charge,” Kynan explains. “The informants are tapped out, but it could be they just need their lips loosened. They’re often not as forthcoming with law enforcement as they would be with someone like Malik, who is a civilian flashing money. He’ll also ask them if they know who lives in this neighborhood.”

  I let out a heaving sigh. So much has happened in the last five minutes, my head is spinning.

  “We’ve got resources,” Kynan says, and I realize he’s talking to me again. Our eyes connect briefly in the rearview mirror. “We’re getting Dozer back safe and sound, I promise.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Dozer

  I’m roughly pulled from the car, just enough to get me over the lip of the trunk, and then they let me fall to the concrete. I land on my right side, pain shooting through my shoulder. The oil stains tell me I’m in a garage.

  I’m hauled up by two men and walked into a house that, at first glance, rivals my dad’s. Huge with massive, vaulted ceilings, done in classic Mediterranean style with stuccoed walls, ceramic-tile floors, and arched entryways. Whoever lives here has exquisite taste in furniture and art, although I don’t make those observations out of appreciation. I memorize details in case I need them later.

  Like right there… arched glass windows overlooking a rectangular pool, illuminated in the dark with landscape lighting, and a guest cottage at the other end. That’s an identifying feature of the house and possibly my location, although not sure how I’d ever get that info to the Jameson guys. I have to hope that the chip in my clothing is emitting a traceable signal since these goons took my watch and phone.

  For now, it’s actually a good sign they did take my watch and phone. It means they suspected I might be bugged, but they didn’t take the time to determine for sure—merely tossed those items in the lot and efficiently abducted me.

  We walk through a gourmet kitchen to a formal living area that’s about five times the size of my own, and I deduce by the luxury we must be in the home of someone high up in the Russian Mafia food chain. From what I remember about Ivan Borovsky’s trial, he was mid-level, related to a few of the higher-ups, and often used for “wet work”—i.e., murder. Perhaps whoever owns this home owes him some pretty big favors for the things he’s done. Borovsky was never interested in naming the person who ordered the hit on that family he murdered, so he’s owed a huge favor, I’m sure.

  I make a show of struggling as they walk me through the main floor. Not that I want to bolt or get away. I couldn’t with four of them, one of me, and my hands still zip-tied. What I hope is that wherever they’re taking me, there’s one Ivan Borovsky and that the Jameson cavalry isn’t far behind.

  There is no way for Jameson to know what’s happening right now. We have tech that would’ve allowed them to listen in, but nothing that was so easily camouflaged or hidden as the tracking chip. And if they had found such on me, that might have scared Borovsky away. The plan was for me to get captured and wait an appropriate length of time for Borovsky to make his way to me, or if he’s here, to give him some time to work on me. The consensus was he won’t be in for a quick kill but will want to torture Jess’s whereabouts from me. While that is something I’m absolutely not looking forward to, I’ll die before I give her up. If there’s a bit of pain in exchange for a safe, quiet life, I’m ready for it.