“He’s not in the system,” Samantha said, “but I’m running a facial recognition program right now. I’m comparing his image to the video we took from the traffic cameras outside the bars. If we can tag his image and link him to a car, I can trace the plate.” She exhaled slowly. “And the plate will give us a name.”

Monica pulled all the photos back. “We’re going to connect all these men, and we will find your brother.”

“Pieces of him?” The question burst out.

And Monica didn’t answer.

“We’ll find him,” Samantha’s soft voice reassured. “Don’t give up hope yet.”

He saw Dante’s gaze jump to her.

“You’ve given us a link,” Monica said. “Two victims knew each other. Maybe they all knew each other.”

“Or maybe they all knew the wrong person.” Samantha said.

James Hackley.

Monica straightened her files. “We start with Hackley and work our way out from there. He’s going to lead us to the others.”

Max’s hands flattened on the table. “You sure about that? My brother is out there, dying.”

Monica’s stare drifted to Samantha. “I understand.” And she actually sounded like she did. “Believe me, we are doing everything that we can. Stay here, okay? We might have some more photos for you to ID soon.” She rose, shoving her chair back.

Max jumped to his feet, too. “That’s it? That’s all I get to do? Look at some damn photos?”

Dante stepped forward. “Easy. We know this is a tense situation—”

“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone you care about in a killer’s hands! You don’t know what it’s like for time to trickle away while you know he’s going to die. You don’t know.”

Silence.

“I know.” Whispered from Samantha. His head whipped to the left, and Max found himself caught in her gaze. “And they know too. Believe me, they do.” Her hand lifted, and her fingertips pressed against his cheek. “We’re working 24–7. Don’t give up on us yet. You can’t give up.”

There was so much pain in her voice. “Samantha?”

“We’re getting out of here,” Samantha told him, and her voice was stronger, firmer. She fired a glance at Monica. “I read the files. I know that you talked to the bartender, Nic, at The Core. He said—he said he saw a woman with Quinlan right after Max and I left.”

“A blonde.” Monica’s gaze slid back and forth between them. “Maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. He said she had long legs and a small knife tattoo on her left shoulder.”

“He remembered her only because he remembered you.” Dante’s head was cocked as he watched them. “He said a redhead came up asking him questions, and some man with her got into a fight.”

“You all left quite an impression on him,” Monica murmured.

“After you left…” From Dante, “the bartender saw a blonde approach Quinlan.”

“We haven’t been able to find her yet, but we’ve got plainclothes officers at The Core looking for her.” Monica eased away from the table. “Thanks to Kim, we know a blonde matching her description was also seen with Adam Warrant right before he vanished.” One dark brow arched. “The same bartender remembered her.”

Too damn big of a coincidence. “She’s part of the ring?”

“We think she was the bait.” Monica curled her hands around her files. “We wondered how the men were lured out—we know roofies were used. The two men who were ransomed couldn’t remember anything about even being in the bars.”

“Memory loss is common after Rohypnol ingestion,” Dante explained. “But because of the drug, the guys couldn’t tell us who led them out.”

“Now we have a suspect, one we’re looking for and one we will find.” Ah, finally some heat in Monica’s voice.

“Yes, we will,” agreed Samantha. “Max and I are going to hit the bars tonight. You promised him that he’d be part of the investigation, and he will be.”

Well, damn.

“No more sitting on our asses. We’re in this thing.” Samantha gave the agents a curt nod. “If you need us, you can text me, but we’re not waiting anymore.” She grabbed Max’s arm and headed for the door.

“The waiting’s hard, isn’t it, Sam?” Monica questioned quietly. “It reminds you too much.”

Samantha flinched. “I don’t need reminding. Forgetting—that never happened. No matter what I did, I just couldn’t forget.”

And what the hell was she talking about?

“Let’s get out of here,” Samantha muttered. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe here.”

Max knew the feeling. He pulled open the door.

“Wait!” Monica called out. “Sam… do you—do you trust him?”

Ah, shit, there it was. His past. Sure they had all the gory details in their nice, neat files, and they just needed to throw it in his face one more time.

“Doesn’t matter,” Samantha said. “I’m with him either way.”

Not the answer that he’d wanted, but one he’d take. He stepped forward and nearly slammed into another agent. A woman. Small, delicate, with fierce green eyes.

“Come on, Max,” Samantha said, grabbing his arm. “We don’t have time to waste.”

No, they sure as hell didn’t.

• • •

Monica took a shaky breath as she watched Sam and Ridgeway hurry away.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe here.

She’d caught Sam’s words, and she’d understood. Once upon a time, Monica had felt like the world was closing in on her, too, and it had been a struggle to push back the fear.

But she’d pushed and she’d pushed and she’d walled herself off from everyone else until…

“You okay, baby?” Luke’s voice whispered from right behind her. She felt his fingers skim down her arm.

Monica turned her head, just a bit. They were in the hallway, and too many eyes were on them.

But screw the other agents. All that they would see was two agents discussing an active case. So if she wanted to spend a moment with the man she loved, then she would. “I was worried about you.” Her confession was stark.

Luke blinked, and his expression softened.

She held up her hand, stopping him before he could speak. “Since you’ve moved in with me, things are—” More intense. Deeper. “Good,” she said instead, because it was the truth. “Better than good.” She was the happiest that she could ever remember being.

He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “For me, too.”

“I’m afraid.” Her admission was hushed.

He shifted closer to her. “Of what?”

With him, she could always be honest. “Good things don’t always last long for me. My life isn’t about picket fences and happy endings. It’s not—”

“It can be,” he said, voice firm, as he cut across her words. “Your life, our life, can be anything we want.” His gaze burned with intensity. “I was going to wait on this but… dammit, I love you, Monica, and I don’t just want to live with you. I want to marry you.”

And she lost her breath.

“Dante!” Hyde’s voice cut through the hallway. “I need you to prep for the press conference. We’ve got to explain how the cops let Adam Warrant walk out of that bar. Dammit, we need Kenton Lake in here for this shit.”

But Luke didn’t move. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he told her softly. “You won’t lose me.”

And that was her fear. Ever since the Watchman case, she’d known that Luke was her weakness. When she thought about something happening to him, dark terror washed through her.

“Dante!”

She swallowed. “Go. We’ll talk—”

“Soon,” Luke promised, eyes glittering, then he walked away.

I want to marry you.

“Yes,” Monica whispered and knew that when the time was right, she’d tell Luke.

No more fear.

Frank Malone wasn’t used to being kept in the dark. And he sure as shit wasn’t used to being stuck in some eight-by-ten room while agents asked him the same damn questions over and over again.

Sweat beaded his brow, and he glared at the door. Five more minutes, five more, and he was getting out of there. The agents had been gone too long. They had already f**ked things up, and if he didn’t get his son back—

The phone on his hip vibrated. He hauled it up to his ear. “Look, I can’t talk now—”

“You’d better.” A soft whisper. Familiar.

Frank’s gaze flew to the mirror on the left-hand side of the wall.

“I know where you are, Frank.” Anger there, throbbing in that whisper. “And that makes me very, very pissed off.”

Frank swallowed. “Wh-wher—”

“Don’t talk, a**hole. Just listen. I don’t want them hearing what you say.”

Frank shut up.

“You gave me your money, every dime I wanted, but you screwed me over.”

Fear nearly choked him.

“Guess who’s going to pay for that?”

“Not—”

“Told you to shut up!”

His lips clamped together, and he turned away from the mirror, hunching his shoulders.

“Quinlan told me about you.” Low, grating.

Frank clenched his teeth.

“A real dick of a father, huh? Screwed around on his mom, his stepmom, and even screwed his girlfriend.”

Frank swiped a hand over his forehead.

“He thinks you’re gonna let him die.”

No, no, Quinlan was the only thing that he had in this world. His blood.

“I started cutting him.”

Bile rose in Frank’s throat. “D-don’t—” He bit back the word.

“He screamed, and he begged me to stop.” A soft laugh. “Your boy’s a bleeder, but you know that, don’t you?”

An image of red flashed through his mind, and his whole body shuddered. Quinlan.

“A couple more slashes with my knife, and he’ll be gone.”

“No.” Frank couldn’t hold back the whisper.

“Doesn’t seem right. I mean, you were the one who messed up the trade, not that piece of crap son you have.”

“Then take me,” he rasped.

More laughter. “You just can’t shut the hell up, can you?”

Frank’s eyes darted around the room. He had to get out of there. Had to go—

“I’ll take you. You for him, old man. A sweet trade.” Silence, then, “Is he worth that much? Is he worth your life?”

Frank turned and stared into the mirror. He saw the lines and the white hair, the age spots that dotted his skin. What did he have? After all these years, what did he have? Money, hell yes, and he’d enjoyed the shit out of his fortune, but…

Alone.

Ever since Katie had died, he’d been so alone. Even the pills couldn’t ease the ache inside him.

The only thing I have…

Quinlan.

So the answer, the only answer he had was, “Yes.”

“Then get out of there, bastard. Get away from those agents, and I’ll trade your son for your life.”

A soft click sounded in his ear. He stared in the mirror. Had they seen? They couldn’t know. They couldn’t.

He lifted his chin. He was Fuck ’em Frank. He could do anything that he wanted.

Frank shoved out of his chair and marched to the door. He grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. Not a prisoner. No one could hold him, never could. Once outside, phones rang. Voices buzzed. His shoes slapped against the tiled floor.

“Wait, Mr. Malone!” The agent, Kim Daniels, called his name. “There’s something I need to tell—”

He glanced over his shoulder, barely sparing her a glance. “I’m getting some air.” He hurried his steps, all too aware of the slight weight of his phone in his front pocket.

“Then I’ll come with you.” Ramirez appeared at the corner. That agent could move so quietly.

Frank glared at him. “The hell you are. Get out of my way. I want out of here.”

“Frank?” Max’s voice. His stepson hurried toward him. “What’s going on?”

Damn but that man favored his mother. Looking at him hurt. Because he could stare into Katie’s eyes. He’d let her down. When she’d found him in bed with Beth… didn’t mean anything to me. Shit, why, why had I done it? He still couldn’t remember why he’d crawled into her bed the first time. Couldn’t remember crawling there because he’d been so drunk. He just remembered waking and realizing that he’d screwed up.

Then the cancer had started eating away at Katie. It had touched her, and she’d never let him touch her again.

Gone.

Everything, gone.

Not Quinlan. Not yet.

“These a**holes have messed up the case.” Frank jerked his thumb toward the agents. “I’m getting out of here. Going back home. Maybe—maybe Quinlan will contact me there.” Fuck ’em. You can do this. Don’t let them see…

“Sir, it’s not safe for you to—” Kim began.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“They tried to kill you,” Ramirez said, his voice flat. “Until this is over, you’re not safe.”