After The Mask Falls (The Mask Duet #2)

ONE

JULIAN

The security room at NexaCore smells like hot plastic and burning electronics from the monitors. On the center screen, the video feed rolls. The blue glare strikes my eyes until they burn. The footage plays on. Then, my eyes lock onto a tiny shape on the man who grabbed Olivia.

“Stop. There, right there,” I say to the security officer, my finger hitting the glass of the monitor.

“Zoom in on his wrist.”

The screen freezes and he zooms in.

Now I see it clear as day.

Custom monogrammed gold and silver cufflinks. Square. Two initials cut straight into the metal: K.W.

My breath catches mid-inhale. My shoulders snap rigid. I slam both palms flat against the desk to stay upright as the room tilts. I know those cufflinks.

It can’t be. I must be wrong. Anyone can have K.W. on their sleeves.

No. It’s not him. He’s, my friend. He wouldn’t touch Olivia.

But my eyes don’t lie. Those are his cufflinks. Silver with gold lettering.

I watched him fix them after we had lunch the other day. He was so adamant that I talk to Olivia and tell her who I really am. I’m sure he was hoping she would kick me to the curb and never talk to me again.

That bastard, pretending to be my friend. For two years, the man wearing them sat across from me. He laughed at my jokes. He pretended to be my brother. Why? Why would he stab me in the back like this?

“Marcus, get me everything we have on him.”

Marcus nods. His fingers slam across the keyboard, tearing through the data.

I whip around, turning my back on the screen. My handshakes slightly as I pull out my phone and dial Reyes.

“Reyes,” I say the second the line clicks. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache, forcing my voice to stay level. “I know who took Olivia.”

Silence drops on the line.

“Kieran Walsh.” Saying his name aloud tastes like ash. My stomach turns sick. It feels like a blade driving straight between my ribs.

I shout out every piece of data Marcus rips from the NexaCore servers. His high-level security credentials. His server access logs. The address to a vacant warehouse in Red Hook, cross-referenced from his company keycard pings.

I storm into the elevator and smash the button for the lobby.

“There are eleven separate incidents,” I tell her as the metal doors slide shut.

Reyes’s voice cuts to static for a split second, then snaps back.

“Eleven times Olivia’s phone flagged an alert for a rogue tracker following her.

Marcus just cross-referenced the timestamps.

Every single time she was stalked, the automated location data for Kieran’s ID card goes dark. ”

“Blackouts he made himself,” Reyes snaps over the line. “He built your internal tracking software.”

“He built everything. He wiped his own digital footprint to hide where he went, but the blank spaces he left behind match her stalker’s timeline second for second.”

I kill the call as the elevator hits the ground floor. The doors slide open to an empty lobby. The polished floor reflects the harsh overhead lights. I march past the security desk without looking at the guard. I shove through the heavy glass doors and hit the humid night air.

The night air is thick with the smell of rotten river water and oncoming rain. I force my mind to go blank. If I let the weight of his betrayal hit me right now, my knees will buckle before I even reach the car.

The drive to Red Hook takes twenty minutes. I park the SUV half a block down, killing the headlights to hide in the dark street.

Outside, the tactical team moves like shadows toward the warehouse.

Their flashlight beams slice through the broken upper windows, cutting yellow lines into the gloom.

I squeeze the steering wheel until the leather groans under my palms. My knuckles turn white, but I stay inside.

Reyes told me to keep back. She’s right.

Getting caught in a crossfire or tripping up a panicked cop doesn’t help Olivia.

I turn off the ignition. The sudden silence slams into my chest heavy and suffocating. The only sound left is the sharp, metallic tick of the cooling engine.

She has to be alive. She has to be.

Through the windshield, the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers pulse across the dashboard, cutting through the dark over and over.

I keep my hands locked onto the wheel, my muscles locking up as I fight the urge to move. Later, when the building is secure and the sirens go silent, I will let myself break. Not now. Not until she’s safe in my arms again.