Chapter 18
Reed stood in the cramped living room of the FBI safe house, watching Terrel make final adjustments to the listening device concealed in Elena’s hair clip.
They’d flown into Los Angeles that morning on one of STAR Enterprises’ private jets, landing at a small airfield in Van Nuys where Agent Quinn had arranged ground transportation.
The safe house was a nondescript bungalow in a quiet neighborhood east of downtown—close enough to La Prince restaurant for rapid response, far enough to avoid detection by any surveillance Webb might have in place.
“Hold still,” Terrel murmured, his fingers working with delicate precision. “Almost got it.”
Elena sat motionless in a wooden chair, her dark hair swept up in an elegant twist that would look perfectly natural at an upscale restaurant.
The hair clip securing it—a simple gold design with small crystals—contained technology worth more than most cars.
Terrel had spent the better part of an hour calibrating the miniature transmitter, testing its range and clarity until he was satisfied.
“There.” Terrel stepped back, admiring his work. “You can’t even detect it. I ran it through three different scanning protocols, and it reads as nothing more than decorative metal and glass.”
Walker leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “Webb will have his people sweep her the moment she walks in. You’re sure this will pass?”
“Positive.” Terrel pulled out his tablet and tapped a few commands. “The transmitter uses a frequency that standard detection equipment won’t pick up. It’s the same technology we developed for the Kimura operation last year.”
Reed remembered that operation—a corporate espionage case that had required them to plant listening devices in a Tokyo boardroom protected by some of the most sophisticated counter-surveillance equipment in the world. If Terrel’s tech had fooled that system, it would fool Webb’s people.
Not that it made Reed feel any better about sending Elena into the lion’s den.
“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” Vince said, spreading a map of the area around La Prince across the coffee table.
The restaurant occupied the ground floor of a renovated building in the Arts District, surrounded by galleries, boutique shops, and converted loft apartments.
“We’ve got plainclothes officers positioned here, here, and here.
” He pointed to three locations on the map.
“Plus, unmarked vehicles at both ends of the block.”
James studied the layout, his injured shoulder still held carefully against his body. “That’s a lot of coverage. Webb’s going to be looking for exactly this kind of setup.”
“He’ll be anticipating it,” Elena agreed, rising from her chair and moving to examine the map.
She was wearing a simple black dress that Reed had watched her choose that morning—elegant enough for an upscale restaurant, practical enough to allow freedom of movement if things went sideways.
“Webb knows I’m not stupid enough to walk in without backup.
He’ll have his own people scanning the perimeter, looking for anyone who seems out of place. ”
“Which is why we’re staying back until you give the signal,” Reed said. “You go in, you make the proposal, you leave. The moment you’re clear of the building, we move in and take Webb before he can disappear again.”
Vince nodded. “LAPD tactical teams will seal off both exits. FBI agents will handle the arrest inside. By the time Webb realizes what’s happening, he’ll be in handcuffs.”
“What about his security team?” Walker asked. “Elena identified at least three men inside, probably more outside.”
“We’ll have overwhelming numbers,” Vince replied. “Webb’s people are good, but they’re not going to start a firefight in a crowded restaurant when they’re outgunned ten to one. They’ll stand down.”
Reed wished he shared Vince’s confidence. Webb was unpredictable, desperate, and had nothing left to lose. Men like that didn’t always make rational decisions.
“The key is timing,” Vince continued, looking at Elena. “You need to keep Webb engaged long enough for our teams to get into position, but not so long that he gets suspicious and bolts. Make your proposal, let him think about it, then excuse yourself. Once you’re outside, we move.”
“And if something goes wrong inside?” Elena asked quietly.
“Then you use the safe word and we come in early.” Reed’s voice was harder than he intended. “But nothing will go wrong. You’re going to walk in, deliver your lines, and walk out. Simple.”
Elena met his gaze, and Reed saw something flicker in her eyes—determination, maybe, or resolve. She nodded once, but there was a set to her jaw that made him uneasy.
“Local law enforcement knows the score,” Vince added. “If we give the signal, they’ll lock down a three-block radius within ninety seconds. Webb’s not getting away this time.”
Lord, Reed found himself praying—the habit coming more naturally now than it had in years—please protect her. Please bring her back to me.
The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness.
They reviewed the plan three more times, ran communication checks, and studied the restaurant’s layout until Reed could have navigated it blindfolded.
Elena remained calm throughout, her focus sharp and steady in a way that reminded him of the capable person she was.
At six-thirty, she began her final preparations.
Reed watched her check the small Glock 43 that would be strapped to her thigh beneath the dress, a last resort if everything else failed.
She moved through the routine with practiced efficiency, and Reed felt a surge of pride mixed with terror at the woman she’d become.
“It’s time,” Vince announced, checking his watch.
Elena turned to face the room, and for a moment, no one spoke. James and Terrel wore matching expressions of grim determination. Walker gave her a single nod of respect, while Vince was already reaching for his communications equipment.
Reed crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, not caring that his brothers were watching. He held her tight, memorizing the feel of her against his chest, the scent of her hair, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
“Come back to me,” he murmured against her ear.
“I will.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I have a proposal to reject, remember?”
Despite everything, Reed laughed. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Never.” She kissed him once, quick and fierce, then stepped away. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
And then she was gone, walking out the door and into the fading evening light, leaving Reed with nothing to do but wait and pray.
The audio feed crackled to life in Reed’s earpiece as Elena entered La Prince.
“I’m inside.” Her voice came through, soft but clear. “The hostess is seating me now.”
Reed stood in the back of a surveillance van parked two blocks from the restaurant, surrounded by monitors and communications equipment.
Vince sat at the main console, headphones pressed to his ears, while Walker and James monitored the camera feeds from the plainclothes officers positioned around the perimeter.
Terrel had tapped into the restaurant’s internal security system—a feat that had taken him less than ten minutes—and now they had eyes on the main dining room, the bar, and both exits.
Reed watched Elena appear on one of the screens, following a hostess in a sleek black dress toward a table near the back of the restaurant.
“Table for two, near the rear wall,” Elena reported quietly, her lips barely moving as she spoke. “Clear sightlines to the main entrance and the kitchen. Webb chose well.”
“Any sign of him?” Vince asked.
“Not yet. But there are three men at the bar who are trying very hard to look casual. Probably Webb’s advance team.”
Reed studied the camera feed, noting the men Elena had identified.
They were good—expensive suits, relaxed postures, drinks in hand—but there was something about the way they held themselves that screamed professional security.
Former military, probably, or private contractors.
The kind of men who could clear a room in thirty seconds if given the order.
“We’ve got eyes on them,” Walker confirmed. “If they move, we’ll know.”
Elena settled into her chair and accepted a menu from the hostess, playing her role perfectly. To anyone watching, she was simply a beautiful woman waiting for her dinner companion—perhaps a little nervous, perhaps a little excited, but nothing that would raise suspicion.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Reed’s jaw ached from clenching, and he forced himself to relax.
Then the front door opened, and Marcus Webb walked in.
Reed’s hands curled into fists as he watched the man who had destroyed Elena’s life stroll through the restaurant like he owned it.
Webb had cleaned up since the surveillance photos in L.A.
—his silver hair was immaculately styled, his suit perfectly tailored, his expression radiating the kind of confident charm that had fooled many people over the years.
But Reed could see the cracks underneath. The tension around Webb’s eyes. The slight twitch in his jaw as he scanned the room. The way his hand brushed against his jacket, checking for the weapon that was almost certainly concealed there.
Webb spotted Elena and smiled—a predator’s smile, all teeth and no warmth—before making his way to her table.
“Elena.” His voice came through the audio feed, smooth and cultured. “You look well.”
“Marcus.” Elena’s voice was steady, betraying none of the fear Reed knew she must be feeling. “You look tired.”
Webb laughed as he settled into the chair across from her. “Straight to the point. I always appreciated that about you.” He signaled a passing waiter. “Whiskey, neat. And whatever the lady is having.”
“Just water for me,” Elena said.