Chapter 21 Alexi
ALEXI
The line goes dead.
“IRIS!”
I’m already moving, shoving my laptop aside. It crashes to the floor, but I don’t care. Nikolai’s on his feet, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders.
“Dmitri, Erik—with me. Now.”
We thunder down the stairs. No time for the elevator. My mind fragments into a thousand calculations, each one leading nowhere good. Federal operatives. Armed entry. Panic room breached.
How long since the call? Three minutes. Five at most.
Too long.
The SUV’s engine roars to life before I reach it. Erik behind the wheel, Dmitri riding shotgun. I dive into the back seat as Nikolai slides in beside me.
“Go!”
Tires shriek against pavement. Erik cuts through traffic like he’s running a heist, not racing to save—
Don’t think it. Can’t think it.
My phone vibrates. The emergency beacon Iris was activated before they took her. GPS coordinates flash across the screen, triangulated through three different satellites.
Her apartment. Still there.
“Faster.”
“We’re doing ninety in a residential zone,” Erik snaps.
“Then do a hundred.”
Nikolai’s already on the phone with our contacts. “We need eyes on Commonwealth Avenue. Federal plates, black SUVs, anything suspicious in the last ten minutes.”
The city blurs past. Every red light that Erik stops at feels like an eternity wasted.
Morrison. Sentinel Operations. Project fucking Nightshade.
I should have locked her in my penthouse. Should have refused to let her leave. Should have—
The SUV screeches to a halt outside her building.
The front door hangs open; the lock mechanism is shattered. No vehicles. No operatives. Nothing but broken glass glinting on the sidewalk.
I’m out before the engine stops, taking the stairs three at a time. Dmitri and Erik flank me, weapons drawn. Nikolai brings up the rear, still coordinating on his phone.
Her apartment door’s been kicked in. The frame’s splintered, hanging by one twisted hinge.
“Clear the rooms,” Nikolai orders.
But I know what we’ll find.
Nothing.
The living room looks like a war zone. Furniture overturned, electronics destroyed. Her beautiful server setup—the one she built with such precision—was torn apart and scattered across the floor like electronic entrails.
The panic room door’s a twisted wreck. They used industrial cutting equipment. Professional. Fast. Military-grade operation.
They took Maya, too.
“Alexi.” Dmitri emerges from the bedroom, face grim. “You need to see this.”
I follow him to where the burner phone lies half-hidden under the couch. Still connected to my number.
They wanted me to hear.
“Fuck!” I kick the coffee table. It splinters against the wall. “FUCK!”
“We’ll find her.” Nikolai’s hand lands on my shoulder. “We have resources—”
“Government resources.” I round on him. “They took her into federal custody. You understand what that means? No warrants. No records. No fucking trail.”
“Then we make our own trail.”
“How?” The word tears out of me. “She’s the best hacker I’ve ever seen, and they still grabbed her. What makes you think—”
“Because you’re better.” Nikolai’s grip tightens. “And because we don’t follow their rules.”
I stare at the destruction. At the evidence of Iris fighting, struggling, and losing.
My phone vibrates again. The emergency beacon’s still transmitting, but the signal’s moving now.
South. Toward the harbor.
“They’re transporting her.” I shove past my brothers. “We move now or we lose her completely.”
We pile back into the SUV. Erik guns it before my door closes, the vehicle fishtailing as he yanks the wheel hard left.
The beacon I installed in Iris’s sneakers moves steadily south on my screen. Two vehicles, based on the signal’s pattern. Maybe three.
“Harbor district,” I say. “Private airfield.”
“They’re flying her out.” Dmitri checks his weapon. “Where?”
“Doesn’t matter. We intercept before they reach it.”
Nikolai’s already calling in favors. “I need the Seaport access roads blocked. Yes, all of them. I don’t care about permits—make it happen in five minutes or you’re done.”
The signal turns east onto Summer Street. Heavy traffic this time of night, but not heavy enough to slow them down.
“They’re moving fast.” I track their route, calculating. “Sixty, maybe seventy miles per hour. Erik, can you catch them?”
“If traffic cooperates.” He weaves between a taxi and a delivery truck, horn blaring. “Five minutes, maybe less.”
I pull up traffic cameras along their route. Grainy feeds flicker across my phone screen until I find it—two black SUVs with government plates running convoy formation.
“There.” I shove the phone toward Nikolai. “Second vehicle, rear passenger window.”
I zoom in on the lead vehicle’s driver. “Morrison’s in the front SUV. I recognize his profile from the NSA files.”
The agent who ordered her parents killed. The one who’s been watching her for three years.
Now he has her.
“Alexi.” Dmitri’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “We need a plan beyond ramming them off the road.”
“That is the plan.”
“We can’t risk her in a collision—”
“Then what do you suggest?” I round on him. “Ask politely for them to pull over?”
The SUVs turn onto Seaport Boulevard. Straight shot to the airfield from here.
We’re running out of time.
“Traffic jam ahead,” Erik announces. “Construction on Seaport Boulevard.”
Perfect. “Get us parallel to them.”
Erik cuts across two lanes, earning a symphony of horns. But he’s good—better than good. We pull alongside the convoy just as they hit the slowdown.
“Now!” I reach for the door handle.
Nikolai’s hand clamps down on my wrist. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Let me—”
“Look.”
Four more vehicles materialize from side streets, boxing in the convoy. Professional formation. More agents than we can handle in open combat.
They knew we’d come.
“It’s a trap,” Dmitri says quietly.
Morrison’s SUV pulls ahead, forcing a gap between vehicles. The second SUV—Iris’s SUV—accelerates into the opening.
Traffic clears.
They’re moving again.
“Erik—”
“I see it.”
But three of the new vehicles peel off to intercept us. Black sedans, government plates, drivers who know exactly what they’re doing.
“We can’t engage all of them without—” Nikolai starts.
“I don’t care!”
The sedans force us toward the shoulder. Erik fights the wheel, but we’re outmaneuvered. Outgunned. Out-fucking-played.
I watch Iris’s SUV pull away.
“NO!” I wrench at the door handle.
Dmitri grabs me from behind, strong arms pinning mine. “Alexi, stop—”
“They’re taking her!”
The convoy disappears around a corner. Gone.
My phone buzzes once. The emergency beacon signal in her sneaker cuts out.
Dead.
“We lost them,” Erik says, voice flat.
I stop struggling against Dmitri’s grip. Stop fighting, as everything inside me goes cold and still.
Morrison has her. The man who murdered her parents. The operative who’s been hunting her for years.
And I let her walk out of my penthouse.
“We’ll find her,” Nikolai says.
I stare at the empty road ahead.
“We’ll get her back,” he insists.
Will we?
Morrison has government resources. Black sites. Classified facilities that don’t officially exist.
He could take her anywhere.
My brilliant, beautiful hacker. The only person who’s ever matched me.
Gone.