Chapter 28
Isabel
I draw in a steadying breath, pressing myself closer to Lincoln’s side as we step away from the ambulance.
The cold night air bites at my skin—still wearing the torn dress from the club—but his warm arm around my shoulders wards off the chill.
My heart has barely stopped hammering since we were rescued from that shipping container, but at least now, for the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe.
The swirl of blue and red lights from police cruisers bathes the entire dockyard in a surreal glow, but I try to block it all out, focusing on the comforting solidity of Lincoln’s body next to mine.
Across the makeshift triage area, a paramedic carefully peels away Dean’s shirt to examine the wound on his shoulder.
Sophia stands at his side, one hand clutched in his, tears still bright in her eyes.
Despite everything, a faint smile touches my lips—she’s safe, he’s safe, and we’re all here.
“I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs to Sophia, tilting his head, “didn’t mean to freak you out. Just a stupid bullet graze.”
She scoffs gently, wiping her cheek with the back of her free hand. “Dean, a bullet graze is still a bullet graze. You’ve lost some blood—”
“I’m fine,” he insists, though his wince when the paramedic prods his shoulder betrays him. “Just patch me up, please, so I can get my family out of here.”
Lincoln’s arm tightens around me at the word “family,” and a flutter of warmth sparks in my chest. I blink back tears… part exhaustion, part relief.
The paramedic finishes applying a gauze pad to Dean’s shoulder, taping it down with efficient motions. “You should get a proper check at the hospital,” the medic says sternly. “Bullet grazes can still cause complications, risk of infection—”
“Sure, sure,” Dean mutters, grimacing as he shifts his arm, but it’s obvious he’s anxious to leave. His gaze flicks to me, then to Lincoln. “We’ll swing by the hospital after all this is sorted out.”
Sophia rubs his good shoulder, exhaling a shaky breath. “At least let me drive you.”
“Whatever you say,” Dean murmurs, leaning to rest his cheek against her hair. In the swirl of flashing lights and the chaos of police chatter, it’s a tender moment that almost makes me forget the horrors of the night. Almost.
Then Dean’s eyes narrow, focusing on me and Lincoln standing so close. His brow furrows, an unreadable expression flitting across his face. “So,” he says slowly, voice tinged with both fatigue and curiosity, “you two… when did this happen?”
Lincoln’s muscles tense at my side, and I swallow hard, suddenly aware that we haven’t talked about it ourselves, let alone planned how we’d explain it to my overprotective brother. My face warms. “Dean…” I start, my voice wavering.
He raises his uninjured hand, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, I’m not mad,” he says, though the tension around his eyes suggests he’s still trying to come to terms with it. “I know he’s always cared about you.”
My cheeks burn at his words. “I think I’ve always cared for him too.”
Dean exhales, looking between the two of us. Then his eyes shift back to me. “I trust him fully, but do you?” he asks quietly. And I realize that’s his main concern—his protective nature. He wants to ensure I’m in good hands.
I feel Lincoln’s hand squeeze my shoulder, like a silent vow he’s standing by me. A lump forms in my throat, and I nod, voice trembling. “I do.”
A swirl of emotion flickers across Dean’s face—surprise, resignation, maybe relief. He nods once, rubbing his jaw. “All right,” he says simply. “We’ll talk more later. As long as he doesn’t get you shot,” he adds with a faint, humorless chuckle, “I can handle it.”
I manage a small laugh—fragile, but real. For a second, it feels like we might finally step out of the nightmare into something resembling normal. Then, a new voice interrupts.
“Dean, Lincoln, Isabel, Sophia.” We turn to see a woman approaching—a tall blonde with a sharp gaze, wearing a fitted jacket that screams law enforcement.
She flashes a badge at one of the uniformed cops before crossing to us.
“Chloe Huxley,” she introduces herself, voice calm but urgent.
“Detective, and wife of Devereaux—he told me you’d be here. ”
Dean nods. “What’s the situation, Detective?”
Chloe tucks a stray hair behind her ear, scanning the group.
“We managed to secure the area. Morris is in custody—” she glances at me, and I recall how we tackled him in the container, “—thanks to you two, actually. And we’ve detained Tyler and Livvy.
We’d been hunting them for a while—trafficking, conspiracy, all sorts of charges. ”
“Who?” I ask.
Lincoln leans close to my ear, and whispers, “Vera and Trey. Their real names are Tyler and Livvy Mayweather.”
My stomach turns at the memory of Vera’s betrayal, but I push it aside. “What about Lazarus Delgado?” I ask, voice shaking. “Please tell me you have him.”
Her lips press together in a grim line. “He slipped away in the chaos. We’re not sure how, but we have reason to believe he escaped onto a private boat. My team’s on it now, scanning the harbor. We won’t stop until we find him.”
A cold fist of dread squeezes my heart. Lazarus is still out there—one of the most dangerous men in the criminal underworld, free to plot more revenge. Lincoln’s hand tightens on my shoulder again, grounding me, but I see the flicker of anger in his eyes. Dean’s jaw clenches.
“Let us help,” Dean says, stepping forward. “I’ve got men, resources. We can track him if you coordinate with me.”
Chloe lifts a palm in a calming gesture.
“I appreciate the offer. Truly. But let the police handle it for now. We have a task force and jurisdiction in Saint Pierce. If Lazarus tries to flee internationally, we can coordinate with the FBI. We just need to keep the lines clean.” She glances at the bullet graze on Dean’s shoulder, eyebrow arched.
“And you have your family to worry about right now.”
Dean’s features tighten, but he nods, conceding the point. “Fine,” he says. “But if you need me—”
She offers a small, empathetic smile. “You’ll be my first call, believe me.
We’ve been trying to pin Lazarus for years, and now that we have his associates in custody, we might finally get the evidence we need to extradite him back to Italy.
” She brushes another stray strand behind her ear.
“We almost had him last year, but he ended up weedling his way out of that mess, too.”
Exhaling, I slip my hand from Lincoln’s side, running it through my disheveled hair. “What about Morris? Will he… be put away for good?”
Chloe’s eyes glint with satisfaction. “Morris is wanted on multiple charges across state lines. With the testimonies from the other women in another container close by—” her gaze flicks to me and Sophia, “—plus your own statements, he’s looking at a long sentence.
” She hesitates, then continues more softly, “I’m truly sorry for what you both went through.
You saved a lot of future victims by exposing his operation. ”
My cheeks heat, a swirl of conflicting emotions churning in my chest mainly at the relief he’ll be punished, and guilt for not spotting the threat earlier. “We just did what we had to,” I murmur, swallowing hard.
Chloe nods. “And I thank you for it. For months, I suspected Livvy and Tyler were luring vulnerable people into their trafficking ring, but they covered their tracks well. Now we have them both, plus Morris. It’s a huge win.
” She offers a gentle smile before turning a more solemn look on Dean. “Again, I’m sorry about Lazarus.”
Dean’s expression is bleak, but he nods. “We’ll find him,” he says, voice low. “He’s not going to terrorize my family anymore.”
Chloe sketches a salute, her eyes flicking to me, to Sophia, and to Lincoln.
“If any of you recall details—anything that might help us nail Lazarus’s whereabouts—call me.
” She fishes a card from her jacket, handing it to Dean.
“And if you need to talk, or you realize you have more information about their operation, any detail could be critical.”
I watch as Chloe’s determined posture seems to sink a bit, likely from the weight of the night’s events. She’s probably exhausted, too. “I have to coordinate the cleanup here,” she says, lifting her phone. “Take care of yourselves. You all deserve some rest.”
Then she’s off, striding through the swirling lights and chaos, weaving around officers who are bagging evidence.
I exhale, the tension ebbing slightly. Morris is going away for a long time.
Vera and Trey—or whatever their names may be—are finally in custody.
A sense of victory stirs, but it’s overshadowed by the reality that Lazarus escaped. Who knows what he’ll do next?
Dean’s gaze returns to me, softened by concern. “You two all right?” he asks, flicking a glance between me and Lincoln. I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about just the physical injuries.
Lincoln meets my eyes, and a flood of unspoken emotion passes between us. “We’ll manage,” he says quietly, his tone gentle. “We should probably get them checked out at a hospital, though. Isabel’s been through a lot.”
My exhaustion hits me in a rush, and I let out a shaky laugh. “I guess a doctor’s look-over wouldn’t hurt. I feel like a wreck.”
Dean nods, relief in his stance. “Then let’s get out of here,” he says, turning to wave over some of his men, who are standing guard near a battered SUV.
Sophia leans on him, still shaky on her feet.
I step forward, intending to help, but Dean shakes his head.
“It’s all right,” he murmurs, hooking an arm around her.
“We’ll follow you. Let’s get the hell away from these docks. ”