Chapter 40
MARCUS
I call Liam as I sprint back toward the car, the clinic doors swinging shut behind me.
“Iris is missing.”
“What?”
“No time,” I say, adjusting my sidearm. “Get your gun and go to her Hudson Valley studio. I’ll text the address. Her security detail is there. Find something, anything. I’m heading to Storm King. That’s where she was last seen.”
“Okay. I’m nearby. I’ll call you back,” he says.
The call ends as I round my car.
Of all the things I expected to deal with, a dog wasn’t one of them.
Blanket is sitting in front of the driver’s door with his paws planted. A shredded cushion hangs from his mouth, the silk torn open, down clinging to his whiskers and paws.
“Hey,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
He watches me without blinking. He has a habit of turning up when someone needs more than they’ll admit, but I want, irrationally, for this to mean something else. That Iris is close, and she’s fine. That I’m about to feel stupid for panicking.
Blanket doesn’t move.
“I don’t have time for this,” I mutter. “Unless you’re coming with me.”
I unlock the car, and the beep makes him flinch. He hesitates, glances at the open space inside, then at me, and makes up his mind.
He climbs in awkwardly, too big for the jump. The cushion comes with him, half of it, at least, the down feathers scattering across the leather seat.
“That side,” I say, steering him toward the passenger seat as I pull the remains from his mouth.
The smell of old fabric, dog fur, and something sour baked deep into the stuffing hits, but I ignore it. His familiar press of fur and warmth beside me does something useful. It lowers my pulse and keeps my hands steady.
A therapy dog, by accident.
I shut the door hard and start the engine. It answers with a growl as my foot finds the accelerator. Blanket flattens his ears, his body tight.
“Hold on,” I say, and we’re off.
The drive north compresses as mile markers vanish between glances at the clock. I know the road well enough to take it on instinct, which leaves too much room for thought.
I was just with her this morning, outbidding that fucking Javier Zamora. Now, this isn’t about leverage. Whoever took Iris doesn’t care what I can afford. He only cares that he knows how I think. Because he thinks the same way.
Liam calls back. “There’s an invitation here. Someone lured her into a game. The card is cream stock and weighty, and the text is perfectly handwritten. The message sounds pretty legit, but we all know it’s a fake.”
It’s not as elaborate as a secure tablet in a mahogany box, so why did Iris fall for it?
Well, I suppose it could be because circumstances had changed. There’s no more Wolf and Midnight. A variation like this wouldn’t raise alarms.
And I’d primed her for it, hinting at a surprise before I left.
She wouldn’t have known.
“Fuck. Fuck!”
“Marcus, we’ll find her,” Liam says.
“Meet me at Storm King.”
Storm King closes around us in layers of green and stone. There are too many paths and too many places to disappear.
Blanket tags along. And for the love of a dog, he’s still clinging to that half cushion. He hovers close to Liam’s leg, his attention fixed on him. Liam keeps pace with me until the ground stops allowing it. The ridge pulls one way, the lower trail another.
“I’ll circle east,” he says. “You take the ridge.”
I nod and keep moving.
Blanket looks between us, then sits beside Liam without ceremony.
“Fine,” I mutter before I keep going.
Behind me, Liam tells Blanket to give him the cushion. Fuck me, the mutt hands it over, and Liam carries it like a purse.
The phone rings when I’m alone.
It’s a video call.
My stomach drops before I answer.
A face fills the screen. It’s my own face, as if I were staring into a camera pointing at me.
It’s perhaps older than me by minutes, with the same bone structure and the same eyes.
Just a different mouth. One that enjoys itself too much.
How could this man be so dangerous? Or are both of us as dangerous as each other? And caught in the middle is Iris.
“The name is Drake Solomon,” he says, as if this were some kind of transaction. “And this—”
The camera swings across.
Iris is bound to a chair with her wrists secured, ankles taped, and a strip of cloth pulled tight across her mouth. Her hair is loose and tangled, and her shoulders heave up and down erratically. Her eyes lock on the camera the moment she sees me.
“She’s not an easy take,” Drake continues, pleased. “You should’ve seen the effort she put in.”
“Stop this,” I say. “You want me. Not her.”
“I want both of you,” he corrects.
The camera reframes, and his hands enter the view.
He’s holding a syringe.
It’s a clear barrel with a thin needle. No label. No context. It’s a close enough shot that I can see the way he holds it, confident and procedural. This isn’t for show.
“You’re not the only one who can play doctor,” he says.
My heart starts to hammer, but my head doesn’t shut down. I force it to stay open, to observe the volume of liquid, the viscosity, and the absence of color.
“Iris,” I say, my voice breaking despite my effort. “Listen to me.”
Her gaze sharpens. She’s trying to nod, trying to tell me she understands.
“I’ll come and get you. Just hold on,” I tell her.
Drake doesn’t rush. He enjoys that I’m watching as he swabs her arm with unnecessary care.
“No!” I yell. It tears out of me, useless.
The needle goes in.
I shout her name as he depresses the plunger. My hand slams against nothing, and the sound echoes uselessly through the trees.
He withdraws the syringe and holds it up as proof.
“Three or four hours,” Drake says lightly. “Depending on how fast her heart breaks.”
He laughs while the camera swings back to Iris.
Her pupils tighten almost immediately, and saliva gathers at the corners of her mouth, darkening the cloth. Her hands twitch, a fine tremor running through her fingers.
“Tell me where she is,” I demand.
“Oh, I intend for you to find her,” Drake says with a drawn-out smile. “I need you there.”
I take the mercy for what it is, whatever his intent. “Then tell me,” I say.
“You’re in the wrong place, Marcus. I don’t play on lawns. I play hard.”
My vision narrows, but the details stay sharp as I memorize everything.
Drake leans closer to the camera. “Think carefully now. I’ll call you later. And I’ll be watching. If I see you bring anyone with you—” He pauses, smiling. “I’ll finish the dose.”
The screen goes black.
I stand there long after the call ends, my phone still pressed to my ear.
Then I move.