Chapter 3
Gaby fell into a relentless grind—if drowning in data could be called a grind.
She spent her days poring over property records, distribution routes, and the handful of clandestine locations their intel suggested auction buyers preferred.
Her evenings were spent tracing patterns with Rhys, working backward from real estate portfolios and shell companies instead of names.
It felt less like searching for a needle in a haystack and more like trying to determine which billionaire owned which gilded haystack, and whether one hid Natalie.
Rhys made the work bearable and impossible at the same time. He was incisive and methodical, but nothing like the man he’d been with her before.
He was professional without the warmth he once gave so effortlessly. No flash of white teeth. No hint of that rare dimple. None of the subtle, teasing charm that once seemed directed only at her.
He didn’t mention the club and didn’t hint that he’d seen her that night. Maybe he hadn’t. Or he was simply that good at erecting walls.
They worked long hours, tightening the circle around a handful of potential buyers. After seven days of surveillance reports and digital forensics, Dev called them into the conference room. They finally had a lead.
When Callan put it up on the smart screen, Malcolm Pierce stared back at her—designer suit, polished smile, the kind of man who probably smelled of expensive cologne and superiority.
His dossier listed him as a philanthropist and a political donor.
Frequently interviewed by the evening news about humanitarian crises.
Pierce was the last person whose email should appear in a trafficking ledger.
Callan tapped a few keys, bringing up a surveillance highlight reel.
Pierce’s mansion loomed behind wrought-iron gates. Cars and two delivery trucks arrived and left. All were stopped and inspected. Staff moved briskly about their duties—security guards, a dog walker, and his personal chef.
No unfamiliar girls. No sketchy routines. No hidden rooms on thermal scans.
It all seemed normal. Performatively normal, to Gaby.
“The surveillance covered a seven-day window,” Callan confirmed. “Thermal, drone, and interior blueprint comparisons all came up with nothing.”
“We missed something,” she insisted, even though she knew Callan wasn’t the type to make mistakes.
“He’s been over it more than once,” Dev assured her. “As have I. Pierce is clean.”
“Or careful,” she murmured.
“Possibly,” Dev said, rubbing his jaw. “Or tipped off.”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. If Pierce had gotten wind of Enzo’s death or the auction collapse, he would have erased every trail he had to Natalie.
“So… we’re too late?”
Rhys finally spoke—his voice low and even. “Pierce isn’t holding her. If he ever had her, she’s long since moved through his hands.”
The clinical certainty shouldn’t have hurt. But it did. Not because of him—because of what it meant for Natalie.
“If she was sold,” she managed around the lump in her throat, “there must be a money trail.”
Callan pulled up the financials. “Three offshore accounts tied to his buyer ID. No outgoing transfers out in the last few months.”
Dev exhaled slowly and confirmed, “It’s a dead end.”
Gaby’s lungs squeezed tight as hope vanished.
“Pierce isn’t our guy, but we’ve got another lead.” Rhys held out a file at the same moment she reached for it.
Their fingers brushed, fleeting and unintentional. She felt the warmth of his skin and caught the faint scent of bodywash.
He didn’t move away. Neither did she.
For half a second, the space between them vibrated with electricity, entirely wrong for the moment and entirely right every way else.
Rhys withdrew first, the professional returning. Polite. Distant. And yet, not unaffected. His jaw ticked—barely—but she saw it.
Gaby tried to ignore the pinch in her chest.
Dev nodded at the file she held. “Viktor Leonovich has overlapping parameters—offshore holdings and domestic intermediaries.”
“I can start pulling background,” she said, keeping her voice steady.
“It’s done,” Dev replied. “You’re going undercover with Rhys on this one.”
She couldn’t do anything about the heat creeping up her neck, but she kept her expression neutral while glancing at the others. Everyone knew there was friction between them, but no one had reacted. Maybe it was just her.
Rhys acknowledged the plan with a chin lift, as if this had been decided hours ago.
Callan shut down and stood with his laptop. “For what it’s worth, Gaby, your instincts on Pierce were solid. He fit the psychological profile.”
She managed a small nod. “I just…” Her voice thinned, unable to hide her disappointment. “I thought for sure he was our guy.”
“We’ll find her,” Rhys said firmly. “But we don’t chase ghosts.”
Every hour lost felt like one Natalie couldn’t afford. If it were up to her, she’d chase everything.
Dev and Callan stepped out. Rhys stayed behind, gathering files.
She tried to stack her own, but her hands didn’t cooperate. Breathe, Gaby. Keep it together.
Her little pep talk failed. A file slipped through her trembling fingers. Rhys caught it before it hit the table. Their eyes met, a current pulsing between them.
“You’re doing well,” he said, quietly reassuring. “Better than you think.”
She blinked, surprised by the praise. “I feel like I’m just spinning my wheels.”
“That happens.” His tone softened. “You regroup and keep moving.”
“Pierce was my first real hope in weeks.”
“It won’t be your last.”
The way he said it—steady and assured—wrapped around her like warm hands under the mist of the waterfall. And damn her heart for remembering.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for keeping us focused.”
He gave the barest nod. But when he turned toward the door, she noticed it—the rigid line of his shoulders, the barely there tension in his jaw. He was holding the line by sheer force of will.
“Rhys?”
He paused and looked back.
There were a thousand things she wanted to say. A thousand things she shouldn’t. She chose the safest. “I’m glad you’re on this case. That’s all.”
“Count on me staying on it until she’s home.”
Then he walked out, leaving her in the glass-walled war room, heart thundering between fear for her sister and something far more complicated. Something that refused to disappear, no matter how hard she tried to bury it.