Chapter Twenty-Three
Kayne had learned to trust his instincts the hard way. They were rarely subtle. More like a pressure behind the eyes, a low, persistent hum that refused to shut up until he listened. It made sleep impossible and mistakes fatal.
Right now, that hum was damn near screaming.
He paced the length of the safe house kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and jaw tight.
Leo had nearly died.
Not might have. Not could have. Nearly. One clean shot, one step out of place, one second slower and Chloe would’ve watched her cousin bleed out on concrete because someone wanted to draw her into the open.
Kayne dragged a hand down his face. That changed the equation.
He stopped pacing and leaned a palm against the counter, staring at nothing. His better judgment, the one forged in blood and betrayal and too many red herrings, was throwing up every warning flare it had.
Danica is a liability. She thrives on chaos and complicates everything.
And yet.
“She’s family,” he muttered to himself, voice low and rough. “And family’s what they’re using.”
He pulled his phone back up and hit the call button again. Straight to voicemail.
“Damn it,” he hissed, ending the call before the tone could finish. He checked the time. It was late, but not unreasonable. Danica kept odd hours, especially when she was sulking or chasing attention or both.
Still, Danica always answered eventually, Leo had said. Even when she wanted to fight and be dramatic about it. And he knew that with her pettiness, she would definitely answer a call from him.
Kayne’s gaze flicked instinctively to the security monitors lining the far wall. Multiple camera feeds showed that the perimeter was clear. Chloe was in the kitchen with Anja, decompressing. Leo was in the living room, pretending he was fine when his hands still shook.
And Danica?
Nowhere.
He made the call the moment the decision solidified in his head. Against every instinct and every profile he’d built on her, he decided to widen the circle again because the shooter had already proven one thing: they weren’t afraid to hurt innocent people or use Chloe’s heart as a weapon.
Leaving Danica out there unguarded, unpredictable, and emotional was a risk he couldn’t justify anymore.
Leaving her exposed felt like an invitation.
But not being able to reach her? That set his nerves on edge in a way he didn’t enjoy.
Kayne thumbed out a text this time. Danica. This is important. You need to call me immediately.
He stared at the screen until it dimmed. Nothing.
A crushing weight settled on his sternum.
He thought of Chloe, of her fierce loyalty, her endless benefit of the doubt, and the way she kept trying to believe the best of people even when the evidence stacked up ugly.
She would blame herself if anything touched her family.
The thought of her finding out something had happened to her sister because he’d hesitated made something cold and violent settle into his gut.
He straightened abruptly and called Tyler.
“I need you to start a quiet trace on Danica Giordano. Phone, credit cards, rideshares. Anything.”
“On it.”
Anja glanced at him, and he gave her a subtle nod, indicating he wanted to talk to her.
She excused herself and came over.
“Don’t spook Chloe, but I can’t get in touch with Danica.”
A pause. Then, carefully, “You’re bringing her in too.”
“Yes.”
No judgment, just acceptance. “Good.”
Kayne looked at the kitchen, toward where Chloe was trying to recover from a day that should’ve broken her. She trusted him to see the threats she couldn’t. He was doing this for her, even if it turned out to be a mistake.
Especially if it did.
Because after tonight, one thing was painfully clear: whoever was hunting Chloe wasn’t done. Kayne would rather bring one more unpredictable variable under his roof than leave her family exposed in the dark.
He picked up his phone again and dialed Danica one more time. Straight to voicemail.
His jaw locked. “Answer the phone,” he murmured. “Please.”
The word tasted unfamiliar and dangerous.
#
Chloe hadn’t thought about Danica. Not even once.
The realization hit her like a delayed bruise.
It was deep, aching, and impossible to ignore once it surfaced.
She sat on the edge of the bed at the safe house, hands twisted in the hem of her shirt, replaying the day in ruthless fragments: Leo on the pavement, the gunshot, the ambulance, Kayne’s bloodied hands.
And nowhere in any of it had Danica crossed her mind.
The absence screamed now that she noticed it, and a sharp pang of guilt lanced through her.
“She’s my sister,” Chloe whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “How did I not think of her?”
Kayne was already shaking his head. He stood a few feet away, phone in hand. His posture was alert but gentle where she was concerned.
“You were worried about Leo,” he said quietly. “About surviving the last hour. That’s not a failure, cher.”
She looked up at him, eyes burning. “You thought of her.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “That’s my job.”
That nearly undid her.
Not because it was his job, but because he treated her family as if they were already his responsibility. He always acted, never hesitated.
“But I can’t reach her,” he added, and the softness left his voice. “That part worries me.”
Her stomach dropped. “What do you mean, can’t reach her?”
“My calls went straight to voicemail and she’s not answering texts.” He held her gaze, steady and honest. “We’re tracing her now.”
As if summoned, Anja appeared in the doorway, phone pressed to her ear, expression all business. She ended the call and looked at them both.
“Last ping on Danica’s phone was her apartment,” she said. “About two hours ago.”
Chloe was already standing. “Then we go there.”
They moved fast. The SUV felt smaller than it had earlier, the air inside swirling with dread Chloe couldn’t talk herself out of.
Streetlights streaked past the windows as Kayne drove.
Leo rode shotgun while Anja sat in the back with her, quiet and focused.
Chloe hugged her arms around herself, heart thudding too loud to ignore.
Danica’s building loomed gray and ordinary against the night sky. Kayne parked and opened his door. “Stay close,” he said.
They climbed the stairs together. Chloe knocked first.
“Danica?” She tried again, louder. “It’s me. Open the door.”
Nothing.
Kayne knocked next. Harder. No answer.
Chloe’s pulse skidded. “She wouldn’t ignore me.”
Anja was already moving. She pulled a slim tool from the pocket of her cargo pants and went to work on the lock. It gave with a soft click almost immediately.
Chloe didn’t love how easy that had been.
The door swung open. On the surface, everything looked normal.
Danica’s signature perfume hung in the air, an expensive floral that tried and failed to mask the stale undercurrent of fast food and neglect.
The living room was cluttered with crumpled takeout bags, greasy wrappers, and half-read magazines scattered about.
A lone stiletto lay on its side near the couch, its mate nowhere in sight.
Clothes were everywhere, draped over the back of a chair, and piled near the coffee table. A silk blouse, far too nice for the floor, was half-buried under a pair of leggings and a towel that looked as if it had missed laundry day by a week.
Danica had never been tidy. Chaos followed her effortlessly and unapologetically. But standing there now, Chloe felt a flicker of unease she couldn’t quite explain. This wasn’t a mess someone left when they were in a hurry. It was left behind when someone expected to come back.
“In here,” Anja called out from down the hall.
Chloe followed Kayne. They found Anja in the spare bedroom closet. Chloe stepped inside and froze.
All around were stacks of photos, dozens of screenshots from videos, magazine spreads, and social media posts.
There were also candid shots taken from across streets, through windows, and from angles that made her skin prickle.
In them, Chloe was smiling, teaching, and existing.
A thick, uneven pile was shoved against the back wall.
Every single one was defaced.
Black marker slashed across her eyes. Red ink stabbed into her torso again and again. Words scrawled in furious handwriting. I hate you. This should have been mine. You ruined everything.
Chloe’s vision tunneled. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “She absolutely despises me.”
Her knees wobbled, and Kayne’s hand came around her waist instantly, steadying her before she even realized she was falling.
Leo caught her elbow, his grip tight. “Jesus,” he breathed.
Anja moved through the apartment with grim efficiency, cataloging details aloud for the officers she was already calling in. Chloe barely heard her.
Leo cursed under his breath, muttering that he always knew she was trouble.
All Chloe could see was the proof of how deeply Danica’s resentment had curdled. Her bitterness, obsession, and hatred had honed into something unpredictable. The violence wasn’t random. It was precise. Personal.
“I never meant to cause her pain,” Chloe whispered, tears spilling now. “I never wanted her to feel like this.”
Kayne leaned down, his chin resting briefly against her hair. “This isn’t on you.”
“But she’s missing,” Chloe choked. “And she hates me.”
His grip tightened a fraction. “If anything has happened to her, we’re going to find her. If she left on her own, we’ll still track her down.”
Chloe nodded against him, even as fear clawed higher.
Someone had been shooting real bullets, and now, standing in her sister’s apartment surrounded by violent proof of resentment, Chloe understood that was no longer just about her survival.
Danica was nowhere to be found, leaving behind a silent, vicious catalog of hatred tucked away in a closet.
Chloe pressed her hand to her mouth, shaking. This had crossed over into something far worse than jealousy.
She didn’t know where Danica was—or what she might be capable of now.