Chapter 13 #4
The answer did not fix anything. It made the fear sharper because it gave me something to lose.
Marcus turned halfway in his seat. “We have a number. It is Benedict’s burner. Elena, when you are ready.”
I drew in a breath and pressed call.
He answered after two rings.
“Mrs. Voss,” Benedict said. His voice sounded annoyingly calm. “I had hoped you would be sensible.”
“I am trying something new,” I said. “People keep telling me it is good for me.”
A pause. Then a laugh.
“You have your mother’s tongue.”
“You knew my mother?”
“I knew she asked too many questions.”
Anger rose bright and clean. I kept it out of my voice.
“You want the archive.”
“I want what she hid.”
“You have Roman.”
“Do I?”
The sound behind his words changed. A muffled scrape. Someone breathing hard.
“Let me speak to him,” I said.
“You are in no position to make demands.”
“I am the only person with the files you want. If you hurt him, you lose your bargaining chip and your exit. You are too intelligent to make that mistake.”
I saw Damian’s eyes lift. He had not expected that. Neither had I, perhaps. But planning weddings had taught me something about difficult people: nobody wanted to be called reckless if they thought of themselves as strategic.
Benedict went quiet.
Then Roman’s voice came faintly through the line. “Elena.”
He sounded alive. Frightened, but alive.
“Mr. Voss,” I said. “Try not to make this about you for once.”
The silence on the call lasted one second too long.
Benedict laughed again, less warmly. “You have grown bold.”
“No,” I said. “I have run out of reasons to be polite.”
“Then you will understand the arrangement. Bring the tin to the east loading bay. Alone. I will release Roman and we will discuss the rest.”
“No.”
Damian’s gaze fixed on me.
“No?” Benedict repeated.
“You can see the west entrance. You know Damian is here. You know the police are nearby. If I walk into that building alone, you will assume I am either stupid or desperate. I am neither. You get the tin when Roman is outside, in view, and your men lower their weapons.”
“You are giving instructions to a man who has known you since you were a child.”
“You knew me when I was a child. That is not the same as knowing me.”
I heard movement on the other end. Benedict speaking to someone off the phone. Then a new voice entered, light and familiar.
“Cousin’s wife,” Malachi said. “You are making this difficult.”
“I did not know you preferred easy women,” I answered.
Damian inhaled slowly.
Malachi laughed. “I prefer women who understand when a room belongs to someone else.”
“That must make you very lonely.”
For the first time, the line went completely silent.
Marcus’s radio clicked. “Movement in the upper office. Malachi has shifted positions.”
Agent Weaver raised a hand. Everyone froze.
I kept my voice calm. “Malachi, you have spent your whole life making people look at you because you were afraid nobody would choose you. You do not need to prove anything to me.”
His breath came through the speaker. Faster now.
“You know nothing about me.”
“No,” I said. “But I know what it looks like when someone confuses being feared with being seen.”
Damian’s expression changed. Not approval. Concern. He understood that I had crossed from negotiation into something closer to a wound.
Malachi’s voice lowered. “Bring the tin.”
“Bring Roman to the loading bay window first.”
The line went dead.
For six seconds, nothing happened.
Then the radio came alive.
“Visual,” Nico said. “Roman at east window. Two guards. Malachi visible on the catwalk.”
Agent Weaver looked at Damian. “Now.”
The plan shifted from waiting to movement. Doors opened. Men disappeared into rain. Marcus handed Damian a vest. Damian put it on without looking away from me.
“You stay here,” he said.
“I know.”
“No. Elena.” His voice dropped. “You do not move unless Marcus tells you. Not for me. Not for Roman. Not for anyone.”
The old version of me would have heard only the order.
This time I heard the fear beneath it.
“I will not move,” I said. “But I am not promising not to listen.”
It was the closest thing to comfort I could give him.
He touched my cheek once, brief and careful, then stepped out into the rain.
"I have what you asked for."
"And the girl?"
The earpiece went very quiet.
"She is not part of this," Damian said.
Malachi laughed. "She is the only part of this."
Something moved in the darkness outside the vehicle.
Marcus's voice snapped into the radio. "Movement at the rear."
The back doors of the armored car opened.
Before anyone could react, a gloved hand grabbed my ankle and yanked me toward the door.
Adrian shouted. Agent Weaver reached for me. I caught the seatbelt, but someone had already cut it.
The world became a blur of cold air, concrete, and hands.
I screamed once, not because I was helpless, but because I wanted Damian to hear where I was.
Then I was outside, dragged behind a stack of crates, a gun pressed beneath my jaw.
Malachi's voice came through my own earpiece, closer now.
"Now she is part of it," he said.