Chapter 15
The conference room filled quickly. No one lingered before getting seated, and there were no side conversations. When Dev called a meeting, it wasn’t a social event or optional.
Dev didn’t sit. He never did when it mattered.
“Alec updated me on the Bellamy case this morning,” he said, his voice edged with urgency. “He’s accelerating. We need to move faster.”
He’d called in additional team members—Mateo, Michael, Boone, and Rafe. His gaze swept over them briefly. “Are you all up to speed?”
When he received a round of nods, Dev turned slightly. “Callan.”
The lights dimmed as the wall screen came to life. Security footage filled the display—grainy, low light, pulled from multiple angles. Anna Bellamy stood at the bar at the Driftwood. She appeared nervous, eyes constantly moving.
A man stepped into the frame. Tall. Medium build. His back remained partially to the camera as they spoke. Anna shook her head. He moved closer anyway, too close, too intent. She shook her head harder, body angling away.
He didn’t leave. Not immediately. After what looked like a heated exchange, and another patron sliding onto a stool two seats away, he finally turned and walked off.
The camera caught him in profile.
“Suspect number one,” Mateo said. “We need an ID on him.”
Callan froze on the image and zoomed in.
Leland recognized the man instantly. “Edward Mercer,” he stated. “Alec and I had a chat with him the other night.”
Dev looked at him. “And?”
“Can’t rule him out, but he doesn’t fit.”
Rafe, who rarely spoke, leaned forward. “Why?”
Leland’s jaw flexed. “Mercer’s a creep, not a hunter.”
“He likes being seen,” Alec explained further. “He parks himself at the second-floor rail like he owns the place.”
“Attention seeker?” Mateo said.
“Exactly,” Alec replied. “He feeds off the psychological impact of his stare and the discomfort he causes.”
“He rarely plays,” Leland added. “He’s there for the power trip, not the contact.”
“But he approached Anna Bellamy,” Boone pointed out. “Maybe she was his type.”
“I said rarely, not never. Approaching Anna is an outlier. He prefers people to come to him.”
Dev frowned. “The contact and the rejection still make him a suspect.”
“Oh, he stays on the board for Anna Bellamy,” Alec clarified. “Not the earlier victims. He was living in Chicago.”
Rafe looked over. “You’ve confirmed that?”
“Working on it,” Leland replied. “But he’s too obvious. This isn’t our guy.”
Rafe studied the frozen frame. “He looks like a man who doesn’t like subs telling him no.”
“Which makes him an asshole, not necessarily a serial predator.” Alec crossed his arms, disgust clear in his expression. “Even if he’s not our unsub, he’s still a problem.”
“Which means,” Dev concluded, “we keep him on the board until we have someone better.” His attention shifted to Callan. “Do we have someone better?”
He shook his head. “There are hundreds of potentials. This is the only interaction with any of the victims I’ve found so far.”
Leland breathed out, frustrated by the lack of progress. Callan obviously needed a hand. He could lend an extra pair of eyes to the footage review during his free time, which would expedite matters. And it was a helluva lot better than tending bar.
“Rhys,” Dev said. “You’ve had time to study the case files. What’s your read?”
All eyes turned to him. He sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair, fingers steepled. Rhys’s expression gave nothing away, but Leland had seen that calculating pose before. He’d gone beyond just reading their target. He’d gotten inside his head and was about to cut through the bullshit.
“This isn’t rage or impulse,” he said calmly. “The pattern fits escalation. He’s selective. Likely well-connected in the community and fluent in the lifestyle.” His gaze lifted briefly toward the screen. “A dominant who people trust on sight.”
No one interrupted; everyone had locked in.
“He doesn’t stand out, preferring to blend in,” Rhys continued. “But he can be persuasive when it suits him.”
Gaby shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms as he spoke.
“People describe these women in similar terms,” Rhys said. “Quiet. Careful. Independent, but isolated. They’re submissive, though not blindly compliant. Like Anna in the video, they’ll say no if pushed too far. But he doesn’t want blind compliance. He wants someone who will exercise their choice.”
When he paused, Alec finished it. “Because that’s what he takes from them.”
“Exactly.” Rhys nodded once. “The hunt is the goal. The cruelty afterward is the reward.”
Gaby visibly shuddered. “I didn’t think anyone could be worse than Alvarez.”
Rhys reached out and covered her hand. She gripped it, her wounds still fresh. With Rhys’s help, they’d heal, but Leland knew firsthand what she’d been through. Scars like that faded but rarely disappeared.
Mateo swore under his breath. “Guys like this give sadists a bad name.”
Silence settled over the room as Rhys’s profile sank in. Leland could tell from their reactions that the plotting had begun.
Alec’s face hardened as he mentally worked angles and timelines for whittling down “hundreds of potentials” quickly.
Gaby tapped her fingers against the table, already filing away the details, building the framework.
Rafe remained motionless, watching the footage as if he could pull the answers straight out of the grainy pixels.
Leland’s stillness wasn’t tactical. Julia kept surfacing instead. Independent, yes, and willing to say no. She’d said it to him and showed him the door. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have characterized her as quiet. But now…
Maybe that was just around him. Yet another black mark to add to his tally.
He felt Dev’s eyes on him, clocking his tension, but said nothing.
“We need someone inside,” Alec said finally.
“Undercover?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Dev answered. “Someone who can move through the circuit without drawing attention.”
“That’s a short list,” Boone muttered.
“They have to be credible,” Alec added. “Someone he’d approach.”
Silence stretched.
Then—
“Julia.”
Leland didn’t catch who spoke. It didn’t matter.
“No,” he said, the word slicing through the room. “We don’t use civilians. Not anymore.”
His gaze swept the table, briefly catching Alec’s. He knew better than anyone what it cost.
Only one man argued. Mateo. “We could monitor her. Keep her safe.”
Alec shook his head. “Emily talked to her. She’s done with The Underground.”
A collective exhale, small yet real, moved through the room.
“Credible,” Gaby repeated. “Someone who can pass without trying.” She paused, and Leland knew where she was going before she said it. “It has to be me.”
Rhys shut it down instantly. “No. It’s too soon.”
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. The rigid set of his shoulders said enough.
“I’m the only option,” Gaby countered. “It’s not like we can send Leland in as bait.”
Dev closed the folder in front of him. “Work it out, you two.” He was already moving toward the door. “We’ll pick this up again in twenty.”
Rhys rose, held Gaby’s chair for her, and followed her out of the room.
After they left, Michael let out a low whistle. “Glad my wife has an office job.”
Callan grunted softly. “Greta would say yes if we asked.”
“Over my dead body,” the big man replied.
Chairs shifted. Coffee was poured. The room buzzed with conversations as Callan pulled up additional files, reviewing them on screen.
Leland didn’t move, processing the real-world fact settling hard and ugly in his chest. Julia could have been a target. After all these years, nothing had changed. No matter how many limits he put in place, and how many walls he built, people he cared about still ended up in the crosshairs.
He stared at the images another second then shoved away from the table. The chair rolled hard into the wall as he strode from the room. He needed air. Needed his head on straight.
Leland felt the weight of the others’ stares, their unasked questions, but he didn’t slow. And he didn’t look back.
***
The door clicked shut behind them. Neither sat. For a moment, neither spoke.
Rhys stood with his hands at his sides, shoulders squared, not from posture but from restraint.
Gaby walked to the desk and gripped the edge, grounding herself before facing him.
He got there first. “It’s only been four months since Costa Rica.” His voice was controlled, almost maddeningly so.
“I’m good,” she said evenly.
He held her gaze. “You’re getting there. But the trauma response alone—”
“He’s got to be stopped.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to be the one to do it. We’ll find another way.”
Gaby closed the distance between them. Reaching up, she laid a hand against his cheek. She couldn’t miss the tension there, the restraint. The way he was holding everything in by force.
“You worry about me,” she said softly. “And I love you for it.”
“Gaby—”
“But this is my job,” she continued. “It was my job before you. It will be my job after—”
He cut in, his voice raspy with emotion. “There is no version of us where there’s an after.”
She didn’t change her mind, or her determination, but she softened—toward him. “I was going to say after we’re married.”
His mouth twitched. Barely.
“You’ve trained me not to be reckless.”
His brow arched, leaving his challenge unspoken.
“That was one time. My sister was at risk.”
“There can’t be a second.”
“There won’t be. It’s different now. I have you and an entire team of badasses at my back.”
“I’m serious, Gaby.”
“So am I.”
He straightened. She felt more than saw when he locked it down and became her handler.
“You go in, but you’re not alone. Same structure as Costa Rica.”
Her brows rose. “Meaning, you’re inside too?”
“Correct.”
She paused, considering their game plan. “So, you’re still the boss of me while we’re undercover?”
His hands found her waist then her hips. “Do you have a problem with that arrangement?”
Her gaze shot briefly to the door. Firmly closed but not locked. Did she dare?
Hell, yes.