41. Nick
NICK
I arrive home just before dawn, exhausted from coordinating searches across the city all night. My penthouse is dark except for the kitchen light bleeding into the hallway. I'm not expecting anyone to be here, especially not at this hour.
Mark is sitting at my kitchen table, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. My younger brother looks like hell. His dark hair is disheveled, his green eyes red-rimmed and anxious. There's a white envelope sitting on the table in front of him, and his hands are shaking slightly.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.
He looks up at me, and I see genuine fear in his expression.
Mark doesn't scare easily. He grew up in the same world I did, saw the same violence, and learned the same lessons about survival.
Which is why he wanted nothing to do with the family business.
Seeing him rattled immediately puts me on edge.
"Someone gave this to me," he says, pushing the envelope across the table toward me. "Outside my apartment building. They just walked up, handed it to me, and left."
I pick up the envelope. It's plain white, no markings or writing on the outside. I tear it open and pull out a single piece of paper with an address written in neat block letters. Nothing else. No threats, demands, or explanation. Just a warehouse location near the industrial district by the docks.
My instincts go dark immediately.
"When?" I ask.
"Two hours ago. I came straight here." Mark's voice is steady, but I can hear the underlying tension. "The guy didn't say anything. Just handed it to me and walked away. I tried following him, but he disappeared into an alley."
"What did he look like?"
"Average height, dark jacket, and a baseball cap pulled low so that I couldn't make out any of his facial features." Mark stands up, pacing toward the window. "Nick, what the fuck is going on? Why would someone give me a random address in the middle of the night?"
I don't answer immediately. My mind is already running through possibilities, none of them good. Someone used my brother to deliver a message. That level of knowledge is dangerous.
I pull out my phone and call Russ first, then Alex. Both answer on the second ring despite the early hour. I give them the address and tell them to assemble men and meet me there ASAP.
"Stay here," I tell Mark after hanging up. "Don't leave this building. I'm putting two men outside your door."
"Nick, what's happening?"
"I don't know yet." I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and check the weapon holstered at my side. "But whoever gave you that envelope wanted to make sure I took it seriously. Using you guaranteed that."
Mark's face goes pale. "You think this is about the warehouse attack?"
"I think it could be about a lot of things." Most likely about Sharon. I head toward the door, then pause and look back at him. "Lock the door behind me and don't answer to anyone but me, Russ, or Alex."
The drive to the warehouse takes fifteen minutes through empty pre-dawn streets. Russ and Alex arrive at the same time I do, their cars pulling up on either side of mine. We're all armed, all tense, and all expecting the worst.
I know they are thinking the same thing I am. We're going to go into that building and find Sharon dead. Possibly even an ambush.
The warehouse is exactly where the address indicated, a large industrial building with rusted metal siding and broken windows. "Spread out," I say quietly to the men who arrived with us. "Check every entrance, every room. Let me know whatever you find."
We move through the building methodically. The main floor is empty except for old equipment and debris. Dust covers everything, and our footsteps echo in the cavernous space. The air smells like rust and stale water.
Alex checks the offices near the front while I move toward the loading docks. Russ heads toward the rear of the building where a hallway leads to what looks like storage rooms or maybe old break areas for workers.
"Nick!" Russ's voice cuts through the silence, sharp and urgent.
I'm moving before he finishes saying my name, Alex right behind me. We find Russ standing outside a locked door near the rear offices. The lock is new, completely out of place in this abandoned building. That alone tells me everything I need to know.
"Break it down," I say grimly.
One of our men steps forward with a crowbar and pries the lock off in seconds.
The door swings open, and Sharon is sitting on the floor inside, her back against the wall.
The rush of relief at seeing her alive and seemingly well surprises me.
But I know the emotion isn't for myself.
Mentally, I'd been trying to prepare myself to tell Marla that her best friend was dead, but seeing her now, the relief of not having to upset Marla takes me by surprise.
When she sees us, she bursts into tears.
"Oh my God," she gasps. "Oh my God, you found me."
Alex moves into the room immediately, and cuts through the zip ties binding her to the chair. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"
"No, I'm fine, I'm okay." Sharon is shaking, her words tumbling out fast and panicked. "They didn't hurt me. They just locked me in here. I don't know how long I've been here. What day is it?"
"Wednesday morning," Russ says, his voice gentler than I've heard it in days. He puts a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "Come on, let's get you outside."
He guides her out of the room while Alex and I stay behind, looking around the small space. There's a blanket on the floor, a bottle of water, an empty food container. Someone fed her. Someone made sure she was comfortable enough to survive.
This wasn't about making her disappear permanently. This was something else entirely.
"This was staged," Alex says quietly, echoing my thoughts exactly. "She was never in real danger."
"No," I agree, my jaw tight. "She wasn't."
We return to Russ's property an hour later. The mother-in-law building erupts into chaos the moment Sharon walks through the door. Marla throws herself at her friend, both women crying and holding onto each other like they're afraid to let go.
Ekaterina immediately takes charge, fussing over Sharon with blankets, hot tea, and offers of food. She guides Sharon to the couch and wraps her in a thick quilt despite Sharon's protests that she's fine.
"You're not fine," Ekaterina says firmly. "You're exhausted and frightened. Sit. Drink this."
Sharon accepts the tea with shaking hands. Marla sits beside her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. The relief on Marla's face is almost painful to watch. She's been carrying guilt about Sharon's disappearance since the moment we told her Sharon was missing.
"What happened?" Marla asks, her voice thick with emotion. "Who took you?"
"I don't know." Sharon takes a sip of tea, then sets the cup down on the coffee table.
"I was leaving work Tuesday night. Someone said you were waiting for me in the parking lot, that you needed to talk to me about something urgent.
I followed them outside, and then someone grabbed me from behind.
They put something over my head so I couldn't see, threw me in a vehicle, and drove for what felt like forever. "
"Did you see their faces?" Russ asks from where he's standing near the fireplace.
"No. They kept me blindfolded the whole time until they locked me in that room.
I never saw anyone, never heard names." Sharon's hands tighten around the blanket.
"They brought me food and water a few times, but they never spoke to me.
I didn't know if I was going to die or if they were keeping me for something else. "
I watch her carefully as she speaks, noting the details she includes and the ones she leaves out. She's telling the truth about not seeing faces or hearing names. But there's something calculated about the entire operation that bothers me.
"They used Marla's name to lure you outside," Alex says, his tone thoughtful. "That's specific."
"Yeah." Sharon looks at Marla, her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry. I should have been more careful. I should have called you first to confirm."
"Don't apologize," Marla says immediately. "This isn't your fault."
But it is someone's fault, and I'm starting to piece together exactly whose.
Sharon wasn't the target. She was never the target.
The entire kidnapping was a message, carefully constructed and deliberately executed.
Someone knows Sharon was feeding us information from the Ivory Wolf.
Someone knows we've been using her to gather intelligence about who's been asking questions about Marla.
Using Mark to deliver the warehouse address guaranteed I would take it seriously and respond immediately. They wanted us to find Sharon. They wanted us to see that she was unharmed, well-fed, and left alive intentionally.
This wasn't about revenge or intimidation. This was about demonstrating power and knowledge. Someone is telling us they know exactly what we're doing, who we're using, and how we're operating. They're showing us they can reach anyone in our network whenever they want.
"This kidnapping was a message," I say aloud, my voice cutting through the quiet conversation. Everyone turns to look at me. "Someone knows Sharon was feeding us information."
The room goes silent. Marla's face drains of color. Sharon looks confused, then frightened as understanding dawns. Russ's expression hardens, and Alex's jaw tightens.
"We found something else in the warehouse," Russ says quietly.
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a clear evidence bag. My stomach tightens before I even see what's inside.
It's a photograph. Professional quality, taken with a telephoto lens from a distance. The image shows Marla and Sharon standing outside the Ivory Wolf, laughing together under the neon sign. The date stamp in the corner reads three weeks ago. The night Marla first walked into that club.
Someone has been watching her from the very beginning.