Chapter 2
Chapter Two
O h, God, what was wrong with her?
Saskia stifled a groan. She felt woozy, her head spinning. She heard a loud, regular drumbeat of sound, and realized it was her heart beating in her head.
She rarely drank too much. As a principal dancer, she couldn’t afford a hangover.
She turned over, feeling awkward as she did. Her limbs weren’t obeying, and they felt as heavy as lead.
The scent of leather and air freshener hit her, and she blinked.
She heard the rumble of deep voices in front of her.
Car. She was in the back of a car. She thought she should feel more worried, but she felt too languid and disconnected.
She saw another woman beside her. Blonde hair spilled around a sweet face, and she was asleep, sprawled on the seats.
Saskia blinked again, everything blurring. Then she drifted for a while, paying no attention to the movement or voices around her.
When she cracked her eyes open again, she’d lost some time. She was no longer in a car. She felt something digging into her stomach, and her body was bouncing rhythmically.
What the—?
She was upside down. She was being carried over someone’s shoulder.
A shot of panic spiked through her, but then dulled. Why couldn’t she think?
“Get them on the plane. Boss wants them in the air soon.” The voice had an American accent.
“He picked well. These dolls are pretty,” said the man carrying her. He sounded Russian.
The other man grunted. “I like them with a bit more meat on the bones, but Mr. M likes ‘em long and slim.” A low chuckle. “And flexible.”
The words sent an arrow to her gut. She felt sick. What the hell was going on?
There was a sudden whoosh of sound. She blinked. They’d stepped outside. It was nighttime, and a plane was flying overhead.
They were at an airport.
She managed to lift her head. She saw the man carrying her walking toward a sleek, private jet.
No, no .
She’d heard horror stories about human trafficking. If they got her on that plane, she might never be seen again.
She saw the other man carrying the blonde woman. Saskia felt a pop of memory, like a bubble in water. Southern accent. Addie . Saskia had to save herself and Addie.
She wrenched her hips.
The man holding her wobbled and cursed in Russian.
Saskia grabbed his hair, twisted her fingers into it, and yanked.
He yelped and dropped her.
She hit the tarmac, pain radiating through her knees. She staggered up, but her legs felt like Jell-O. She took a step toward the man holding Addie like she was a sack.
Suddenly, a hand sank into her hair and yanked her back ruthlessly.
“Whore.” Her captor shoved his shoulder into her gut and hauled her up.
She fought.
She twisted, tried to claw at him. He subdued her so easily. Fear choked her throat. And anger.
How dare someone just snatch her? Like she was a thing, not a person.
If she made it out of this, she would let Killian train her in all the ways he knew to kill someone.
If she made it out—her chest tightened painfully—she was going to fly to San Francisco and kiss Camden Morgan.
Her captor stepped aboard the plane. Saskia got the impression of cream leather and glossy wood.
She was dumped on a couch, and pinned there with a knee. She tried to shove the asshole off her, but he was too heavy.
“Put the other one over there,” the man grunted.
Saskia turned her head and saw the other guy dump an unconscious Addie in a chair. The woman was limp, her blonde hair tangled all over her face.
Saskia’s stomach clenched. The dancer reminded her a little of her best friend, Savannah, who was blonde, as well.
Would she ever see her friend again?
Yes, dammit.
She fought harder. She’d get herself and Addie out of this.
The man cursed, fumbling. Saskia turned her head and bit his calf through his trousers.
“Bitch.” He backhanded her in the face.
She cried out. Pressing her palm against her cheek, she slumped back. Her head ached and felt like it was filled with cotton wool.
The asshole kept her pinned, then she felt a prick at her neck.
“Let me go!” Her pulse leaped and skittered.
She saw him straighten, grinning. He held a syringe in his hand.
“No,” she whispered.
Lassitude flowed through her, like a slow-moving tide. She melted back against the leather, unable to hold herself up.
“It’ll be a more peaceful flight now,” the man mumbled.
There was the rumble of engines. Saskia’s awareness dimmed.
She slipped sideways, her cheek pressed to the cool leather.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
* * *
Cam paced Vander’s office. Hours had passed.
There was still no word from New York.
Fuck . The edginess inside him made it hard to think. It was clawing at him, bombarding him with images of what might have happened to her. Maybe he should just book a flight and go to New York…
“Here.” Vander shoved a glass into Cam’s hand. “Drink it.”
Cam sipped the bourbon. It was Vander’s favorite—Eagle Rare 17. The stuff cost a fortune, but right now, it tasted like dirt. “If someone’s hurt her…”
“Let’s wait to hear from Wolf,” Vander said. “And you know better than to cook up every bad scenario.”
Cam gulped down the rest of the bourbon. The burn hit him.
And his resolve hardened.
He knew he shouldn’t imagine the worst. On missions, they’d focused on what resources they had and how to best utilize them. They planned contingencies, but always hoped for the best. But this was different to being in combat.
No . Whatever had happened, he wouldn’t stop until he found her.
“Hey.” Brynn Sullivan rushed in, her face was creased with concern.
She must’ve come from the station, because she wore a dark pantsuit, blue shirt, and her detective badge clipped to her belt.
His cousin came straight to Cam and hugged him.
“Vander told me. We’re going to work out what the hell’s going on. ”
Then Brynn moved to Vander. “Norcross.”
“Detective.” Vander slid an arm around Brynn, and pulled her in close. He dropped his mouth to hers.
Brynn leaned into Vander and kissed him back.
Cam watched the pair for a second. Their love was shiningly obvious. Vander had managed to come back from a long career in the military, several years of it spent as a legend in the secretive Ghost Ops teams. He’d built a business, and now fallen for a woman.
The moment seemed too intimate and Cam looked away.
Some guys managed it, others were too scarred.
Cam knew where he fell.
Like he’d told Vander, he wouldn’t inflict his shit on a woman.
The laptop on Vander’s desk chimed and Cam’s pulse spiked. He set the glass down and hurried over.
“Wolf, talk to us,” Vander said.
The rugged man on the screen looked grim. “She’s not at her apartment. No one’s seen her.”
Fuck . Cam flexed his hand.
“She was supposed to have a meeting with the dance director at her company late this afternoon,” Wolf continued. “She never showed.”
“We have to find her,” Cam said. “Something’s really wrong.”
Wolf’s frown deepened. “We’ll take it from here.”
No . Cam’s gut rebelled, and he ground his teeth together. A small growl escaped.
“Wolf, we want to be included,” Vander said. “Cam and Saskia talk. They’re friends. Don’t shut us out.”
Brynn cleared her throat, her gaze on Cam. “I suspect my cousin will be on the first plane to New York, ready to get in your face, if you don’t keep him in the loop.”
Wolf’s blue gaze flicked to Cam, like he was trying to get a read on him.
“Oh, come on, Wolf,” a sharp female voice said. “The more help we have, the sooner we find Saskia.” A small woman leaned in from the side, obstructing their view of Wolf. She had a small, fine-featured face, with short, black hair tipped with pale pink.
“Hello, Hex,” Vander said.
“Hello, dark, sexy drink of water.” The woman winked.
Wolf scowled at the woman’s pink hair.
Cam had heard this woman mentioned before. Jet “Hex” Adler was Sentinel’s version of Ace. Hacker, tech whiz, and keeper of all things electronic.
Brynn leaned closer to the screen. “Hi, Hex, I’m Brynn.”
“Oh, the woman who tamed Vander Norcross.” Hex smiled. “You’re famous, even on our side of the country.”
Cam saw Vander tip his gaze toward the ceiling.
“What have you got on Saskia?” Cam asked.
Hex’s pretty face turned serious. “I’ve been running a bunch of searches and tapping CCTV.”
“And I questioned her friends and fellow dancers,” Wolf said. “She had a private performance in Central Park this morning.”
“Saskia’s mentioned these things before,” Hex said. “Rich people pay loads for the dancers to attend private parties and events.”
“Did she make it to the show?” Cam asked.
“Yes,” Hex said. “I found a social media picture posted by another dancer. A friend of Saskia’s, Danielle Ingram. It’s of the two of them in costume in Central Park.”
Hex touched the screen of her heavy-duty tablet.
A picture flicked up on the laptop. Cam’s chest tightened.
She looked beautiful.
In the photo, Saskia’s makeup was heavier than normal, her lips painted brilliant red. Her hair was pulled back in a severe look, showcasing her stunning face.
Where was she?
“I’ve asked Hades to find Danielle,” Hex said. “He hasn’t reported in yet.”
“Hades?” Brynn asked.
“Matteo ‘Hades’ Mancini,” Wolf said. “He’s former DIA, Direzione Investigativa Antimafia, and Interpol.”
“Any more intel on this private performance?” Vander asked.
Hex pulled a face. “The marquee and caterer were hired by Lukom, Inc. The company is registered in the British Virgin Islands.”
“So it could be anyone,” Vander mused.
“I’m looking into a few things,” the hacker said.
Vander looked at Wolf. “Did you get word to Killian?”
The other man shook his head. “He’s out of contact for at least another twenty-four hours.”
“Damn,” Vander murmured.
Cam felt his worry building. There was nothing he hated more than not having a course of action.
Waiting was the hardest thing for a Ghost Ops soldier to do.
“Wait, I’m getting a call from Hades.” Wolf pulled out a sleek, black phone and pressed it to his ear. “Talk to me, H.”
“We’re going to find her,” Hex said earnestly.
“Okay. Yeah, we’ll look into it.” Wolf nodded. “Thanks, man, keep me posted.” Wolf took his seat again. “Hades found Danielle Ingram at a restaurant in Soho. She confirmed that Saskia was at the performance.”
“And then she left?” Cam asked.
“Danielle said she left just before Saskia, but that Saskia was getting ready to leave. She seemed fine.”
“She would’ve taken the subway.” Hex tapped on her screen. “Her place is in Chelsea. I’m checking cameras at all the stations.”
“And Danielle gave us the name of the guy who organized the performance,” Wolf added. “Chad Palmer. Hades is tracking him down now.”
“So, this Chad guy approached them about the performance?” Cam’s mind whirled.
Wolf tipped his chin up. “Yes. And he asked specifically for Saskia. Sounds like he offered the dancers a lot of money, but it was contingent on Saskia dancing.”
Fuck . Cam was liking the sound of this less and less.
“I got a hit on Chad Palmer.” Hex pulled a stylus from behind her ear, and tapped it on her tablet. “Oh, hell.” The woman froze.
Wolf frowned. “Hex?”
Cam’s chest locked. He sensed Brynn moving closer.
“Palmer was questioned by the NYPD last year over the disappearance of a woman.”
“What?” Cam breathed.
“She was a model who attended a fancy party that Palmer organized for some wealthy Japanese businessmen.”
Cam sucked in a breath. They were onto something. Palmer stank.
“The model?” Cam asked.
“Never found. Palmer maintained he had no knowledge of her disappearance. She left his party happy and in one piece.”
Cam’s fingers curled into a fist. “Palmer knows something.”
“Hades will find him and make him talk.” Wolf’s tone was dark. “I’ll be in touch.”
As the screen went black, Cam heaved in a breath.
“Cam, you should go home,” Vander said. “Get some rest.”
Cam’s head whipped up. Vander had lost his mind if he thought Cam was going to sit around and relax.
His boss met his gaze. “But I know you won’t do that.”
“I…can’t rest when I don’t know where the hell she is or—” his voice cracked “— what’s happening to her.”
Brynn reached out and grabbed Cam’s hand.
Vander nodded. “Let’s shift to Ace’s office. He has bigger screens. We’ll run a few searches of our own while we wait to hear from Wolf.”
Cam managed a nod.
We’re coming, Saskia. Hold the fuck on.