42. Hendricks
HENDRICKS
The secure room is supposed to be my sanctuary.
Reinforced concrete. Vault door. Three monitors cycling through encrypted feeds. No windows. No distractions. Just information, analysis, and the kind of silence that lets me think clearly.
Except I can't think clearly. I swear I can smell the sugary scent of donuts even down here. I searched for candles—it wouldn’t have surprised me if she somehow gained access to my comms room—but it’s clear.
I've been sequestered in here for two hours pretending to work—running searches on Ashford's business holdings, cross-referencing the men in the memory card photos, mapping connections between Turner's network and Ashford's legitimate enterprises.
But every five minutes, my eyes drift to the monitor showing the kitchen feed.
Mandy's not there anymore. She grabbed a donut from her stash and went out to the back porch twenty minutes ago with her phone.
I should be relieved. Distance is good. Distance is necessary. Instead, I'm wondering who she's texting.
I lean back in the chair, scrubbing a hand over my face. This is exactly why I came down here—to get away from her, to reset, to remember who I am and what I do. I don't get distracted. I don't lose focus. I complete contracts with precision and detachment.
Except there's nothing detached about the way I feel about her. I know how to end contracts. I have no idea how to end whatever this is.
The encrypted line rings.
I glance at the screen. The number is blocked, but the routing signature is familiar. It takes me a second to place it: Whitaker, Crowley & Pierce's secure relay.
I answer on the second ring. "Hendricks."
"Mr. Hendricks." The voice is smooth and cultured. “This is Thomas Ashford.”
"Mr. Ashford," I say, keeping my tone neutral and professional despite my surprise. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you directly."
"I don't typically make these calls," Ashford says. "But given the circumstances, I thought it prudent to check in personally."
Elbows on the desk, I lean forward. "What circumstances?"
"Time, Mr. Hendricks. You have five days left on our contract."
If it were up to me, I’d have already canceled the fucking contract, but I know Mandy still thinks I’m going to turn her over to Ashford. The deadline isn’t news. Ashford calling me personally to reinforce it is. "I'm aware of the timeline.”
"Are you?" There's an edge to his voice now. Not anger—something sharper, like urgency. "Because from where I'm sitting, it appears you've made very little progress."
I don't let the accusation land. "I've been gathering intelligence. Reed is careful. She doesn't leave a trail."
"She left a trail in Billings three days ago."
"I'm aware," I say, keeping my voice even. I have no doubt that he knows she took out Pemberton. She practically left a calling card. "I've been following the lead."
"And?"
"And I'm closing in." It's not a lie. She's outside, but I’m not telling him that.
Ashford is silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his tone has shifted—less impatient, more calculating. "Mr. Hendricks, I hired you because you have a reputation for results, but I need to know you understand the stakes here."
"I understand you're paying me a quarter million dollars to locate Amanda Reed."
"It's not about the money." His voice drops, and for the first time, I hear something raw beneath the polish: desperation. "She stole something of great value to me and I want it back."
Finally, we’ve arrived at the crux of the matter—the notebook. “Recovering stolen property isn’t stated in my contract.”
“Because I want the woman. She’ll return my property once I talk to her. I’m planning on offering her a sizeable reward.”
He’s lying. I can hear it in his voice.
"She’s in danger, you know," Ashford continues. "Not from me, of course. There are a lot of people who will do whatever it takes to get what she stole."
Hearing the threat, I sit up. "Are you saying someone else is looking for her?"
"I'm saying you're not the only one with a deadline, Mr. Hendricks. And if someone else finds her first, they won't be as generous as I intend to be. It's in her best interest that you convince her to come along willingly. I'm sure a man of your skills can be persuasive."
I don't respond. There's nothing to say. He's backed me into a perfect corner. "I'll find her," I say finally, my voice flat.
"Five days," Ashford says. "After that, I'll have no choice but to pursue other avenues. It’s with her best interests in mind, you see."
The line goes dead.
I sit there in the silence, staring at the monitors. My pulse is steady. My breathing controlled. But inside, something has fractured.
There is no fucking way I’m delivering Mandy to that piece of shit. Her best interests, my ass.
I close the monitors and stand, my body moving on autopilot as I head for the vault door. My mind is already three steps ahead—contingencies, exit strategies, ways to keep Mandy safe when Ashford's people come looking.
Because they will come.
And when they do, I'm going to be the only thing standing between them and her.