THE AMBULANCE AT THE GATE

“Marcus,” Caleb repeated, the betrayal hardening his features into stone.

Answer one: Marcus was the inside man. He had planted the tracker. He had let the ambulance through the gate.

“He locked us in!” I screamed, running to the door. I pulled at the handle, but the heavy deadbolt held fast.

Flames began licking at the bottom edge of the door frame. The gasoline ignited with a terrifying whoosh, eating through the cheap hallway carpet. Smoke immediately began filling the small apartment.

“The fire escape!” Caleb shouted. He forced himself to his feet, the medication I’d given him rapidly clearing the fog from his brain.

We ran to the living room window. Caleb smashed the glass with the butt of his gun and pushed the rusty metal grate. It screeched open.

“Go,” he ordered, practically throwing me through the window onto the metal landing.

He followed right behind me as flames burst into the living room, shattering the remaining glass.

We scrambled down the rusted iron stairs into the dark, rain-soaked alley.

My heart hammered against my ribs. “We left Nora in the SUV. If Marcus is the traitor—”

“Marcus isn't with the SUV,” Caleb said, sprinting toward the front of the building. “I left four men I personally trained. Marcus is the security chief; he doesn't do guard duty.”

We rounded the corner.

The black SUV was exactly where we left it. The four guards were standing in the rain, weapons drawn, scanning the street.

Caleb ripped open the back door.

Nora was still asleep, safely buckled in her seat.

I let out a sob of relief.

“Get in,” Caleb barked at the driver. “We're going to the warehouse. Now.”

The ride was a blur of adrenaline and fear. I checked Caleb’s vitals. His pulse had steadied, but his eyes were dark, burning with a lethal focus.

“Why Marcus?” I asked, keeping my voice low so Nora wouldn't wake. “He’s been with you for years.”

“Money,” Caleb said simply. “Loyalty has a price tag. Anna’s family syndicate must have offered him my shipping routes. But he made a mistake trying to burn me alive.”

We arrived at the 4th Street warehouse just before midnight.

It was a massive, abandoned shipping facility sitting on the edge of the Chicago River. The rain was coming down in sheets, obscuring the surrounding buildings.

“Wait here with the men,” Caleb told me, pulling a fresh magazine from his coat pocket and loading his gun.

“No,” I grabbed his arm. “My mother is in there. I'm going with you.”

Caleb looked at my hand on his arm, then up to my eyes. “It’s dangerous, Rachel.”

“So is trusting the wrong people,” I said firmly. “I’m not staying behind.”

He gave a single, tight nod. “Stay behind me.”

We approached the heavy metal side door. It was unlocked. Caleb pushed it open, his gun raised.

The inside of the warehouse was cavernous and dimly lit by a few overhead emergency lights. Dust motes danced in the pale beams.

In the center of the concrete floor sat a single wooden chair.

Sitting in the chair was my mother. She was bound with thick zip-ties, tape over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror.

“Mom!” I screamed, stepping out from behind Caleb.

“Rachel, wait!” Caleb yelled, grabbing my coat.

But it was too late.

Floodlights suddenly snapped on, blinding us with brilliant white light.

“Right on time, Caleb,” a woman’s voice echoed through the warehouse.

I squinted through the glare.

Walking out from the shadows behind my mother was a woman. She was wearing a sleek black trench coat, holding a silver revolver.

Her dark brown hair fell perfectly over her shoulders.

It was the woman from the photograph above Caleb’s desk.

Anna Moretti.

She was alive.

And standing right next to her, holding a remote detonator, was Dr. Nathan Bell.

“Drop the gun, Caleb,” Anna said, pressing the barrel of her revolver against my mother’s head. “Or the pharmacist’s brains decorate the floor.”

Caleb froze. He looked at my mother, then at me.

Slowly, he lowered his weapon and placed it on the concrete floor.

“Hello, Anna,” Caleb said quietly. “You’re looking well for a dead woman.”

Anna smiled, a cold, empty expression. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small, velvet jewelry box. She tossed it onto the floor at Caleb’s feet.

“Open it,” Anna ordered.

Caleb knelt and picked up the box. He opened the lid.

I gasped.

Inside the box was a severed human finger, wearing a heavy gold signet ring.

“Do you recognize the ring, Caleb?” Anna asked sweetly.

Caleb’s jaw clenched. “It’s Marcus’s ring.”

“Answer one,” Anna laughed. “Marcus wasn't working for me. He was working for you. He figured out Nathan and I were back in town. He tried to lock you in that apartment to keep you safe while he came here to kill me.”

She gestured to the dark corner of the warehouse.

“Too bad Nathan got to him first.”

Open two: If Marcus was loyal, who planted the tracker?

And as if answering my silent question, a small voice echoed from the doorway behind us.