Dane

Late that night, Dane was still at his desk. On top of the usual building security team, there were men posted in the hallway, at Reception, and in the parking lot. That meant three more men who had to be out of their homes for the night because he couldn't stomach sleeping the bed that made him remember Lila.

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He hadn't even been back to the Penthouse. Was afraid if he did, he'd fall apart and not able to piece himself back together.

Dane sighed and looked at his briefcase, at the plans he'd been making with John, and the Operation Request that Harry Quinn had submitted urgently that he'd emailed to Dane a couple hours earlier, showing APPROVED.

He swallowed. His mouth had gone dry.

Chris had come to him after the staff debrief, still frustrated with the secrecy. But Dane was unmoved.

"…I'm not saying this wouldn't have happened, but there's a chance, Dane. There's a chance if you'd shared with us where she was, if we'd had a team on her—"

"If he found her where I left her, there's no secrets in my life," Dane had said, his voice dead. "Sharing those details would have just brought him faster."

They'd argued, but Chris's temper was on a tight lock. He thought he understood that Dane was tormented by all this. But he didn't have a clue.

Dane's phone buzzed with a text notification and he almost didn't check it. If there was anything important, it would have come through on the urgent call. But sometimes the staff were stupid, so Dane picked up the phone and opened it.

The notification was from an unknown number and said there was an image attached.

Dane went very still, then opened it. But even though he'd braced for it, the image of Lila, naked and unconscious on a bed, with a man's hand on her thigh, the fingers holding tight enough to make divots on her skin, just about sent Dane over the edge.

His breath sucked in, the whooshed out and he dropped the phone on the desk in front of him, heaving, sour bile in his throat. His heart pounded so hard, he thought it might explode and he leapt from his chair, but then… stopped.

Where was he going to go? What was he going to do? This was his father. He had to think.

Breathless and sick, Dane forced himself to pick up the phone again and look at the image.

His father was ruthless. If he was… doing other things to Lila, he would have taken a photo of that and sent it. Dane sucked in a deep breath. He knew his father. Knew how he worked. There was no mercy in him. He didn't pull punches.

If this was what he was sending, this was as far as it had gone. But it was a threat. Meant to tell Dane that his time was running out. To force him to understand how vulnerable his wife was, and to torture him with the fear of when it would change.

Swallowing nausea, Dane shared the photo to a text with Harry and pressed send, then immediately called the man.

"Dane?" Harry's voice was deep and sharp. He was still awake. Good.

"You get the image I just sent you?"

"Just a sec—shit."

"There's no more time. It's a warning. A threat. I have to move."

Harry pushed out a heavy breath. "Yeah."

"I need to see her now."

"It's midnight, Dane. We pull her out now anything you get gets thrown out in court for unnecessary or unusual interrogation."

Dane ground his teeth. "What's the earliest we can do it?"

"Six. I can get her up at five thirty and feed her and you can talk to her at six."

"Do it."

"Are you going to tell me yet what she's going to give us that's so crucial?"

"She's going to tell us what's driving him—and that's going to tell me how to get him."

"You sure?"

Dane snorted. "Of course I'm not sure. But it's my only choice right now."

"We have to keep this by the book, Dane. I can't step outside the—"

"I know, Harry, don't worry. I'm only going to talk to her."

There was a tense hesitation, then Harry sighed. "Okay. I'll give the station a call and make sure it's set up."

"Thanks, Harry. For everything."

"Don't thank me yet," the man growled. "See you in a few hours."

Dane said goodbye and dropped the phone onto the desk. His hands were shaking. Half of him yearned to pick the phone back up and stare at that photo where she was alive and here and close enough be seen. And half of him wanted to throw up at the idea and never look at it again.

With trembling fingers, he opened the phone and brought the image back up, then zoomed it—cropping out the end where her legs were splayed on the bed, and that hand… he pulled it closer, to her shoulders, where her arm lay across her breasts, and her face was peaceful.

She was asleep—probably drugged, knowing his father. But for now, he wouldn't let himself think about that. He'd just look at that wisp of hair on her neck, and the way her lips curled up ever so slightly in the corners. The way her hands were under her head—the way he'd seen her sleep, the same position he'd watched her, held her, curled around her.

A strangled noise erupted from his throat and he dropped his arms down onto the desk, the phone inside the loop of them, and laid his head on them.

With the office door mostly closed and no eyes on him, Dane whispered to her, told her everything he felt, everything he wished he could do. Everything he would do bring her back. He told her everything she meant, and begged her not to give up. Not to lose hope.

When he finally turned the phone off and forced himself to sit back, his eyes were red and he wanted to punch something. His chest vibrated with a combination of need and terror and sheer rage. His body swung between exhausted, and so full of energy he had to get to his feet just to stop himself shaking.

He knew what he had to do, and John and Harry were going to help him do it. But that didn't make it easy—and it didn't mean Dane had all the answers. Not yet. But he sure as hell was going to do everything he could to make sure Tish started him on the right track tomorrow.

No matter what.