What if Missura was right, and she really was alone down here? No. She shut that down immediately. The message had gone through.
Whitaker and the team were coming. She just had to grit her teeth and hold on. Victoria pulled hard against the cuffs.
The pipe didn’t budge. She tried to force one hand through the cuff. Pain ripped through her skin, but her hand wouldn’t fit.
The cuffs were too tight. Then she heard footsteps outside the cell. Heavy ones. More than one person.
They stopped right outside her door. Victoria went still and listened.
— Oleg, are you out of your mind? a low, commanding voice said. — Why did you beat her up like that?
— She attacked my men first, sir, Missura said defensively. A major. Victoria tensed.
This had to be the one above him. The real boss. — I don’t care what she did, the major said coldly.
— You left marks all over her. Bruises, cuts, stun gun burns. If anybody sees that, we’re all finished.
— Nobody’s going to see it, Missura said quickly. — I’ll write it up as resisting arrest. Violent behavior. Assault on officers. We had to use force.
— Are you sure she didn’t contact anyone? the major asked. — Maybe she’s connected. Family. Prosecutor’s office. Somebody.
— Positive, sir. We checked the phone. Last message was from earlier in the day. She’s just some city woman. Nobody important.
Victoria almost smiled in the dark. They had missed the hidden message. Or they hadn’t wanted to see it.
— Listen carefully, Oleg, the major said after a pause. — This woman has seen too much. She knows about the setup, the extortion, Detective Vinokurov, and the judge.
— She heard your conversations. We cannot let her walk out of here alive. — You mean that? Missura whispered.
— I do, the major said. — We make it look like an accident. Slipped in the wet cell, hit her head on the pipe.
— Or a suicide. Tore up her clothes and hanged herself. Happens all the time. Victoria felt the cold settle deep in her chest.
They were serious. They were planning to kill her right here in this basement cell. And they meant to make it look clean.
— But if we actually do that… Missura began. — If we don’t, the major cut in, — then in a month we’re all in court. She’s too dangerous. Too smart. Too stubborn.
— You don’t let witnesses like that walk. How many times have I told you? If there’s any risk, you solve the problem. — All right, Missura said after a pause.
— When? — Tonight. Three hours from now.
— Wait for shift change. The new guys come on, they know nothing. We say we checked on her and found her dead.
— Clean and simple. — Understood. — And one more thing, Oleg.
— If it turns out she does have connections and somebody comes looking, this lands on you. — Understood, sir. — She’s your arrest. Your responsibility.
— Yes, sir. The footsteps moved away.
Victoria sat in the dark and listened to the silence. Her hands shook again, not from fear this time but from rage.
These men weren’t just extorting people. They were killers. Men sworn to uphold the law who had turned themselves into predators. They got rid of problems and called it procedure.
Victoria closed her eyes. Her breathing was heavy now, her heart pounding. Meanwhile, seventy-five miles away in the city, Lieutenant Colonel Rodion Whitaker sat in his office.
He was going through reports from the last operation. Outside, the city glowed with late-night lights. He was exhausted.
Three hard days with almost no sleep, running on coffee and habit. He wanted to go home to his wife and kids. Then his phone buzzed.
Whitaker glanced at the screen and froze. The message read: “Code 7. Coordinates sent. Highway patrol. Evidence planted.”
It was from Holden. In their unit, Code 7 meant one thing: immediate extraction. Agent in danger. Move now.
Whitaker shot out of his chair so fast it toppled backward. He was in the hallway in seconds. — Full alert! Team muster now!
— Move! Holden’s in trouble. Code 7.
Within two minutes, eight men were in the armory. His team. The best operators in the unit.
They were already pulling on body armor, checking rifles, loading magazines. — What happened, sir? asked First Lieutenant Kyle Gorman.
— Holden sent a Code 7. Coordinates put her seventy-five miles out. Highway patrol stop. Drugs planted. That’s all we know.
Gorman swore under his breath. — They pulled that on a tactical major? They have no idea who they grabbed.
Whitaker fastened his vest, grabbed his rifle, and racked the bolt. — We don’t know how far this has gone. Could be a roadside shakedown.
— Could be worse. Plan for worse. Three vehicles.
— Gorman, you’re with me in lead. Sykes, take the second team. Third vehicle stays reserve.
— Yes, sir. — Live weapons only. No one fires without my order. This is still local law enforcement, however rotten.
— Last thing we need is a blue-on-blue mess. The men loaded into three black unmarked SUVs. Whitaker took the wheel of the lead vehicle himself.
Gorman sat beside him with a tactical tablet. On the screen, Victoria’s coordinates glowed red. — How long? Gorman asked.
— If the roads are clear and we push hard, forty-five minutes. Maybe less. — When did she send it?
Whitaker checked his watch. — Three minutes ago. — Then we don’t have time to waste, sir.
— I know. The SUVs tore out into the night.
Whitaker drove fast and clean, right at the edge of what the road would allow. The highway was mostly empty. The speedometer climbed past ninety.
Gorman watched the tablet. — Coordinates put us in a small county seat called Silver Creek. There’s an old police building there.
— So they took her in. Rodion, do you think she told them who she is?
