67 THE MAID WAS HIDING BRUISES IN A MOB BOSS’S BATHROOM—THEN HE WALKED IN

Pier 42 was a rotting monolith jutting into the freezing black waters of Boston Harbor.

The wind off the Atlantic was merciless, driving sea spray against the rusted corrugated steel walls of the abandoned fish packing plant. Inside, the cavernous space smelled of brine, decaying wood, and rust.

Harper walked through the rusted pedestrian door. Her boots crunched over shattered safety glass.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it roaring in her ears. Beneath her coat, the Kevlar vest felt heavy against her ribs, but the tiny earbud pressed deep into her ear canal offered an invisible lifeline.

*“I’m fifty yards above you on the catwalk, Harper,”* Gabriel’s voice purred in her ear, steady, calm, an anchor in the storm. *“Marcus has the north perimeter sealed. Keep walking toward the office. Do not look up.”*

Harper kept her eyes forward.

Fifty yards ahead, illuminated by a single industrial halogen lamp hooked to a portable generator, sat the raised supervisor’s office. Through the cracked Plexiglas window, she saw him.

Noah.

Her little brother was sitting in a rusted metal folding chair. His small wrists were bound to the arms with heavy silver duct tape. A strip of gray tape covered his mouth. His dark hair was messy, his eyes wide and glassy with absolute, paralyzing terror.

Standing behind him, one hand casually resting on the boy's small shoulder, was Derek Lawson.

Derek was thirty-four, broad-shouldered, with a military buzz cut and the smug, arrogant sneer of a man who believed the badge in his pocket made him a god. He was wearing his police-issue leather jacket, his service Glock holstered openly at his hip.

The moment he saw Harper emerge from the darkness, his sneer widened into a sickening, triumphant grin.

He reached down, ripped the duct tape off Noah's mouth with a cruel, careless yank. Noah let out a ragged, muffled cry.

"Harper!" the boy screamed, his voice cracking with sobs. "Harper, run! He’s gonna hurt you!"

"Noah!" Harper yelled, her feet instinctively breaking into a run.

"Hold it right there, bitch!" Derek’s voice bellowed through the cavernous warehouse, echoing off the metal rafters.

He drew his service weapon, racking the slide with a loud, mechanical *clack*, and pressed the cold steel barrel directly against the crown of Noah’s head.

Harper skidded to a halt on the wet concrete, twenty feet away. "Don't touch him! Derek, please, look at me! I'm here! I came alone, just like you wanted! Let him go!"

*“Keep his eyes on you,”* Gabriel’s voice whispered in her ear. *“Make him talk.”*

Derek laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound that had haunted Harper's nightmares for years.

"You really thought you were smart, didn't you, Harper?" Derek mocked, digging the gun barrel deeper into Noah’s hair until the boy whimpered in agony. "You thought you could pack your little bag while I was working a double and vanish into Dorchester? In my city? I own this fucking town. Every junkie, every beat cop, every snitch answers to me."

"I'm here, Derek," Harper said, holding her hands open, fighting through the terror that threatened to lock her vocal cords. "You have me. Noah has nothing to do with this. He's just a child. Untie him, let him walk out that door, and I won't run. I swear to God, I'll come back to South Street with you."

Derek sneered, his eyes roaming over her with filthy, possessive hunger. "You think you get to negotiate? After you embarrassed me? The guys at the precinct are asking where my little wife went. You made me look weak, Harper. And you know what happens when you make me look weak."

He took his hand off Noah’s shoulder and took two slow steps toward the door of the office, his gun still leveled at the boy.

"Who helped you?" Derek hissed, his eyes suddenly narrowing with vicious suspicion. "That coat you're wearing. That's real wool. That’s five hundred dollars minimum. Who’s touching what's mine, Harper? What dealer are you spreading your legs for?"

"Nobody," Harper lied, her voice shaking with genuine fury now. "I worked. I cleaned houses. I bought it myself."

"Bullshit!" Derek roared, his face purpling with rage. "You’re a useless, worthless little whore! Your mother died in the gutter, your brother is a parasite, and you are nothing without me! I gave you a roof! I protected you!"

"You beat me!" Harper screamed back, the words tearing out of her, shattering three years of silence and subjugation. "You cracked my ribs! You choked me until I passed out on our kitchen floor! You aren't a man, Derek! You're a coward with a gun!"

Derek's eyes went wild with murderous rage. He lowered the gun from Noah's head and pointed it straight at Harper’s chest.

"I’m going to put a bullet through your kneecap," Derek snarled, advancing down the iron stairs toward her. "Then I’m going to make you watch while I throw your brother into the freezing fucking bay. And then we’re going home."