Page 7 of The Bait

The basement was a secure room. Fingerprint-coded entry, plated safe room, undetectable on radar. It was Yunho’s office, his control centre, filled with screens and state-of-the-art tech that allowed Yunho to keep satellite eyes and ears all over the world. Harry used to call it thewar room.

It’d put Homeland security to shame.

The door was blown open, sheared off its hinges, half of it hanging to the frame, the other half in smithereens all over the floor. Every screen was black, the room silent minus the hum of hard drives and mainframes. In the mainframe cabinet, one box in particular was missing, a hole and cords in its place. The door to the weapons vault was open but otherwise untouched.

Except there on the floor was Aranya, the woman who had worked with Yunho, with a bullet hole between hersurprised eyes. As if she’d stood up from her desk when the door imploded and was shot point blank.

Such a shame.

Harry had liked her. He could almost hear the echo of her laughter...

Until Asher let out a strangled cry before he pulled a screen off the desk and launched it at the wall with a scream.

Harry went to him, but Asher pulled his arm free. “The other buildings,” he said, racing back up the stairs.

Harry chased after him, following him out into the sun and across the lawn. Into the open space and broad daylight, for fuck’s sake.

There were maintenance sheds and gardening sheds. A pool house and a boat shed.

All empty. No signs of any struggles, no damage. Nothing out of place.

Being an island, they had no need for a garage or cars, and given that Yunho was a chronic agoraphobic, the only form of transport they had was a boat that Lucas used to go to the mainland when necessary.

Not that he left the island often. They had everything delivered. All maintenance and cleaners came once or twice a week, by boat.

Aranya and Narong would stay in the main house—it was a mansion, after all—and go home on the weekends or for vacations.

This island was a refuge, a secure and off the map haven where Yunho could live without risk of being found.

Given his inability to step foot off the island also meant he was a sitting duck, should someone ever find him.

And someone had clearly found him.

Professionals. Well-armed, well-informed, and well-trained.

This wasn’t good.

Harry didn’t need to point that out, because Asher understood it all too well.

Upon finding the boat shed empty—Lucas’s boat was still there, but no one was hiding in the hull, alive or dead—Asher jumped back onto the deck and spun on his heels, exasperated, frustrated, frightened. He let out a whine, his hands on his head.

Harry had never seen him so distraught.

“Hey,” Harry said, taking hold of his hands, then his arms, and when Asher still wasn’t focusing, Harry gave him a gentle shake. “Hey!”

Asher’s eyes cut to his. “Where is he? What happened here?”

“I don’t know?—”

He strung together some biting words in Croatian, his frustration giving way to anger. “Who took him? He cannot leave. Taking him off this island will kill him. I swear to every god, Harry. I will find who did this and?—”

“We will find them. You and me. But first we need to take a minute to assess the situation.”

“What isn’t clear to you, Harry?” He threw his hand back toward the house. “Whoever did this knew exactly what this place was and where to find him. They executed Aranya and Narong. They weren’t tortured or interrogated, they were executed. Which means whoever did this did not need information or access. Which means they have Yunho and Lucas.”

“Exactly,” Harry countered. “Which is why we need a plan. You running out into the open like that was stupid. You could have been shot.”

“I don’t care!” Asher yelled at him. “I had?—”

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