Page 64 of Taking What's Mine

Lincoln leans close to my ear, and whispers, “Vera and Trey. Their real names are Tyler and Livvy Mayweather.”

My stomach turns at the memory of Vera’s betrayal, but I push it aside. “What about Lazarus Delgado?” I ask, voice shaking. “Please tell me you have him.”

Her lips press together in a grim line. “He slipped away in the chaos. We’re not sure how, but we have reason to believe he escaped onto a private boat. My team’s on it now, scanning the harbor. We won’t stop until we find him.”

A cold fist of dread squeezes my heart. Lazarus is still out there—one of the most dangerous men in the criminal underworld, free to plot more revenge. Lincoln’s hand tightens on my shoulder again, grounding me, but I see the flicker of anger in his eyes. Dean’s jaw clenches.

“Let us help,” Dean says, stepping forward. “I’ve got men, resources. We can track him if you coordinate with me.”

Chloe lifts a palm in a calming gesture. “I appreciate the offer. Truly. But let the police handle it for now. We have a taskforce and jurisdiction in Saint Pierce. If Lazarus tries to flee internationally, we can coordinate with the FBI. We just need to keep the lines clean.” She glances at the bullet graze on Dean’s shoulder, eyebrow arched. “And you have your family to worry about right now.”

Dean’s features tighten, but he nods, conceding the point. “Fine,” he says. “But if you need me?—”

She offers a small, empathetic smile. “You’ll be my first call, believe me. We’ve been trying to pin Lazarus for years, and now that we have his associates in custody, we might finally get the evidence we need to extradite him back to Italy.” She brushes another stray strand behind her ear. “We almost had him last year, but he ended up weedling his way out of that mess, too.”

Exhaling, I slip my hand from Lincoln’s side, running it through my disheveled hair. “What about Morris? Will he… be put away for good?”

Chloe’s eyes glint with satisfaction. “Morris is wanted on multiple charges across state lines. With the testimonies from the other women in another container close by—” her gaze flicks to me and Sophia, “—plus your own statements, he’s looking at a long sentence.” She hesitates, then continues more softly, “I’m truly sorry for what you both went through. You saved a lot of future victims by exposing his operation.”

My cheeks heat, a swirl of conflicting emotions churning in my chest mainly at the relief he’ll be punished, and guilt for not spotting the threat earlier. “We just did what we had to,” I murmur, swallowing hard.

Chloe nods. “And I thank you for it. For months, I suspected Livvy and Tyler were luring vulnerable people into theirtrafficking ring, but they covered their tracks well. Now we have them both, plus Morris. It’s a huge win.” She offers a gentle smile before turning a more solemn look on Dean. “Again, I’m sorry about Lazarus.”

Dean’s expression is bleak, but he nods. “We’ll find him,” he says, voice low. “He’s not going to terrorize my family anymore.”

Chloe sketches a salute, her eyes flicking to me, to Sophia, and to Lincoln. “If any of you recall details—anything that might help us nail Lazarus’s whereabouts—call me.” She fishes a card from her jacket, handing it to Dean. “And if you need to talk, or you realize you have more information about their operation, any detail could be critical.”

I watch as Chloe’s determined posture seems to sink a bit, likely from the weight of the night’s events. She’s probably exhausted, too. “I have to coordinate the cleanup here,” she says, lifting her phone. “Take care of yourselves. You all deserve some rest.”

Then she’s off, striding through the swirling lights and chaos, weaving around officers who are bagging evidence. I exhale, the tension ebbing slightly.Morris is going away for a long time.Vera and Trey—or whatever their names may be—are finally in custody. A sense of victory stirs, but it’s overshadowed by the reality that Lazarus escaped. Who knows what he’ll do next?

Dean’s gaze returns to me, softened by concern. “You two all right?” he asks, flicking a glance between me and Lincoln. I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about just the physical injuries.

Lincoln meets my eyes, and a flood of unspoken emotion passes between us. “We’ll manage,” he says quietly, his tone gentle. “We should probably get them checked out at a hospital, though. Isabel’s been through a lot.”

My exhaustion hits me in a rush, and I let out a shaky laugh. “I guess a doctor’s look-over wouldn’t hurt. I feel like a wreck.”

Dean nods, relief in his stance. “Then let’s get out of here,” he says, turning to wave over some of his men, who are standing guard near a battered SUV. Sophia leans on him, still shaky on her feet. I step forward, intending to help, but Dean shakes his head. “It’s all right,” he murmurs, hooking an arm around her. “We’ll follow you. Let’s get the hell away from these docks.”

I swallow, glancing once more at the container-strewn port. My skin crawls thinking about what might have happened if Dean and Lincoln hadn’t arrived in time. If Lazarus had succeeded in shipping us abroad… My jaw clenches.Never again,I vow silently.

Lincoln slides a careful hand over my back, guiding me toward his truck, which is parked near a line of police cruisers. I lean into his warmth, letting his presence ground me. The police lights flash against the dark sky, illuminating the wreckage of this violent night. Officers still swarm, gathering statements and hauling unconscious or cuffed criminals into squad cars. Part of me wants to break down sobbing in relief. Another part just wants to curl up somewhere safe, away from prying eyes.

We ease into the truck. Lincoln helps me climb into the passenger seat as if I’m made of fragile glass, and for a moment, I almost protest—I’m not helpless. But exhaustion tugs at my limbs, so I let him. Once he’s settled behind the wheel, I can feel his attention flicking toward me, concern etched into every line of his face.

“How do you feel?” he asks softly, sliding the key into the ignition. “Need anything? Water?”

I shake my head. “I just want to sleep,” I admit, voice trembling. “But… maybe after we get cleared at the hospital.”

His expression gentles, and he briefly touches my cheek. “We’ll do that.” Then he starts the engine. The tires crunch on gravel as we pull away from the container yard.

The drive is quiet. The adrenaline is fading, leaving me bone-weary. The city lights blur past the window, and I rest my head against the seat, letting the rumble of the engine lull my racing thoughts. I sense Lincoln’s gaze flick to me every now and then, as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still here, still breathing.He must be as rattled as I am,I realize.

We reach the hospital at the edge of Saint Pierce, and nurses usher us into a curtained exam area. Dean is whisked off for more thorough treatment of his shoulder. Sophia insists on staying with him, refusing to let go of his hand. I watch them from across the busy ER—he’s trying to reassure her, even in his own battered condition. My heart twinges at the love there, a love that overcame fear and bullets just to save each other.

A nurse beckons me over, checks my vitals, inspects bruises on my arms and wrists. She cleans a small cut on my temple that I didn’t realize was bleeding. I flinch at the sting. Lincoln hovers in the doorway, arms folded, tension carved into his posture. He’s the only reason I feel safe in this sterile chaos.

When the nurse finishes, instructing me to rest and follow up with a doctor in the morning, Lincoln steps closer, offering his hand. I grasp it, heart fluttering. We exit the curtained area and find a quiet corner in the hallway while we wait for Dean’s final clearance. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the antiseptic smell of the hospital burns my nose.

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