Page 67 of Hidden Attraction

Chase stared at the screen, at Alyssa being hauled into the back of a warehouse. Her phone feed showed dirty concrete, crates, two sets of boots.

She was sitting now. Breathing hard. Angry.

Alive.

He exhaled slowly. “I’m plotting a rescue op. I don’t give a shit about permission. You either back me or stay out of my way.”

Con didn’t respond right away.

Dante broke the silence. “Then let’s do it right. We’ve got a satellite sweep in ninety seconds. We find entry points, hostiles.”

Chase stared at the footage, and it suddenly hit him. “She’s still got her phone.”

“Yeah. They haven’t found it yet.”

“Or they’re letting her keep it to lure me in.”

“Exactly,” Con grated out. “So let’s use it.”

Chase closed his eyes, visualizing the space. “Warehouse grid. Typical. Two or three doors, maybe a loading dock. If they’re planning a handoff to Cypher, he’s not showing for hours. They’ll hold her because they know I’ll come looking for her.”

He checked his weapon once more, prepared to storm in and get his woman.

“I have exact coordinates,” Dante filled them in. “She’s in a secondary room—some kind of stock room or break room. Phone’s still transmitting.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Chase stormed to the door, prepared to maim, torture and kill. Only he didn’t know right from left or up from down at this second. “What do you got, Dante? You can’t just sayshit!”

“They’re trying to ransom her.” Con’s response was grim as he saw it on their end. “Intercepted message just hit the web. They requested a money wire.”

“But?” Chase pushed.

“No deal,” Dante finished. “Cypher only pays out if they bring both you and Alyssa. He wants you, Chase.”

“I get her out. And we get back to the base to board that transport. We’ve only got a few hours.” Chase nodded to himself. “I hit hard and clean. She comes out with me.”

The sunset bled away to darkness by the time he exited the safehouse. Chase was suited up—tactical gear, sidearm, comms in his ear, heart on fire.

This wasn’t just a mission anymore.

This washer.

He’d let her slip through his fingers while he slept. While he let himself believe for one stupid night that they could have something normal.

Now?

He was the storm.

And no one who took Alyssa was walking away.

* * * * *

Alyssa’s arms ached from being bound at the wrists, her calves were on fire from her ankles being bound too, and she was more afraid than she’d ever been in her entire life. Being kidnapped off the street was a trauma she would deal with later—right now, she had other concerns.

Her kidnappers had covered her head during the bumpy journey to wherever she was being held. But as soon as they shoved her inside, they ripped the hood off her.

And gave her a clear view ofthem. They didn’t bother to conceal their identities, and the few old signs for a food delivery company that seemed to be out of business told herexactlywhere she was.

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