Page 33 of Sanctuary

I rounded the corner and found a small door and tried the handle. Locked, of course. I crouched down, examining the lock. Standard deadbolt, nothing fancy. I could pick it, but that would take time I didn’t have.

Looking around, I spotted a window about six feet off the ground. It was slightly ajar, just enough for me to get my fingers underneath. Quietly, I dragged a wooden crate over and climbed up.

The window opened with a faint creak that made me wince. I froze, listening for any reaction from inside. When none came, I hoisted myself up and through the narrow opening, landing softly on what felt like a metal catwalk.

The warehouse was vast and dimly lit. From where I stood, I could see most of the interior. Stacks of crates lined the walls, and a small office area was partitioned off in one corner. A single light burned there, casting long shadows across the concrete floor.

I made my way down a set of stairs to the main floor, staying hidden in the shadows. I pulled my gun from my waistband. There was just one more room left. She must be inside. When I tested the doorknob, it turned smoothly in my hand.

As the door creaked open, I saw an empty room with a single chair in the middle of it. With Mia’s purse sitting on it. Stalking over to it, I shoved my hand inside and pulled out her cellphone.

“Fuck me.”

Chapter 16

Mia

The Hummer had been driving for hours, winding through back roads and highways until all sense of direction eluded me. My hands were still bound, my head throbbing from the chloroform. I tried to focus on the landscape passing outside the tinted windows, but there was nothing to go on, mile after mile it was the same damn thing. Endless stretches of pine and birch trees.

Once they dumped the van, we’d left the city far behind. The only thing that the scenery told me was that we were in Northern Ontario. They were taking me deep into the wilderness.

When the driver finally stopped, twilight had descended. The air that rushed in as the doors opened was crisp and pine-scented, a stark contrast to the stale interior where I’d been held. Two men roughly pulled me out, my legs buckling beneath me after hours of confinement.

“Walk,” one of them ordered, shoving me forward.

Before me stood a rustic hunter’s cabin, with weathered logs darkened by years of exposure. Smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney, the only sign of habitation in this remote clearing. No other buildings in sight, no roads visible through the dense forest surrounding us. Just trees in every direction.

Inside, the cabin was surprisingly clean, a far cry from the primitive shelter I’d expected. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, casting flickering shadows across polished wooden floors. Modern appliances gleamed in a small kitchenette, and comfortable furniture was arranged strategically throughout the space.

“Sit,” my captor commanded, pushing me toward a wooden chair.

My hands were freed, only to be immediately secured to the chair arms with zip ties. I flexed my fingers, trying to restore circulation, as I took in my surroundings. Two windows, both with steel security bars. One door, heavy oak with multiple locks. My training kicked in automatically - cataloging escape routes, potential weapons, the physical capabilities of my captors.

“He’ll be here soon,” the taller of the two men said, his voice flat. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

I didn’t bother responding. Conserving energy, gathering information - these were my priorities now. I closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion while straining my ears to catch their hushed conversation.

“...what if the MacGallan’s come for her,” one whispered.

“They won’t. She’s not one of them…”

“What if O’Brien—”

“Shut up. He’s here.”

The door swung open, and a gust of cold air preceded the man I’d dreaded seeing. Director Matheson, head of our division, stepped into the cabin, removing his leather gloves with deliberate slowness. His silver hair was immaculate as always, his tailored overcoat looked out of place in such rustic surroundings.

“Leave us,” he commanded, and my captors immediately filed out.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, studying me with cold blue eyes that had always reminded me of winter ice… beautiful, but deadly. Finally, he pulled up a chair and sat directly across from me, close enough that our knees almost touched.

“Mia, Mia, Mia,” Matheson said, his voice deceptively gentle as he folded his hands in his lap. “Or should I call you Mrs. O’Brien now? Congratulations on your nuptials.”

My stomach dropped. Of course he knew. He probably had eyes on me from the moment I fled my house.

“Nothing to say?” He tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. “That’s not like you, Mia.”

I stared back at him, keeping my expression neutral despite the fear churning inside me. “What do you want, Director?”

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