Page 79 of Sanctuary

“I don’t like this plan,” he said, though his tone indicated he’d already accepted its necessity.

“Neither do I,” I replied softly. “But Vance expects me to come alone, believing I’m desperate enough to save Lily that I’ll walk right into his trap. We need to use that expectation.”

Winters stepped forward. “My team can approach from the water. The beach access is less likely to be rigged since it’s more visible.”

“No,” I said firmly. “Vance is too thorough. He’ll have underwater sensors, probably mines. Your team stays back until I’ve confirmed Lily’s location and condition.” I turned to the brothers. “You two as well. Maintain perimeter security, but do not approach unless you receive my direct command. I can’t risk Vance seeing multiple people and doing something drastic.”

“Mia,” Connor began, his voice tight with concern.

I reached up, pressing my fingers against his lips. “I know,” I said softly. “But this is what I was trained for. Let me use those skills one last time—for something good.”

After a moment, he nodded, his jaw set with reluctant acceptance. “I’ll be watching every second. First clean shot I get, I’m taking it.”

We finalized the details quickly—communications protocols, extraction plans, emergency signals. As the others moved into position, Connor pulled me into a fierce embrace.

“Come back to me,” he whispered against my hair. “Whatever happens in there, whatever you have to do—just come back.”

I clung to him for a brief, precious moment. “I will. I promise.”

Chapter 37

Mia

I was moving through the rain-slicked forest, alone, my steps silent on the wet earth. The beach house emerged from the mist as I approached—a weathered cedar structure perched on the edge of the shore, windows glowing with warm light as if welcoming me home. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I paused at the tree line, scanning for the sensors I knew would be there. Subtle disturbances in the underbrush revealed their locations—Vance was good, but I knew what to look for. I mapped a path through them, each step deliberately placed.

“I’m approaching the house,” I whispered into my concealed comm unit. “Sensors identified and avoided.”

“Copy that,” Connor’s voice came back, steady and reassuring in my ear. “I have a visual on the main floor. One male subject moving in what appears to be the kitchen area.”

I reached the back deck without triggering any alarms. The sliding glass door was partially open—an invitation. An obvious trap.

“I’m entering now,” I informed Connor, drawing my sidearm but keeping it low and out of sight. If Vance was watching, I needed to appear vulnerable, desperate.

“Be careful,” Connor replied softly. “I don’t have a clean shot yet—he’s staying away from the windows.”

I stepped inside, the familiar scent of sea salt and cedar bringing a rush of childhood memories that I quickly suppressed. The house was just as I remembered it—open-plan living area, kitchen to the right, stairs to the left leading to bedrooms. The cellar access would be outside, a slanted door leading down from the side yard.

“Vance,” I called, my voice echoing in the quiet house. “I’m here. Alone, as instructed.”

“In the kitchen, Amelia,” came the reply—that cultured, almost pleasant voice that had haunted the nightmares of many agency operatives. “Do come join me. I’ve made tea.”

I moved cautiously toward the kitchen, weapon still concealed against my thigh. Vance stood at the counter, dressed casually in a sweater and slacks that gave him the appearance of a college professor rather than a trained killer. He was preparing two cups of tea with methodical precision, as if this were a social visit rather than a hostage situation.

“Right on time,” he remarked, glancing at his watch. “Always so punctual, Amelia. It’s one of the qualities Matheson admired in you.”

“Where is my sister?” I demanded, scanning the room for any sign of weapons or triggers.

Vance smiled, the expression never reaching his cold eyes. “She’s quite safe, I assure you. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but unharmed.” He gestured to one of the kitchen stools. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss before the... conclusion of our business.”

I remained standing. “I want to see her first.”

“All in good time,” he replied, sliding a teacup toward me. “Drink. It’s not poisoned—that would be too quick, too merciful for what Matheson wanted.”

“Matheson is dead,” I said flatly. “Whatever loyalty you owed him died with him.”

Vance’s smile tightened. “Loyalty doesn’t end with death, Amelia. Surely someone with your... family complications understand that.” He sipped his tea, watching me over the rim of his cup. “Speaking of family, your husband is setting up quite the sniper position on the ridge. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

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