Page 7 of Oliver

The private airstrip was tucked into the hills like it had something to hide.

Perfect. We didn’t want to be seen.

We touched down just after dusk—low light, no chatter. Cyclone and I moved fast, light gear only, with backup support coming in from the coast if things went sideways. I didn’t expect that to happen.

We didn’t plan for sideways.

We planned forstraight through.

As soon as the wheels hit the tarmac, Cyclone handed me a file folder thick with redacted lines and satellite maps.

“This is the facility,” he said, pointing. “Privately owned, minimal staff, allegedly for ‘elite athlete recovery, and training.”

“Looks more like a front.”

He nodded. “Because it is, most of the time.”

I scanned the maps. “And Emery?”

“Last ping from her phone was ninety-six hours ago near this building. No exit logs. No return flight. She vanished from inside the perimeter.”

I felt my jaw tighten.

She hadn’t just been taken.

She’d beenghosted.

Deliberately.

Professionally.

This meant that whoever was behind it wasn’t just after money. They wanted hergone. Why?

And that made this personal. Why would you kidnap a gold medalist swimmer?

“We’re going in clean,” Cyclone said. “No full-force entry yet. We blend. Ask questions. Make noise if we have to. But we keep it tight.”

I nodded, already scanning for the path in—and the quickest way out if it all burned down.

“What do we know about her condition?”

Cyclone looked at me.

“She fought. Hard. Judging the video. But she knew when to stop.”

Good.

I didn’t want to rescue someone who broke under pressure.

I wanted to rescue someone who held out long enough for us to reach her.

Someone who’d make themregretever laying a hand on her.

And judging by the faint grin on Cyclone’s face as he passed me a radio and a knife, he knew exactly what I was thinking.

We were going to find Emery Blake.

And God help the men who stood in our way.

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