Page 13 of Danger Close
Didn’t know how to say it before.Should’ve stayed.Should’ve told you.There’s something I need you to see.If this gets to you, I didn’t make it.The list attached—Van’s list—one of them is his.Please find her.Please keep her safe.I’m sorry.I’m so fucking sorry.Love E.
Love, E.
The words blurred for a second as something thick and electric surged through Ricky’s chest.
He read it again.
Then again.
Each line etched deeper.Like Ezra had reached through the screen and carved the apology directly into his chest.His heart beat a frantic beat behind his ribs.
Didn’t know how to say it.
Should’ve stayed.
Love, E.
Ricky’s hands shook.Not with rage.Not quite.With the kind of ache that didn’t have a name.The kind that built slowly over weeks and months and hardened into a shell—and then cracked wide open with just two words.
I’m sorry.
He exhaled through clenched teeth and opened the attachment.A spreadsheet.No, not quite.A document disguised as logistics—intake data, age ranges, transit markers.But it was more than that.
It was a fucking ledger of stolen children.
Girls.Names.Photos.Birthdates.Paperwork so official it made his stomach turn.Aged five to fifteen.Albanian, Romanian, Serbian.Passports.Visa stamps.Health records.All forged.
And buried beneath that—metadata strings.Genetic signatures.DNA matches cross-referenced to encrypted personnel files.
He scrolled—numb, then sick, and then he saw it, fucking furious.
Knowles, Arina.F.Age: 5.DNA match: Donovan Knowles.
The air left his lungs like he’d taken a punch.Van.
Van had a daughter.
Van—his first mentor, the man who taught him how to hold a line, how to lead without shouting, how to care without weakness—had died before he could find her.And Ezra—Ezra had found the trail.Picked up the torch and followed it across continents, right into the dark.
And now he might be dead, too.Ricky stood so fast, his chair scraped back and toppled.None of this was abstract anymore.This wasn’t ghosts and guilt and something left unsaid.This was Van’s blood.This was Ezra, bleeding somewhere, maybe dying—after apologizing.After finally saying the words Ricky had waited three goddamn months to hear.
He didn’t hesitate.He moved.Bag.Boots.Weapon.Keys.He was out the door and heading for his truck before anyone knew he was leaving.As he moved, he passed on a message to his boss that he had a family emergency, because that’s what this fucking was, and he didn’t want their asset to get shot.
As soon as he got to the truck, he flicked a message to Bateman.
I’m coming back.Van had a daughter.Ezra’s in trouble.Will need extraction, ETA 6 hours.
And as his tires hit the freeway, his jaw set in stone, only one thought remained.
I’m coming, Ezra.I’m coming, and no one’s going to fucking stop me.
