Page 40 of The Maverick

But now? Now she knew the truth. She belonged to herself, and she had Hawke. If she belonged to anyone other than herself… it was him.

A few minutes later, Hawke’s phone vibrated. He answered on speaker.

Reed’s voice came through, clipped and focused. “Got it.”

Vanessa sat upright. “What did you find?”

Someone accessed the drop box seven days ago. Male, early forties, average build, short-cropped hair, ball cap pulled low. Face mostly obscured, but he turns just enough on the way out to give us a partial side profile.”

Her blood went cold. “You get a still?”

“I’ll send it to Hawke now. But there’s more. The man used a key fob tied to a rental contract under the name Miles Brenner.”

Her breath froze. That name again.

“Same guy from the Houston panel,” Hawke said darkly. “Same build.”

“I matched his gait and shoulder angle with the security footage from the Iron Spur parking lot last month,” Reed continued. “It’s him.”

Vanessa clenched her fists. “He’s not hiding anymore.”

“No,” Hawke said. “He’s circling.”

Reed added one last detail. “And Vanessa? there was a second envelope in that drop box. Addressed to you. Still sealed. I’m getting it couriered to Gavin now.”

Her skin went hot and cold in waves. Another letter. Another chapter in whatever sick script this man was writing.

“I want to read it,” she said.

Hawke’s grip tightened on the wheel. “You will.”

And if Miles Brenner had written another scene… it would be his last.

10

HAWKE

Hawke kept his eyes on the taillights three cars ahead, maintaining just enough distance to avoid drawing attention. Charles drove like a man with no reason to look over his shoulder—steady, predictable, oblivious. Hawke, on the other hand, was nothing if not deliberate.

He’d waited until Vanessa was secure at the club, tucked back into the vault with Roxie and Keely for company and security. They had reinforced the Iron Spur’s security system threefold. Gavin was monitoring external feeds, and Jesse was on standby ten minutes out.

She hadn’t wanted him to leave. Hadn’t said the words, but it was in her eyes. She’d quietly curled her fingers around his jacket sleeve, then let go.

He’d kissed her forehead and promised to come back with answers. Then, like the predator he was trained to be, he disappeared into the night. Now, two counties away and gaining on his target, that predator was damn close to striking.

Charles didn’t take the highway. He veered off onto a rural road that split through pine forest and cattle fences. No businesses, no traffic lights, no signs of life.

That was mistake number one.

Hawke adjusted the tracking app on his dash, watching Charles’s dot pulse on the screen. The man had no clue he was being followed. Either arrogance or ignorance—Hawke didn’t care. Both would get you killed.

He drove with his lights off for the last half-mile, the dark terrain familiar enough to navigate without visibility. The air was thick with storm clouds, moonlight barely cutting through, and the temperature had plunged in the last half hour.

Charles’s SUV slowed ahead, pulling off into the gravel turnaround just past mile marker seventy-two. Hawke parked fifty yards back, cut the engine, and stepped into the dark.

He moved silently, boots soundless on dirt and pine needles, staying low along the tree line. He clocked the surroundings—no houses in visible range, no power lines overhead. But his gut told him he wasn’t alone.

The second mistake.

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