Page 53 of The Maverick

Vanessa didn’t fight him when he told her about the added detail—at least not with words. Her mouth tightened, her arms crossed, and she paced the hallway like a caged cat.

“You’re putting four agents in my house,” she said. “One of them is sitting in my office. Do you know how impossible it is to write with someone breathing over your shoulder?”

“You’ll live.”

Vanessa snorted. “You’re not the one at risk of being smothered by alpha energy and bulletproof vests.”

He crossed the room, boxed her in with a hand braced on either side of the doorframe. “You asked to be here. You said you could handle it. That means you handle the security too.”

Her gaze flicked up to his. “You trust them that much?”

“No. But I trust myself to have their backs. And I trust them to follow orders.”

She opened her mouth like she had more to say, but then her eyes flicked down to his mouth. Her breath stilled.

Hawke leaned in. “I’ll be back in a few hours. You keep your phone on. You don’t argue with the team. And if anything feels off—anything—you call me. Immediately.”

Vanessa tilted her chin up. “You act like I’m not capable of thinking for myself.”

“I know you are,” he said. “But right now, I need you protected more than I need you empowered.”

That silenced her. He kissed her, firm and fast, and was out the door before she could find another reason to challenge him.

After getting the trap sent for Brenner, Hawke headed back to her place. The trip to Vanessa’s neighborhood was fast—faster than it should’ve been, even for him. Something had startednagging at him the second he pulled away. A cold itch at the base of his skull that hadn’t gone away.

When he turned onto her street, his gut clenched… no patrol car, no guards visible. And worse—no comms.

Hawke tapped his Bluetooth. “Bravo team, check in.”

Nothing.

“Alpha perimeter, report.”

Silence.

He killed the lights on his truck and coasted to the side of the house, jumping out before the engine even clicked off.

The side door stood unlocked. Every muscle in his body went still. He drew his weapon, low and silent, and entered.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The hallway lights were still on, and the kitchen glowed faintly through the open archway, but he saw it as soon as he turned the corner.

Four men—his men—sat bound to the dining chairs. Each had their mouth duct-taped, heads lolled to the side. Conscious, but groggy. Their wrists were zip-tied behind their backs. Their weapons gone.

And in the center of Vanessa’s dining room table, lit by the overhead pendant lamp, sat a single white envelope.

No seal.

No stamp.

Just four words written across the front in precise, mechanical lettering:

Now it’s just us.

Hawke didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

He holstered his weapon and walked to the table. His hands didn’t shake as he picked up the note, but his blood ran cold.

Vanessa was gone, and Brenner had taken her.

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