Page 124 of Silence and Surrender

I didn’t mention Cooper’s presence in London. Didn’t mention my fears for tomorrow. Instead, I guided her back to bed, tucking her against my side where she belonged.

“I love you,” I whispered against her hair as her breathing evened out once more. “All three of you. Whatever happens tomorrow, remember that.”

She murmured something unintelligible, already drifting back to sleep. I held her close, memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the scent of her skin, the quiet certainty that everything I needed in this world was right here.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Colton

I moved through my early morning routine on Thursday with the same precision I’d always maintained, but everything carried new weight. The coffee I brewed was still measured to the exact gram, but now I made enough for two. Isabella would wake soon, morning sickness usually a predictable part of our days.

The gym bag I packed held more than just workout clothes. Hidden compartments concealed the burner phone Stryker had provided, extra communication equipment, and documents I couldn’t risk keeping at the office. Everything was prepared for what would happen today.

Before leaving, I paused in our bedroom doorway. Isabella slept, her dark hair tangled on the pillow. The ultrasound image from yesterday had been moved to the nightstand, the grainy picture showing two distinct forms. Twins. The word still hit me with staggering force each time I thought of it.

I moved to the bed, my hand hovering over her shoulder before I reluctantly pulled back. She needed rest more than she needed to say goodbye. With twins, Doctor Eisenberg had emphasized that her body was working twice as hard.

As I left our building, I purposely followed my usual path toward the gym, even nodding to the same doorman whose schedule aligned with mine each morning. But at the third intersection, I abruptly changed course. With Rodger’s operation accelerating, maintaining normal routines was no longer an option. I’d identified their surveillance patterns weeks ago—they’d expect me at the gym, not heading for Stryker’s loft like we’d established. The tail they’d assigned to me continued toward the fitness center, unaware I’d slipped away.

Stryker was waiting, his military bearing evident even in civilian clothes. “Timeline’s accelerated,” he stated without preamble, pulling up surveillance feeds on multiple monitors. “Rotterdam operation has been moved up twelve hours.”

“Isabella—”

“Is safe. Cooper and his team is in position around your building, and she’s coordinating from the secure room we established.” He patted me on the shoulder. “But we need to move now. Rodger’s team is already purging evidence.”

Two months ago, I would have hesitated. The lawyer in me would have calculated risks, looked for regulatory solutions. But that was before I’d discovered what the bank was truly facilitating. Before I’d seen the files on young women being trafficked through art shipments. Before I’d understood that my legal expertise was being used as a shield for monsters.

One week of gathering final evidence, one week of laying groundwork, one week of fighting to maintain my cover while everything inside me burned with the need for justice.

I checked the secure phone. A message from Isabella confirmed she was awake and monitoring:

Evidence purge initiated at headquarters. Rodger called emergency board meeting. Cooper’s team in Rotterdam is moving now. Be careful—they’ve increased surveillance on you specifically.

I studied the building schematics Stryker had laid out. “They’ll expect me to be in that board meeting. My absence will trigger alarms.”

“Which is exactly what we need,” Stryker replied, highlighting security checkpoints on the schematic. “Sari’s will create a diversion that lets you secure the evidence Interpol needs. There’s security cameras, and she doesn’t have access. You’ll need to get the evidence off the servers.”

“And if Rodger’s already destroying that evidence?”

Stryker’s expression hardened. “Then we move to direct intervention. You’ll need to find a way to secure it yourself.”

The implication sent ice through my veins. Direct intervention wasn’t just a contingency—it was a complete operational pivot. One that would put me directly in the line of fire instead of maintaining my cover. One that would transform me from the lawyer gathering evidence to the operative securing it by any means necessary.

“Isabella knows?” I asked quietly.

“Yes,” Stryker confirmed. “We notified her as soon as we found out.”

I thought about Isabella at home, analyzing data and coordinating with Cooper’s team while carrying our twins.

For the past week, we’d been detecting subtle signs that Rodger suspected something. Security protocols had tightened immediately after my return. “Random” surveillance sweeps had become more frequent. Most concerning, they’d been modifying personnel files—particularly mine. Isabella had intercepted fragments of fabricated evidence: wire transfers that never happened, communications I’d never sent, connections to accounts I’d never accessed. They’d been building this frame against me since the moment I returned, clearly suspicious about my sudden reappearance after the “family emergency.”

“Let’s move,” I said, rising from the table. Stryker handed me the EMP device we’d been saving as a last resort.

“I’ll be coordinating from here,” he said, gesturing to his command center. “Interpol teams are already in position in Rotterdam, Hamburg, and Marseilles. Once you secure the evidence from the server room, I’ll ensure it reaches the right people.” He clasped my shoulder firmly. “Remember your training. Bank security will be looking for weapons, but your best assets are already with you.”

I nodded, understanding his meaning. The months of combat training had transformed me from corporate counsel to something else entirely. Something dangerous enough to end what Rodger had started.

Chapter Fifty

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