Page 105 of Silence and Surrender

Heathrow appeared through a veil of mist as Steele’s jet began its descent. After months in Tuscany’s warmth, London’s gray palette felt oppressive, almost ominous. I shifted in my seat, one hand instinctively covering my stomach—a recent habit I’d developed ever since learning that Colton was the father.

“Stryker has arranged for a security team to monitor the penthouse,” Colton said quietly, closing the dossier he’d been reviewing during our flight. “No bank surveillance detected. No unexpected visitors. As far as the world is concerned, I’ve been dealing with a family emergency at my brother’s estate.”

I nodded, taking comfort in the thoroughness of our preparations. Every detail had been considered, every contingency planned for. But still, anxiety crawled beneath my skin like raw electricity looking for a conduit.

“And as far as the world is concerned,” I said, watching raindrops streak across the window, “I’m either still with my ‘owner’ or dead.”

Colton’s hand found mine, his grip firm and reassuring. “Which gives us an advantage.”

The town car waiting on the tarmac was nondescript but armored, another one of Steele’s influences. The driver nodded once to Colton but asked no questions as we slipped into the backseat, the rain drumming steadily on the roof.

The city passed by in a blur of buildings and wet streets, so different from the sun-drenched hills we’d left behind. I tried to focus on our plan rather than the growing apprehension beginning in my belly. We were returning to the heart of danger, deliberately placing ourselves within reach of the people who had orchestrated my disappearance.

“The access codes to the bank’s system have been updated,” I noted, reviewing data on the secure tablet we were using. “But the authentication patterns are the same. Sloppy.”

Colton’s lips curved in a slight smile, yet it held no humor. “Arrogance, not sloppiness. They don’t believe anyone would dare challenge them. We both went against them and lost. They think they’re untouchable now.”

Colton’s building loomed ahead, its upper floors disappearing into the mist. My pulse quickened as we entered the private parking garage, the concrete walls suddenly feeling too close, too confined after Tuscany’s open spaces.

“Stryker’s team did a complete sweep this morning,” Colton said, noting my tension. “No bugs. No surveillance. The security system has been entirely rebuilt. Steele also made sure to remove your possessions from your old apartment before your landlord got involved.”

I nodded, but found little comfort in the assurance he provided or by the fact that my belongings had been saved. It wasn’t physical danger that troubled me, it was the reality of what we were undertaking. The knowledge that any mistake could be fatal.

I’d finally found happiness with Colton, but our return to the scene of the crime made me realize how precarious our life together was. One wrong move, and we could lose everything we’d built together over the past few months.

Colton helped me out of the car, glancing around to make sure there were no other residents in the garage. Satisfied, he guided me toward the lobby, his arm around my waist.

Still possessive, even back home in London.

The elevator was specifically designed only to access the penthouse, and it required both biometric confirmation and a six-digit code that changed daily. By the time the doors opened on the penthouse level, I’d mentally cataloged three alternate escape routes, two potential weapons, and calculated the exact time it would take the nearest security team to reach us in an emergency.

I would never be a victim again.

The penthouse itself was exactly as I remembered from months ago—minimalist luxury with walls of glass overlooking the city. But Stryker’s security team had transformed part of the space into what looked like a command center. Multiple monitors lined one wall of the study, displaying security feeds, data analytics, and communication channels.

“Panic room is behind the bookcase,” Colton explained, leading me through a tour of our new fortress. “Complete communications available inside, independent power supply, enough provisions for a week if necessary. Stryker insisted on military-grade encryption for all communication systems.”

I took it all in with professional assessment, noting the careful balance of security and comfort. This would be my world for the foreseeable future—a cage, but one of our own design.

“I’ve scheduled an OB appointment for next week,” Colton continued as we reached the master bedroom. “Doctor Eisenberg is completely trustworthy, she’s worked with Steele before. She’ll come here for privacy.”

The security panel near the door chimed softly, interrupting him. He checked the display, his expression shifting subtly.

“Sari’s here,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Right on time.”

We’d discussed this step extensively in Tuscany, the calculated risk we needed to take. The ally we needed to secure. Colton had been hesitant at first, but I convinced him that her help would be invaluable.

“Sari’s always punctual,” I said, moving to the security monitor to see Colton’s executive assistant waiting in the private garage. Her professional posture revealed nothing of her true role as an Interpol agent.

Sari and I had been relatively close before I was taken, working together to track irregularities in shipping manifests. But trusting anyone now carried significant risk.

“You’re still certain about this?” he asked, eyes meeting mine.

“We need her,” I confirmed. “She doesn’t know that you know about her Interpol role. Doesn’t know I’m alive. Doesn’t realize we’re now all working together. That needs to change if we’re going to coordinate effectively.”

He nodded once, the decision made. “I’ll bring her up. I don’t want her to make a scene in the garage when she sees you’re okay. You wait in the study.”

I positioned myself slightly out of sight, where I could observe Sari’s initial reaction. Through the security monitors, I watched Colton meet her in the garage, their exchange appearing completely ordinary—an executive and his assistant reviewing urgent matters after hours.

---