Page 127 of Silence and Surrender

“He’s going after Isabella,” I said, my voice hollow with certainty.

“We’re dispatching teams—”

“They won’t get there in time,” I cut her off, accelerating through a red light. “I’m two minutes out. Have your team meet me there.”

Isabella was everything. The twins were our future. And right now, they were in danger because of me.

“Come on,” I whispered, pushing the car faster. If anything happened to Isabella—to our children—nothing else would matter. Not the evidence, not the operation, not even justice.

I was going to save them. And god help anyone who stood between me and my family.

Chapter Fifty-One

Isabella

The panic room’s security screens flickered as monitors began coming online. The EMP Colton had triggered at the bank had temporarily disrupted some of our communications, but the reinforced systems Stryker had installed were already recovering. Status updates began flowing in from operations across Europe.

I sat in the cushioned chair of the penthouse’s panic room, my hands resting protectively over my belly. Knowing the twins were there made every decision more weighted, every risk more significant. I watched our plan unfold across three countries—Rotterdam, Hamburg, and Marseilles—while simultaneously tracking Colton’s risky mission at the bank.

Cooper’s and Steele’s teams, along with Interpol, had executed their raids with flawless timing, breaching trafficking facilities simultaneously across Europe. Now, as the secured communications returned, reports began appearing on my screens:

Rotterdam extraction complete. Fifteen girls secured. Medical teams on site.

My breath caught. Fifteen lives saved. Fifteen girls who would never know the horror that had awaited them.

Hamburg facility cleared. Fourteen rescued. Two suspects in custody.

This was really happening. After months of preparation, after all the danger and deception, we were finally taking them down.

But the most crucial operation was still unfolding at the bank, where Colton had confronted Rodger. When the EMP had activated, I’d lost visual contact with that location, and I hadn’t heard anything from Colton. It had been twenty minutes, and communications from the bank remained spotty.

Something was wrong. The operation should have concluded by now, with Sari’s Interpol team securing the building.

A new alert flashed on my screen—a security breach in the building. Not in our penthouse, but in the lobby. I switched to the backup cameras Stryker had installed throughout the building. What I saw made my heart race.

Rodger himself was entering, moving with practiced stealth despite a clearly injured arm. Six armed men accompanied him, all with tactical gear. His face was contorted with rage, his movements purposeful. I recognized that look—pure vendetta. He wasn’t here to destroy evidence or recover assets.

He was here for me.

I sent one emergency alert to Cooper, then watched as he engaged Rodger’s men on the lower floors. Three of Rodger’s team were already neutralized, but Rodger himself continued methodically upward, driven by something deeper than necessity.

The security monitors showed him speaking into a communications device, directing his remaining men to establish a perimeter around our floor. It was a containment strategy—he wanted to ensure I couldn’t escape while he conducted his personal hunt.

I remained in the panic room, sealed behind its reinforced door, continuing to monitor his movements through the security system. I noticed him pause outside the corridor leading to the room outside the penthouse where Cooper was monitoring remotely. Through the cameras, I watched in horror as a sudden hiss of gas filled the room. We hadn’t watched the ventilation, I realized with a panic. While we were focused on the fight, they were already one step ahead. Cooper and his team scrambled for masks, but within seconds they were slumping to the floor. Two of Rodger’s men in gas masks entered, dragging Cooper’s unconscious form while leaving the others.

Through the feeds, I heard Rodger’s voice: “I can’t get to Moreau himself, but his wife and his right-hand man should be enough to draw him out.”

It only took seconds for them to enter the penthouse.

I watched as Cooper regained consciousness in the living area, on his knees with Rodger’s gun pressed against his temple. I could see blood trickling from a gash on Cooper’s forehead where they must have struck him while moving him.

“Isabella!” Rodger called out, his voice echoing through the penthouse. “I know you can see me. I know you can hear me.” He pressed the gun harder against Cooper’s head. “Come out now, or I’ll kill him. Then I’ll find you anyway.”

Cooper’s eyes found the nearest camera. “Don’t,” he mouthed.

Rodger caught the movement. He smiled coldly at the camera. “You have thirty seconds, Isabella.” His smile widened. “But Cooper here doesn’t have to die for your crusade.”

I felt ice in my veins. More of Rodger’s men appeared in the corridor—three of them, heavily armed. Cooper’s team must still be unconscious from the gas.

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