Page 138 of Carrick
Before I could face her—before I could look her in the eye and set fire to the last shred of peace she had—I had to go to Niko. I needed facts, plans, backup. Something to grip when everything else started slipping.
I found him where I knew he’d be.
The door to his office was cracked just enough to let a wash of blue light spill into the hallway. Inside, the hum of machines was low but constant—screensaver graphics rolled across one monitor, security footage flickered across another, and layered maps blinked on a third. No music. No distractions. Justthe rhythm of a mind that didn’t rest when danger was still breathing.
Niko sat behind his desk in a white T-shirt, barefoot, a mug of coffee untouched beside him—surface already oily from neglect. His jaw was clenched, eyes locked to the screen, fingers dancing over the keyboard with methodical precision. Three different programs. Two encrypted windows. One man who looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
He didn’t look up when I stepped inside. But I didn’t need long.
“We have him.”
That stopped everything. His fingers froze mid-keystroke. His spine went rigid. Only his eyes moved—shifting up, sharp and narrow.
“Rayden?”
I nodded once. “Quinn called. Surveillance footage. Two nights ago. Full facial ID.”
Niko leaned back slowly in his chair, the creak of the leather exaggerated in the silence. He didn’t speak right away. Just dragged one hand over his jaw like he was bracing for impact.
“Still in the city?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Apparently, he decided not to follow the plan. But at least he’s still alive.”
Something in his face eased—but only for a breath. Then it turned colder. Sharper.
“Where?”
“East lot of Blackmoor.”
That landed hard. His gaze darkened, the shift subtle but sharp—like a blade being unsheathed.
I didn’t wait. “He got into an SUV with two confirmed Dom Krovi operatives. One of them was Oleg Karsin.”
Niko stilled completely. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Just that terrifying kind of focus that meant every neuron in his head had gone tactical.
Karsin’s name was enough to silence most rooms. But with Niko, it wasn’t about fear. It was about calculation.
“Oleg doesn’t waste his time,” he said finally. “If Rayden’s getting in a car with him, he’s not just running errands or picking up a favor.”
I nodded. “He’s back on payroll.”
“Or being used, maybe blackmailed.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“And you’re telling her?”
“Yeah.”
No hesitation. He didn’t argue.
“Quinn loaded the video file onto the shared drive,” I said flatly.
Niko didn’t speak. He just reached across the desk, fingers flying across the keyboard until the footage loaded. The screen flared with the dull glow of surveillance gray, and he turned it toward me as the buffer wheel spun its slow, deliberate circles.
The timestamp blinked in the corner—two nights ago. 12:43 a.m.
Grainy black-and-white footage rolled beneath the numbers. Rain streaked across the pavement in a steady shimmer, headlights flaring through the downpour as a dark SUV slid into the east lot. It moved like it had done it before—quiet, calculated. Silent as a predator.
