Page 79 of Fallen Heir
“You two are always five steps ahead,” she snapped. “All your secrets. All your silence. You built a wall around her and left me standing on the other side of it. And now she’s gone. Taken. And I’m supposed to just wait around and hope you find her?”
“Millie,” I said, but my voice was hoarse.
She looked at me then. Truly looked at me.
“You should’ve told me,” she said. Quieter this time. But there was steel beneath it. “You don’t get to keep me out of this. Not anymore. I’m helping you find her.”
I gave her a nod—one that said we didn’t have time to argue. Not now.
“Then let’s get back to the office,” I said. “Nic’s already working.”
We hadn’t even closed the door before I knew something was off.
Nic was still at the recon desk, slouched in her chair with one leg crossed over the other, eyes locked on the monitors like the world outside didn’t exist. She didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge us. Just kept staring.
She wasn’t typing. She wasn’t swearing. She wasn’t even moving.
That wasn’t like her.
I’d seen Nic under pressure. Seen her run blacksite ops on three hours of sleep and nothing but energy drinks and spite. But this? This was different.
“Nic?” I said.
Nothing.
Ben shifted beside me, but neither of us moved closer. Millicent didn’t even move. Nic’s fingers hovered over the keyboard like she was holding something back—like whatever she’d found was still too fresh to speak aloud.
Then, without turning, she clicked the mouse once, brought up the feed, and spoke.
“Gavriel Costa.”
Ben dragged a hand down his face. “Fuuuuuck.”
My stomach dropped. “You are fucking kidding me,” I said, the words slipping out at the exact same time as his.
Nic didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance up.
Behind us, Millie stood frozen. I could feel her staring between us, trying to make sense of what she was hearing.
I stepped forward, planting both palms on the edge of the desk, eyes locked on Nic. “You’re absolutely sure?”
She nodded, tight and clipped. “Confirmed through facial recognition. I started scrubbing through the surrounding footage, just in case he wasn’t working alone,” Nic continued, her voice tight. “We saw Bruce pull up solo, but something feltoff. A fewcars up from where he parked… was a black Range Rover.”
She clicked the mouse, fast-forwarding a segment of footage. “Same timestamp. Windows tinted, didn’t move for almost ten minutes. Then it turned off down another alley. No interaction on camera. But something about it didn’t sit right.”
I leaned in. “You ran the plates?”
“They were clean. Nothing traceable. But I caught a flash of the passenger’s face as the sun hit the windshield just right. I didn’t think much of it at first.”
She paused.
“Then I ran facial recognition. Three times.”
Nic turned, her voice low and final. “It was Costa.”
Ben started pacing. His boots hit the concrete like gunshots. “That bastard should’ve stayed underground.”
I didn’t look away from the monitors. Couldn’t. Because Costa meant a lot more to me than he did to them.
