Page 103 of Beyond Protection
Eamon leaned in close. "Breathe, Mac. Four counts."
I tried. Failed. Tried again.
Four in. Hold. Four out.
The panic receded enough that the room came back into focus.
Clairmont returned. Her expression told me everything. "No trace. She's routing through multiple servers."
"Or right outside," Marcus said.
Michael looked up from his phone. "Ma's locking down. Everyone's coming to the house."
Clairmont nodded. "Until we locate Kensington, you should all stay together. We've got patrol units doing drive-bys, but she showed us she can get close."
Six days. Six days until December eighteenth. Six days until she made her move.
Unless we find her first.
"What do we do now?" I asked.
Clairmont's gaze met mine. "Now? We turn you into bait."
The room turned on edge.
Bait. I'd be the thing Vanessa wanted, dangled in front of her—everything she'd been watching for eighteen months, finally within reach.
Available.
Vulnerable.
Exactly what she'd been waiting for.
I made it fifty feet from the precinct entrance before my legs gave out.
I leaned against Eamon's car. Pressed my palms flat against the cold metal. My hands still smelled like the office—recycled air and photocopier chemicals.
I couldn't get it off my skin.
Eamon did a complete circuit around the vehicle. Checked underneath, including the wheel wells. When he finished, he opened the passenger door.
"In the car, Mac."
I stumbled inside. He closed the door. Came around. Got behind the wheel.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
My phone buzzed.
It was a text from Clairmont. A compressed file. The photos from Vanessa's apartment.
It would have been wise not to open it, but I did anyway.
The images loaded. Me at the stadium. Me leaving my building. Me running at dawn. Each marked with date and time stamps—clinical notations.
One made me stop scrolling.
It was a close-up of my face. Taken through a telephoto lens. I was smiling at something off-camera, appearing almost relaxed.
