Chapter 5 - Line in the Sand
The private medical suite inside Declan’s high-rise smelled faintly of antiseptic and expensive linen.
Meline sat on the edge of an examination table while Declan carefully cleaned the jagged scratch across her knuckle where the floorboard had caught her skin. He worked with methodical efficiency, his large hands surprisingly steady as he pressed a sterile gauze pad against the cut.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Meline said, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his skin. “I can put a bandage on myself.”
“You’re shaking,” Declan replied without looking up.
“I’m not shaking from fear.”
He finished securing a strip of medical tape and stepped back, his eyes searching hers. “I know what rage looks like, Meline. I’ve seen it in the mirror every morning for twenty years.”
“Then you know I’m going to that pier tonight.”
Declan walked over to a steel tray and disposed of the gauze. “You aren't going anywhere alone. Bradley Carmichael has never made an honest offer in his life. Dock Four is an industrial slip, unmonitored, bordered by shipping containers. It is the ideal location to put a body in the lake.”
“He thinks I’m terrified,” she said, standing up from the table. She paced toward the glass window overlooking the lake. The water below was churned into whitecaps by the rising north wind. “He thinks I’m the same woman who spent two months agonizing over whether the wedding napkins should be ivory or ecru. He doesn't know I saw the filings. He doesn't know I know about Hayes Maritime.”
“And what do you intend to do when you see him?” Declan asked, leaning his hips against the stainless-steel counter. “Scream at him? Slap his face?”
“I want him to look me in the eye when he realizes he has nothing left,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, savage cadence. “He used my name. He signed away my life. If you’re going to destroy him, Fitzpatrick, I want front-row seats.”
A slow, wolfish smile spread across Declan’s face. It was the first genuine expression she had seen on him since they met, and it made him look extraordinarily handsome—and terrifyingly lethal.
“You have more steel in you than your fiancé ever possessed,” he said.
“Don’t call him my fiancé.”
“Fair enough.” Declan reached into his pocket and pulled out the external hard drive recovered from the apartment. “Liam ran the decryption on this drive an hour ago. Carmichael wasn't just working for me and borrowing from Petrov. He was building an insurance policy. This drive contains bank routing numbers, wire transfers, and shell company registries for Petrov’s human trafficking ring in Eastern Europe, along with the off-the-books ledgers for my port operations.”
Meline’s eyes narrowed. “He was planning to blackmail both of you.”
“Precisely. He borrowed Petrov’s money to set up an exit fund, skimmed my profits to finance his escape, and kept this drive to ensure neither of us would dare come after him. He didn’t realize Petrov’s enforcers would track him to Chicago before he could board his flight.” Declan tossed the hard drive lightly into the air and caught it. “Tonight, Bradley thinks he’s meeting you to recover this drive. He knows you kept the floorboard safe hidden. He assumes you retrieved it before his men could tear the walls down.”
“So I’m the bait.”
“You are the opening gambit,” Declan corrected. “Liam will have two teams stationed along the perimeter containers. Petrov’s men will likely be watching from the perimeter, waiting for Bradley to surface. When Carmichael shows his face, we cut off his escape, take him into custody, and dismantle Petrov’s leverage in one stroke.”
Meline stepped forward until she stood barely a foot away from Declan. The contrast between them was striking—she, slender, dressed in borrowed dark clothes, her face pale but fiercely determined; he, broad-shouldered, immovable, carrying the quiet menace of an empire built on violence.
“What happens to Bradley when you catch him?” she asked.
Declan didn’t flinch. “He will return what he stole. Every cent. And then he will answer for putting your name on Petrov’s contract.”
“Don’t kill him,” she said quietly.
Declan’s brow arched. “Mercy after all?”
“No,” she whispered, her eyes burning into his. “Death is too clean. Bradley Carmichael’s entire identity is his status, his money, his reputation among the people who worship wealth. Strip him of every dollar. Leave him with nothing, running for the rest of his miserable life, looking over his shoulder every time a black car turns a corner. That is what he deserves.”
Declan stared at her for a long, heavy moment. Then, slowly, he reached out, his thumb brushing against the curve of her jawline, lifting her chin slightly. His touch was electric, sending a sharp shiver through her veins that had nothing to do with fear.
“You would have made a very dangerous mob boss, Miss Hayes,” he murmured.
“I learned from watching a coward,” she replied, not pulling away from his touch. “Now teach me how to survive a king.”
May you like
Declan’s fingers lingered against her skin for a heartbeat longer before he dropped his hand. “Get some rest. We move at eleven.”
***
