The central part of the warehouse was home to the main offices. Vander had kept the industrial feel, with lots of wood, black metal, and glass. As Cam had guessed, even though it was Monday afternoon, it was empty.
Everyone was celebrating baby Isabel’s arrival.
“Cam?”
He turned and saw Vander. Of course, the former Ghost Ops commander hadn’t made a sound. Cam could move the same way, and even though Vander had been out for a few years, it hadn’t dulled the man’s dangerous edge.
Vander eyed him steadily with dark-blue eyes.
He was a tall, muscled man who carried a sense of contained violence. All the Norcross siblings shared dark, Italian-American good looks they’d inherited from their mother. Most of San Francisco was wary of Vander Norcross. They all sensed a predator. Cam was one of the few who knew exactly how dangerous this man could be.
And now Cam needed his help.
“What’s wrong?” Vander asked.
Cam swiped a hand through his hair. “It’s Saskia Hawke.”
Vander’s dark brows winged up. “Killian’s sister? You have a thing with his sister? Must have balls of steel, Cam.”
Cam huffed out a breath. “She lives in New York. We’re…” Well, he didn’t have the right word to describe it. “Friends. We talk on the phone.” Cam shook his head. “I’m not getting involved with any woman.”
Vander shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze steady. “Why?”
Cam felt a spurt of anger. “You know why. I’m…not a good bet. You avoided serious relationships for years, so I know you get it. I have nothing to give a woman but shit.”
“That’s not true. And I guess I proved that, since I’m engaged to your cousin. She’s my world, Cam, and I’d fight anyone who tried to take her from me.”
Cam sliced a hand through the air. Yes, Vander was in love with Brynn, but that didn’t mean Cam could offer that to anyone. “This is not why I came. Saskia’s in trouble. I know it.”
Vander straightened. “I’m listening.”
“At the hospital this morning, she called me. She said my name, but she sounded wrong. Then the call was cut off. I’ve been calling her all day since then, but the calls won’t connect, and she hasn’t called me back.”
“Shit.” Vander pulled out his phone, stabbed at the screen, and put it to his ear. He cursed. “Killian’s voicemail. It’s automated. It means he’s out of the country.”
Cam flexed his hand.
“I’ll call Killian’s second in command at Sentinel Security.” Vander strode to his office at the end of the hall. Cam followed.
The office suited its owner, with sleek, stark lines. Vander strode around the glossy desk and dropped into the chair. He opened his laptop and tapped.
Pulling in a breath, Cam stalked over beside his boss. Tension was gnawing at him. He wanted to know that Saskia was all right. Even if she was out with some guy…
He swallowed a growl. He just wanted her safe.
The video call connected.
“Norcross,” a deep voice said.
“Wolf.”
The man was big and broad-shouldered, and had a rugged face covered by a neat beard. His hair was a deep brown, and he wore a suit that looked way more designer than Cam’s. But when the blue-eyed man’s gaze met his, Cam didn’t mistake this guy for anything but a skilled, dangerous operator.
“Camden Morgan, this is Nick ‘Wolf’ Garrick,” Vander said. “Former SEAL Team Six and SAC, and second in charge at Sentinel Security.”
So the guy had been a SEAL, then gone into the CIA’s Special Activities Center. Not someone to mess with.
“Wolf, Cam is one of mine and former Ghost Ops. We need to contact Killian.”
Wolf folded his hands. “He’s out of the country.”
Vander bit out a curse. “We suspected as much. Can you reach him?”
“What’s wrong, Vander?” Wolf asked.
“Saskia Hawke called Cam today.”
Something changed in Wolf’s face. “Go on.”
Cam leaned in. “The call disconnected, and I can’t get in touch with her. The calls won’t go through. She’s in trouble.”
Wolf’s rugged face changed, taking on a lethal edge that made Cam think of the animal he was named after.
“I’ll look into it.”
The screen went black, and Cam fought the need to punch something.
Chapter Two
Oh, God, what was wrong with her?
Saskia stifled a groan. She felt woozy, her head spinning. She heard a loud, regular drumbeat of sound, and realized it was her heart beating in her head.
She rarely drank too much. As a principal dancer, she couldn’t afford a hangover.
She turned over, feeling awkward as she did. Her limbs weren’t obeying, and they felt as heavy as lead.
The scent of leather and air freshener hit her, and she blinked. She heard the rumble of deep voices in front of her. Car. She was in the back of a car. She thought she should feel more worried, but she felt too languid and disconnected. She saw another woman beside her. Blonde hair spilled around a sweet face, and she was asleep, sprawled on the seats.
Saskia blinked again, everything blurring. Then she drifted for a while, paying no attention to the movement or voices around her.
When she cracked her eyes open again, she’d lost some time. She was no longer in a car. She felt something digging into her stomach, and her body was bouncing rhythmically.
What the—?
She was upside down. She was being carried over someone’s shoulder.
A shot of panic spiked through her, but then dulled. Why couldn’t she think?
“Get them on the plane. Boss wants them in the air soon.” The voice had an American accent.
“He picked well. These dolls are pretty,” said the man carrying her. He sounded Russian.
The other man grunted. “I like them with a bit more meat on the bones, but Mr. M likes ‘em long and slim.” A low chuckle. “And flexible.”
The words sent an arrow to her gut. She felt sick. What the hell was going on?
There was a sudden whoosh of sound. She blinked. They’d stepped outside. It was nighttime, and a plane was flying overhead.
They were at an airport.
She managed to lift her head. She saw the man carrying her walking toward a sleek, private jet.
No, no.
She’d heard horror stories about human trafficking. If they got her on that plane, she might never be seen again.
She saw the other man carrying the blonde woman. Saskia felt a pop of memory, like a bubble in water. Southern accent. Addie. Saskia had to save herself and Addie.
She wrenched her hips.
The man holding her wobbled and cursed in Russian.
Saskia grabbed his hair, twisted her fingers into it, and yanked.
He yelped and dropped her.
She hit the tarmac, pain radiating through her knees. She staggered up, but her legs felt like Jell-O. She took a step toward the man holding Addie like she was a sack.
Suddenly, a hand sank into her hair and yanked her back ruthlessly.
“Whore.” Her captor shoved his shoulder into her gut and hauled her up.
She fought.
She twisted, tried to claw at him. He subdued her so easily. Fear choked her throat. And anger.