We were en route back to Travis’s place when his cell phone buzzed.

When he muttered, fuck, and handed the phone to me, my heart froze in my chest.

Travis’s security system pinged his phone when the alarm was tripped and then sent a video of the interior and exterior of the building.

My gut lurched with wild panic as I watched Bree open the door to a stranger posing as a chauffeur and then nearly cracked Travis’s phone in half when the man punched my girl in the face hard enough to knock her out.

“How’d they know where to find her?” I asked with a steely growl, my rage growing by the second. “How the fuck did they know?”

Travis shook his head, promising, “We’ll get her back.”

But I didn’t want promises, I wanted action.

And the blood of the man who’d dared to hurt my girl.

Travis wrenched the wheel, cutting across traffic. “Guess we’re making an office visit after all,” he said and I nodded.

That attorney better have the answers I was looking for or he’d pay for his ignorance with the business end of my gun.

The law firm was in the business district, looking much like the rest of the skyscrapers poking the skyline. It was shiny, modern, with marble flooring and an air of snobbery that complemented the snooty decor.

We snagged the first empty elevator and sent it straight to the 54th floor where the offices of Edward Huntington III were listed.

Bypassing the sputtering secretary, I shoved open the door, striding toward the old man while Travis manned the door, ensuring we weren’t disturbed.

“I don’t have time for polite introductions but let me tell you this, for your sake you’d better have the answers I’m looking for or you’re going to retire courtesy of my fucking Glock. Got it?”

“W-what do you want?” he garbled, his fat, pasty face wobbling in his fear. His wet mouth gaped like a fish gasping for oxygen, flopping around the beach in search of water. “W-who are you?”

“Caroline Burke. Who wants her dead?” I asked, going straight to the point. “You’re the executor of the Burke estate. Someone found out that Caroline Burke is very much alive and wanted to rectify that. I want to know who and where I can find them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he protested but the way his eyes shifted gave him away.

I pressed my gun up to his puffy cheek to drive the point home that I had no patience for bullshit. “You were saying?”

His hands went up, shaking in fear, “Please don’t kill me. I’m just the executor.”

“You’re running out of time, old-timer,” I warned. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m a bad man and I kill people for a living. Do you really want to call my bluff because I don’t think you’ll like how it ends for you.”

“Okay, okay!” he blubbered, tears squeezing out from the corners of his eyes. “There was a secret will — one that no one knew about until Richard died. It was delivered to my office a week ago with the instructions to find his daughter, Caroline, who was living under an alias. His entire fortune was willed to Caroline.”

“Yeah? And someone wasn’t happy with that news...who was it?”

“Richard’s brother, David. He was set to inherit in the event that Richard died without heirs.”

“And where can I find this David?” I asked. The old man hesitated just long enough for me to arch my brow in warning. “My patience is wearing thin.”

“West 40th Street, the Bangor Building, penthouse.”

I removed my gun from his cheek. “Thank you. Now, assuming your information is correct, we’re going to leave and you’re going to forget this happened because if you don’t, I’m going to come back when you’re asleep, on the shitter, or walking in your garden and put a bullet in your skull, got it?”

He jerked a nod.

“And, I think it goes without saying that if your information is shit, I’m going to come back and do terrible things to your fucking skull before I put you out of your misery, understand?”

“I swear that’s his address,” Edward babbled and I nodded, satisfied. “Oh, one more thing...you better hope she’s still alive or I’m coming for everyone associated with the Burke account — that includes your family, your secretary, your goddamn mailman — are we clear?”

I didn’t wait for his response. We had what we needed.

“Don’t call his bluff,” Travis warned on our way out, making cuckoo gestures with his fingers. “He’s loco and he’ll do it. It’ll be a bloodbath. No beuno, you know?”

Once clear of the building and back in the truck, Travis said, “I think he pissed himself.”

“He did.”

“I really hope we don’t have to come back and kill him, he seemed like a nice guy,” Travis quipped and then punched the gas.

Fucking greedy bastards.

I’m coming, baby girl, and I’m bringing vengeance with me.