“I’m not saying I like it.” Wes grimaces into his beer. “I’m saying…I can accept it. For now.” He looks me in the eye. “But if you ever hurt her, I’ll—”

“I got it.”

We’re tucked into a dingy side booth at the bar. I’ve got a clear view of the door, and from the entryway, you can’t see if there’s a second person in the booth. To say I’m tense would be an understatement of ridiculous proportions. I’m riding the fine edge between sharp adrenaline focus and an urgent need for action, and here’s Wes, lecturing me about how I’m supposed to treat his sister.

I let my eyes wander over the bar and move the conversation along. It’s one o’clock now. Alexei isn’t here. In another minute, he’ll be late. “You still thinking about getting out?”

Wes follows my gaze, doing his own check on the space. Between the two of us, there’s no way we’re missing anything. “Yeah, I—” He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “Things haven’t been the same since that day.”

“I’m exactly the same.”

Wes laughs at the joke, but the look in his eyes is serious. “I should have gotten out when you did.”

“No reason to. It was still working for you.”

He scoffs. “It’s not working anymore. The nights—” His voice cuts off abruptly and looks back down into his beer. He gives a short shake of his head and then lifts it to his mouth and takes a deep swig.

Wes doesn’t need to say anything more. I know about the nights.

But we’re here in broad daylight now, and there’s a more pressing issue: Alexei still isn’t here.

I check the time and snap, I’m back on full alert.

Not only is Alexei not here, I don’t have the feeling he’s going to be here.

Wes shifts in his seat. “One o’clock, right?”

“Yes.”

I told him the Cliffs Notes version of the story, leaving out the parts where Alexei came after Summer. That would have had him on the hunt for this guy, and that’s the last thing anybody needs.

“He’s late.”

“Yeah.”

Wes looks out across the bar again. “Something’s not right.”

The bar itself isn’t right. It’s a shitty place, mostly empty, though it’s the middle of the afternoon, so I wasn’t expecting a crowd. The bartender leans against the bar, staring at his phone.

My own phone rings. It’s the number for Heroes on the Homefront. Oh, shit. I don’t want to lie to Summer about this, but what if something’s happening? This late in the pregnancy, the chance of baby-related events goes up every minute.

“Are you going to get that?”

“Watch the door.” Wes turns dutifully toward the front of the bar, his knees poking out of the booth. I pick up the phone and swipe to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Dayton? Mr. Nash?”

The voice on the other end of the line is shaken, almost breathless. It’s not Summer.

“This is.” It sounds like the receptionist. Shit. What’s her name?

“This is Carla calling from Heroes on the Homefront.” Her voice is trembling, panicked. “Mr. Nash, I—” She can’t get the words out.

I stand up from the table, and even though my fist is clenched tightly around the phone, even though my shoulders are pricking with icy goosebumps, I marvel at how it feels to stand up with no pain. “Carla, take a deep breath.”

She obeys, her breath hissing into the phone.

“What’s going on?”

“Dayton, we have a situation at the office.” She sounds marginally more even-keeled, but all I need is information. I snap my fingers in front of Wes’s face. He’s on his feet in an instant.

I head for the door of the bar.

Fuck Alexei.

Fuck this meeting.

If something’s happening to Summer—

I twist around. Wes tosses a twenty onto the surface of the table and follows me, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Okay. What’s the situation?”

“Summer—she—” And then there it is from Carla, a muffled, terrified sob.

I choke back an irritation bordering on rage. “Carla, you need to tell me what’s happening. I can be there in twenty minutes. Or I can go to the hospital. Tell me what’s happening.”

She takes a shuddering breath. “She had an appointment at one o’clock. The man—I think his name is Curtis—has shut himself in her office.”

This makes zero sense.

“Is she with him?”

“He says he’s got a gun, Dayton.”

I have a moment of vertigo as I shove my way out onto the sidewalk into the heat. The sidewalk sways beneath me and Wes’s hand comes down hard on my shoulder, holding me up.

“He won’t let anyone in. He won’t let her out.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I end the call with a furious stab.

“What’s happening?”

Guilt and fury cascade down the length of my spine. This is my fault. I never should have let her go to the office alone. I should have made her stay home. I should have stayed the fuck away from her when I had the chance to—

“Day!” Wes’s voice is sharp and clear. “Snap out of it. What’s happening?”

“Alexei. He’s not here, because he’s at Summer’s office. He’s taken her hostage.”

The blood drains from Wes’s face, his expression hardening into something so deadly the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Then he turns on his heel and steps directly out into the traffic. I can’t believe that anyone would stop for him, with a look like that on his face, but seconds later a yellow cab pulls up to the curb. Wes turns back to me and I feel myself shift. The panic melts away, and all that’s left is a steely determination.

I don’t care if I die. All I care about is getting to Summer.

Wes climbs into the back of the cab and beckons me in beside him. “Give him the address,” he barks.

I recite the address to him, then bring my hand down hard on the back of the seat. “Let’s go. Let’s go.”