After staring at the ceiling for hours, obsessing over every detail of his dojo encounter with Gretch, Sean fell asleep just before his alarm rang.

He hurriedly dressed and ate, unrested and in full self-recrimination mode. Why hadn’t he just gotten up and gone to work in the wee hours? He could have started on that mysterious Wickham painting, which had seeped into his thoughts little by little until it was a dull nag. Now, during regular work hours, he’d have to give the Etruscan mosaic his full attention.

He strode into the Moore and Morrow break room for a well-needed cup of coffee and stopped short. Margo, in a blue suit that did nothing to hide her gun holster, sat at the round table with Hannah. “There you are,” she chirped. “You don’t answer your phone.”

“No.” He cast about for something more grown-up than I don’t like to talk to people. “Not when I don’t know the incoming phone number.”

She smiled sweetly. “Well, good news. Adyton sent an email to Bixby yesterday afternoon; he’d like to meet you again. We’ve studied the op from all angles and think this is legit. Hannah said it was okay for you to take a few hours off.”

Sean headed for the coffee pot before his no-fucking-way expression outed him. “You heard Jace loud and clear. I can’t handle covert ops.”

“First of all, Jace is an associate; he does not give the orders. Second, we need to find out the extent and location of Adyton’s artifacts. Looks like you and Gretch did a good enough job fooling him as Bixby that he doesn’t suspect FBI involvement, or he would’ve pulled the project yesterday. He’s interested in the potential buyers Moore and Morrow can bring to the table.”

Hannah gasped. “Moore and Morrow?”

“Gretch told him you refer buyers and sellers to each other.”

“Sweet baby Jesus, Walter’s going to hit the roof.”

“I don’t trust Adyton,” Sean declared, pouring the coffee without turning around. “He knows Gretch and I work here. Why the cat-and-mouse email instead of calling Moore and Morrow?”

“He still thinks you’re Bixby. Seems reasonable he’d use Bixby’s email.”

“And maybe he did call here,” Hannah said. “When Gretch gets in, she can listen to the messages. I’m not familiar with how to work her console.”

Sean glanced at his watch and frowned. Gretch was sixty-six minutes late. Punctuality was as important to her as the right shade of lipstick. The early hour wasn’t a factor either; as a trainer, her appointments had begun at five in the morning. In fact, her exuberant energy was obnoxious as hell to an insomniac like him.

He stirred his coffee and turned to the women. “Did she have another appointment this morning?” When Hannah shrugged and shook her head, every muscle in his body stilled. How could her best-friend-slash-boss not know Gretch’s habits and schedule?

“She’s never late, Hannah.” His clipped words were marred by his jaw, which refused to unlock. “She has a stalker out there and ISIS sympathizers who may or may not be playing us. No doubt they all know where she works.”

Alarm washed over his boss’s features. She dug out her phone and pressed the screen a few times. On speakerphone, Gretch’s exuberant voicemail message began. Hannah disconnected. “Maybe her phone’s still off.” She darted a glance at Margo. “She didn’t know if this guy could trace her GPS by the phone number.”

“He could reverse-look-up the phone number for her address in two seconds.”

“Shit,” Sean breathed. He should never have let her walk out of the dojo last night.

Hannah pressed her screen again. “I’ll call her house.”

This time the phone was picked up, and Dwayne boomed out a greeting. “Gretch left at her usual time.” His voice echoed around the break room. “She hasn’t arrived yet?”

Sean plunked his mug on the counter and bolted to the reception desk. No black purse under the table, and although her perfume permeated the space, it was not fresh. He toured the labs and cubicles, heading last to his—the farthest from his coworkers’. He’d give anything to see her spinning on his stool, messing with his shit.

His cubicle was empty. He struggled to regulate his breathing as he hurried back up front. Margo paced the reception area, phone glued to her ear. “—could be a coincidence, but just reporting it in…”

Hannah was knocking on Walter’s door. She slipped inside as Dane wandered in from the street.

No, he hadn’t encountered Gretch from the El station to here.

Walter followed Hannah out, mouth tight. “We need to do something,” he said pointedly to Margo. She quickly signed off and pocketed her phone.

“What I suggest is you call her roommate again and get a description of what she’s wearing. And someone figure out how to work the phone console so we can listen to messages.”

Sean lunged for Gretch’s ergonomic chair and began rifling through drawers until he found the manual. He flipped to the index while Walter gazed over his shoulder. Together they figured out the surprisingly complicated message retrieval system. The digital screen lit up and indicated five messages. Sean hit play.

Two clients with questions about their projects, one price inquiry, and a hang-up. Sean scrubbed a palm across his mouth as Walter hit the arrow key for the final message.

“This is Joseph Adyton. Please return my call as soon as possible.” The old man rattled off his number.

Walter pressed a button to retrieve the details on the screen. “He called an hour ago.” Sean shut off the device as Hannah picked up the phone with shaking fingers. Her face was ashen.

“Put him on speaker,” Margo ordered. “Everyone remain silent.”

Anna walked in at that moment and was immediately shushed before she could open her mouth. She stood, eyebrows knit, clutching the diagonal strap of her satchel bag.

“Days of Olde, Joseph Adyton speaking.”

“This is Hannah Moore of Moore and Morrow Restoration returning your call,” Hannah said, her quivering voice ending like a question.

“Oh yes. Thank you for calling me back,” the man said, his voice a cheerful contrast. “I had a question about the billing and completion date we’d agreed on.”

Silence blanketed the office as everyone gazed at each other in confusion.

“Hello?” Adyton said.

“Yes,” Hannah blurted out. “That would be handled by Walter. Let me see if he’s in.” She placed the call on hold and turned to Margo. “Should I ask him if he’s seen Gretch this morning?”

“If this was a kidnap,” Margo answered gently, “he’d list his demands. Not discuss how much he owes you.”

Anna gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Walter turned wordlessly into his office and shut the door to take the call.

Something inside Sean threatened to burst. Maybe it was epic self-hatred. “We have to do something.” No way could he stand around with his thumb up his ass another second. He’d seen enough TV shows. He pointed to Hannah. “Email us all a picture we can show people on the streets—”

Margo held up a hand, a faint smile on her face. “That’s not efficient. You all go about your daily business, and we’ll start a search.”

“How?” Sean ignored Hannah’s frown at his belligerent tone.

“We’ll get a search warrant for her cell phone records and track the stalker-date. We’ll figure out which corporate and transportation security cameras she passes on her way to work and pull those. If anyone did approach her, we’ll study her body language. And, if someone actually abducted her in broad daylight, hopefully we’ll have a clear digital image of the perp to work with.”

Sean controlled the adrenalin overdrive with a deep breath. “So you’re officially opening a case?”

Margo began texting. “We’ll assume control on the basis that it may coincide with our blood artifact investigation.” She looked up with a grim smile. “Unfortunately, it means you’re working alongside your brother until we find her.”

Sean shrugged and headed back to his cubicle. He’d gladly live in the same room with Jace if it meant finding Gretch unharmed.

“Blood artifact?” Dane murmured as Sean walked past.

He paused to answer patiently. “Relics smuggled into the U.S. The profit is used to recruit lone wolves and buy weapons.”

Sean turned into his private sanctuary. He rearranged his neat rows of supplies into neater rows beside the damaged Etruscan mosaic. The routine and orderliness were dual tranquilizers. There was nothing more he could do to find Gretch. Obsessing or hanging around his colleagues would only exacerbate the pressure building within. As it was, the spiked endorphins would make the intricate cleaning a huge challenge. Maybe Vivaldi’s Concerto for Strings and Bass would help.

Shrieks erupted down the hall. Sean popped off his stool and squinted at the crowd still clustered in the reception area. Jace had arrived, cocky, handsome, and grinning. Standing by his side was Gretch, stupefyingly gorgeous. Safe.

Sean forced out a harsh exhale, relief rendering his legs weak. His shoulders remained stiff, aching from the stress and recent sleepless nights. Gretch glanced around at the outbursts with a confused half-smile, then swiveled, locking eyes with him.

He hated that she meant so much to him. Hated how helpless he was over this attraction. He meant nothing to her. With everything in his power, he’d make sure she never knew how this hour had taken years off his life.

He managed a curt nod and reclaimed his stool, reaching for the cotton-tipped swab. She was here. She was unharmed. His brother, the hero, had saved the day again. No need to rush over there and gawk like the rest of them. He had a shitload of work to do.