Mira's POV
"We have to assume James is innocent until proven otherwise," I say firmly.
Kieran looks at me like I've lost my mind. "You heard Vincent. He said the mole has been with me for six years. James has been my second-in-command for exactly six years."
"So Vincent wants you to suspect your own brother. Don't you see? That's the point." I grab Kieran's arm, forcing him to focus on me instead of his spiraling thoughts. "If you can't trust James, you can't trust anyone. You'll be alone and vulnerable. That's what Vincent wants."
Something shifts in Kieran's expression. "You're right." He sounds surprised. "You're absolutely right. Vincent is playing psychological warfare."
"Of course I'm right. I didn't survive three months of humiliation and betrayal by being stupid." I'm surprised by my own confidence. "So here's what we do. We assume James is innocent, we go save Sophie and your brother, and we figure out who the real traitor is."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." I check my phone. "We have fifty-three minutes. Stop doubting yourself and start planning."
Kieran stares at me for a long moment, then something like admiration flashes in his ice-blue eyes. "When this is over, remind me to thank Marcus for breaking you. The woman standing in front of me right now is magnificent."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Stop flirting and start driving."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Yes, ma'am."
We race toward Riverside in Kieran's backup car—a nondescript sedan he keeps for emergencies. My mind spins with everything that's happened in the last six hours. This morning I was alone in my bookstore, reading notes from a stalker. Now I'm planning a rescue mission with that same stalker while my best friend and his brother are held hostage by my criminal father.
My life has become completely insane.
"Tell me about the bookstore layout," Kieran says as we speed down the dark highway. "Every detail you can remember."
"It's three stories. Shop on the ground floor, my apartment on the second, and the attic on the third. There's a back door to the alley, the front entrance on Main Street, and a fire escape on the side that leads to my apartment."
"The fire escape. That's our way in." Kieran's mind is clearly racing. "We go up to your apartment, access the attic from there, and come down through the building. Vincent will have men watching the front and back doors, but they won't expect us to already be inside."
"But what about Sophie? She's in the back room."
"We get her after we secure the attic. Whatever your mother hid there is Vincent's real target. Once we have it, we have leverage." He glances at me. "Can you climb a fire escape in the dark?"
"I used to climb trees as a kid. How hard can it be?"
"That's my girl." The words slip out naturally, and we both go still. Kieran clears his throat. "I mean—"
"I know what you meant." My heart pounds. "And for the record, I kind of like when you call me that."
His knuckles go white on the steering wheel. "Mira, when this is over, we need to have a very long conversation about boundaries and consent and whether you actually want a relationship with someone as damaged as me."
"When this is over," I correct. "Not if. We're getting through this."
"Your optimism is going to get you killed."
"Your pessimism is exhausting."
He laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is so unexpected and wonderful that I can't help smiling. Even racing toward danger, even with everything falling apart, this moment feels strangely perfect.
We reach Riverside forty-two minutes after Vincent's call. Kieran parks three blocks from the bookstore and kills the engine. The street is eerily quiet for seven PM.
"Stay close to me," Kieran instructs, pulling out his gun. "If shooting starts, you run. You don't try to help, you don't play hero—you run and hide until I come get you. Understood?"
"No."
"Mira—"
"I'm not leaving you to fight alone. We're partners in this." I check the small gun he gave me earlier. "Besides, you need someone to watch your back. Especially if you can't trust your own people."
He looks like he wants to argue, but there's no time. We move through the shadows toward Chapter and Verse. My bookstore looks dark and abandoned from the outside, but I see movement through the windows. Shapes. People waiting.
"Three men inside," Kieran whispers. "Two by the front door, one in the back near where Sophie is being held. That's light security for Vincent."
"Maybe it's a trap."
"Definitely a trap. The question is—what kind?"
We circle to the side of the building where the fire escape hangs. It's old and rusty, and I suddenly remember why I never use it. The ladder is pulled up, dangling ten feet above the ground.
"I can boost you," Kieran says. "You grab the ladder, pull it down, and we climb."
"What if it makes noise?"
"Then we improvise." He laces his fingers together, creating a step. "Ready?"
I put my foot in his hands and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. I stretch up, fingers brushing the ladder's bottom rung. Almost there. Kieran boosts me higher and I grab hold, pulling myself up with shaking arms.
The ladder releases with a metallic screech that sounds like a scream in the quiet night.
"Go!" Kieran hisses. "Now!"
I climb fast, my hands slipping on the rusty metal. Below me, Kieran follows, his body blocking mine from potential gunfire. We reach my apartment window just as shouting erupts from inside the building.
They heard us.
Kieran smashes my window with his elbow and we tumble inside. Glass crunches under our feet. My apartment—my safe space—feels violated by the danger we've brought here.
"The attic access?" Kieran demands.
"Closet in my bedroom. There's a pull-down ladder."
We run to my bedroom. I yank open the closet door and stare up at the ceiling panel I haven't touched in eight years. Not since my mother died and made me promise never to go up there alone.
"I'm not alone anymore," I whisper to her memory. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I have to break my promise."
Kieran pulls the cord. The ladder unfolds with a groan of old wood. He goes up first, gun drawn, checking for threats. Then his head appears in the opening.
"Clear. Come up."
I climb into the attic and gasp.
It's not the dusty, empty space I expected. It's a fully furnished room—desk, filing cabinets, corkboard covered in photos and documents, and a safe built into the wall.
"Your mother was running an investigation," Kieran breathes. "She was tracking Vincent's entire operation."
I move to the corkboard and my blood runs cold. Photos of Vincent with various people—politicians, judges, businessmen. Documents showing money transfers, property deeds, and criminal records. And in the center of it all: a photo of my mother, younger and smiling, with a red X drawn over her face.
Beside it, a photo of me. Also marked with a red X.
"She knew he was going to kill her," I whisper. "She knew, and she prepared for it."
Kieran examines the safe. "Do you know the combination?"
"No. She never told me about any of this."
"Then we take it with us. This entire room is evidence that could destroy Vincent's empire." He starts photographing everything with his phone. "James can break into the safe once we—"
A voice echoes up from below. Cold and amused and horribly familiar.
"How touching. Mother and daughter, both thinking they could outwit me."
Vincent.
He's here. In my bookstore. Right below us.
Kieran positions himself between me and the ladder opening, gun raised. But Vincent doesn't come up. He just keeps talking, his voice drifting through the old building like poison.
"Did you find her little investigation room? Elizabeth was always so thorough. Spent years gathering evidence she thought would protect you. But here's the thing about evidence, daughter—it only matters if you're alive to use it."
"Show yourself!" Kieran shouts.
"Why? I have Sophie down here, bleeding from where my associate cut her to prove a point. I have James in the van outside, drugged but alive. And I have men surrounding this building with orders to burn it down if you don't come out in the next sixty seconds. Your choice, Kieran. Save the evidence, or save the people."
Footsteps. Multiple people moving around below us.
Then Sophie screams. A real scream of pain that makes my heart stop.
"Fifty seconds," Vincent calls cheerfully.
"We have to go down," I say. "We can't let him hurt her."
"If we go down, we're captured or dead." Kieran is thinking frantically. "But if we stay, he burns the building with Sophie and James inside."
"Forty seconds."
I look around the attic, desperate for options. That's when I see it—another door. Hidden behind a filing cabinet. My mother's escape route.
"Kieran!" I grab his arm and point.
We shove the cabinet aside. The door opens to reveal a narrow passage that smells like dust and secrets. A passage that must lead to the building next door—the coffee shop where Sophie works.
"Smart woman, your mother," Kieran mutters.
"Thirty seconds!"
We grab what we can—files, photos, a laptop—and stuff them into a bag from my mother's desk. Kieran photographs the safe's serial number, then we're moving through the passage, pulling the door shut behind us.
Behind us, I hear Vincent's voice one last time:
"Twenty seconds. Nineteen. Eighteen..."
We emerge in the storage room of Sophie's coffee shop, dusty and gasping. Through the walls, we hear chaos—shouting, Sophie crying, men running.
"We left them," I sob. "We left Sophie and James!"
"No." Kieran's face is stone. "We're saving them. This is how we save them." He pulls out his phone and makes a call. "This is Kieran Thorne. I'm reporting a hostage situation at Chapter and Verse bookstore, Main Street. Multiple armed suspects, two hostages, immediate response needed."
He hangs up and looks at me. "Police will be here in four minutes. Vincent won't risk a shootout with cops—he'll evacuate. We follow at a distance and rescue James and Sophie when they're in transit."
"You're sure?"
"No. But it's our only play."
Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer. Through the coffee shop window, I see men running from my bookstore. Two of them drag Sophie between them. Another carries something wrapped in a tarp—James, probably.
They pile into vans and tear away from the curb just as police cars round the corner.
"Now!" Kieran and I run for his car.
We follow the vans through Riverside, staying far enough back to avoid detection. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. Everything is falling apart. The bookstore, my safety, my evidence against Vincent—all gone.
The vans turn onto the highway heading out of town. Toward the industrial district where abandoned warehouses hide all kinds of terrible things.
Kieran's phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
He opens it and goes white.
"What?" I demand. "What is it?"
He shows me the screen. A photo of James, awake now, tied to a chair. Blood on his face. And standing behind him with a gun to his head—
"No," I breathe. "That's impossible."
It's Adrian. My delivery driver. The charming man who always knew my schedule. Who had access to every donated book where Kieran's notes appeared.
The text below the photo reads: "Hi boss. Bet you didn't see this coming. Vincent pays better than you do. -A"
Adrian is the mole.
And he's about to execute Kieran's brother.