24 hours earlier… Cosgrove's Warehouse.
Cosgrove sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Tony.
He watched with a silent and strong intensity as Tony slid the brass key into his pocket before leaning down, his face hovering mere inches from Emily's.
"Time to take you back where you belong," Tony murmured, the words sounding more like a threat than a destination.
He reached down, gripped her hand with a bruising force, and hauled her to her feet.
With a curt, wordless nod toward Cosgrove, Tony led her out.
The moment the heavy warehouse door groaned shut and Cosgrove heard the roar of Tony's car engine departing, he let out a long breath.
"Sniper," he called out, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls.
A man stepped out from behind a stack of crates. He was lean, quiet, and possessed the kind of stillness that made people nervous.
Sniper was the man who usually handled Cosgrove's most sensitive driving and surveillance jobs. He waited for instructions.
