Page 76 of Daddy Erik
The wayit is said makes it sound worse than it is. It feels like they're giving me something I don't want but won't say no to.
Next,Texas Ranger Captain Holt steps forward, and his presence cuts through the movement around us. He gives a short, professional nod, but his face shows that this encounter is not something he does every day.
"Halvorsens,"he says. "It's a pleasure to finally meet all of you in person.” There is a brief pause, just long enough to recognize what the situation is. "Wish it were under better circumstances."
I don't nod back.
"Where is she?"My voice sounds rougher than I want it to, like it's been pulled too tight at the edges for too long. It doesn't have room for diplomacy, and we don't have time for anything that doesn't help us move forward.
No one responds.Because nobody knows. The quiet that comes is not the same as the one in the car. This one is heavy.
Detective Ramirez clearshis throat and looks down at the folder for a moment, as if to double-check information he already knows by heart. "We tracked shipments of supplies over the past six months," he says, moving into explanation and structure. "Cross-checked them with shell companies that are linked to SableCorp's network." He taps the page once, in a small, controlled way. "This building has six different flags on it."
Six.The number settles heavily in my chest, real in a way that makes something deep in my gut tighten.
"That's very high,"he says again, and now it's harder to hide the edge in his voice. "And... about it."
The word breaks something free."About what?" It comes out sharper than I thought it would, cutting through the air between us. Claire is in there. That's what it means.
I don't shout.I don't have to. The things I'm keeping to myself are right beneath the surface. Stellan's proximity is increasing, and his hand, a solid weight on my shoulder, offers a sense of stability. I can feel the pressure, but it's not strong enough for anyone else to notice.
A reminder.Stay on the line. For a split second, my instincts kick in; I almost push him away, almost refuse the restraint just because I don't want to.
But I don't.He is correct. Because losing control here won't bring her back. It only makes this harder. More deadly. And I refuse to take that risk. Not right now. Not when we're this close.
We move forward together,the change unspoken but clear. As we get closer to the main loading bay, our formation gets tighter. The sound of boots hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm carries farther than it should in the quiet of the early morning.
We can seethe entrance clearly now. Closed. Reinforced steel, a material that seems built to endure, provides the impression of permanence, as if the secrets within were never intended to be revealed. No windows or any other means of peering inside mar the exterior.
It isn't just safe.It's hidden. It was made that way. A creeping, frigid dread begins at the small of my back, inching upward with a deliberate slowness. It settles behind my ribs, where it tightens and makes each breath feel thinner than the last.
She's in there.She has to be. All the things we've done and all the things we've followed have brought us to this point. To this door. And now I'm standing here, close enough to touch it, close enough that there's nothing between us but steel and whatever is behind it. This is the first time since we got here that I can't stop thinking about it.
I don't knowif we're too late already.
Leif stopsin the middle of the corridor, his breath catching. The hall is too clean. Too quiet. No charts clipped to doors. No gurneys. No signs of triage or treatment rooms.
Everything is sealed,reinforced, and industrial. “The building wasn’t built for patients,” he murmurs, more to himself than to anyone else. “It was built for extraction.”
Bjorn turns,expression tightening. “Extraction of what?”
He doesn’t answer.He can’t. My stomach twists so violently I feel as if I’ll lose the coffee I chugged down earlier this morning.
The thoughtof Claire somewhere inside a place designed to take, not heal, makes the edges of my vision pulse black.
He grips his weapon harder. “Move,”he rasps. “Now!”
Captain Holt lifts his hand,a subtle gesture, two fingers cutting through the air like a silent order. He turns, facing his team. "Breach positions." The change happens right away.
What had been controlled with stillness breaks into precise movement as Rangers peel off to their assigned points, weapons checked, shoulders squared, and communication flows in low, clipped whispers over comms.
Federal agents move around, tightening the outer ring, while the local police hold their lines with a different kind of tension, less practiced for something like this operation, but just as determined.
My eyes followthe interior corridor visible through the partially opened access point. They narrow slightly as I take in the lack of movement.
Soren mutters, "No guards posted?" The question is quiet, but it has a sharper edge than curiosity.
It's not right. We all know it. Leif slowly breathes out through his nose and tilts his head just enough to show that he has already reached the same conclusion. His voice is low when he answers. "They're keeping something from us."
