Reed stood in the back of a surveillance van parked two blocks from the restaurant, surrounded by monitors and communications equipment. Vince sat at the main console, headphones pressed to his ears, while Walker and James monitored the camera feeds from the plainclothes officers positioned around the perimeter.
Terrel had tapped into the restaurant’s internal security system—a feat that had taken him less than ten minutes—and now they had eyes on the main dining room, the bar, and both exits. Reed watched Elena appear on one of the screens, following a hostess in a sleek black dress toward a table near the back of the restaurant.
“Table for two, near the rear wall,” Elena reported quietly, her lips barely moving as she spoke. “Clear sightlines to the main entrance and the kitchen. Webb chose well.”
“Any sign of him?” Vince asked.
“Not yet. But there are three men at the bar who are trying very hard to look casual. Probably Webb’s advance team.”
Reed studied the camera feed, noting the men Elena had identified. They were good—expensive suits, relaxed postures,drinks in hand—but there was something about the way they held themselves that screamed professional security. Former military, probably, or private contractors. The kind of men who could clear a room in thirty seconds if given the order.
“We’ve got eyes on them,” Walker confirmed. “If they move, we’ll know.”
Elena settled into her chair and accepted a menu from the hostess, playing her role perfectly. To anyone watching, she was simply a beautiful woman waiting for her dinner companion—perhaps a little nervous, perhaps a little excited, but nothing that would raise suspicion.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Reed’s jaw ached from clenching, and he forced himself to relax.
Then the front door opened, and Marcus Webb walked in.
Reed’s hands curled into fists as he watched the man who had destroyed Elena’s life stroll through the restaurant like he owned it. Webb had cleaned up since the surveillance photos in L.A.—his silver hair was immaculately styled, his suit perfectly tailored, his expression radiating the kind of confident charm that had fooled many people over the years.
But Reed could see the cracks underneath. The tension around Webb’s eyes. The slight twitch in his jaw as he scanned the room. The way his hand brushed against his jacket, checking for the weapon that was almost certainly concealed there.
Webb spotted Elena and smiled—a predator’s smile, all teeth and no warmth—before making his way to her table.
“Elena.” His voice came through the audio feed, smooth and cultured. “You look well.”
“Marcus.” Elena’s voice was steady, betraying none of the fear Reed knew she must be feeling. “You look tired.”
Webb laughed as he settled into the chair across from her. “Straight to the point. I always appreciated that about you.” Hesignaled a passing waiter. “Whiskey, neat. And whatever the lady is having.”
“Just water for me,” Elena said.
“Still not drinking? Such discipline.” Webb leaned back in his chair, studying her with those cold, calculating eyes. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you reached out. After Vancouver, I assumed you’d disappear again. Go back to whatever hole you’ve been hiding in for the past five years.”
“I’m tired of hiding.”
“Are you?” Webb’s eyebrows rose. “And what exactly do you want, Elena? Why are we here?”
Reed leaned closer to the monitor, his heart pounding. This was the moment—the opening gambit that would determine whether Webb took the bait or walked away.
Elena was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the edge of her water glass. “I want this to end. All of it. The running, the looking over my shoulder, the constant fear that you’ll find me again.”
“And you think meeting me for dinner will accomplish that?”
“I think we can make a deal.”
Webb’s expression flickered—with surprise, maybe, or interest. “What kind of deal?”
“WATCHDOG is dying,” Elena said quietly. “The virus I uploaded is destroying it from the inside out. In a week, maybe two, the entire system will be worthless. All those buyers you’ve been courting, all those foreign governments willing to pay billions for access—they’ll vanish the moment they realize what they’re buying is broken beyond repair.”
“Get to the point.”
“I can fix it.”
Silence stretched between them. Reed watched Webb’s face cycle through a dozen micro-expressions—skepticism, calculation, greed—before settling into careful neutrality.
“You expect me to believe that you’d help me rebuild the system you just destroyed?”