I glare.
She smirks.
God help me. I’m in so much trouble.
THREE
EMMA
Okay, so maybe I’m not duct-taped to a chair.
Yet.
But the way Rhett is looking at me—with those sharp eyes like he’s trying to x-ray straight through my skull—I probably shouldn’t push my luck.
Except pushing my luck is kind of what I do best.
I’m seated on a beat-up leather couch in a cold, windowless room that smells faintly like coffee and testosterone. Rhett and a few of his… what? Coworkers? Commandos? Secret Navy SEAL cosplay club?—they’re all standing around like they’re trying to decide whether to interrogate me or sedate me.
“Let’s try this again,” Rhett says, crouching in front of me, elbows on his knees. His voice is low, calm, and terrifyingly patient. “How did you find Haven 7?”
I meet his gaze. Hold it. Lie straight through my teeth. “I have my ways.”
He doesn’t flinch. “You broke into a covert facility that doesn't exist. That requires more than Google Maps and a good vibe.”
I shrug. “You’d be surprised what you can find with a library card and an unhealthy amount of time on Reddit.” I definitely don’t tell who I found them because of my father. A man they all know well, and probably barely even remember.
Someone behind him snorts. I glance past Rhett and spot one of the others, a tall guy with shaggy blond hair and a smirk that probably gets him punched a lot.
“Chase,” Rhett growls without turning around.
“What?” the blond guy says, holding up his hands. “I like her style. She’s got charisma. It’s fun.”
“She’s not here to entertain you.”
“Too bad,” Chase says, dropping into a chair and grinning at me. “You got a name, Miss Charisma?”
“Emma,” I say. “Emma Lincoln. And I’m not here to play twenty questions. I’m here to find my sister.”
Rhett stands up slowly, like he’s trying not to scare me—but let’s be honest, the guy could whisper sweet nothings and still look like he’s about to break someone's kneecaps.
“She went missing six days ago,” I continue, folding my hands tightly in my lap. “But I think something was wrong before that.”
“What do you mean?” a deep voice rumbles from the doorway.
I turn—and almost swallow my tongue. The guy standing there is built like a wall with eyes. Military haircut. Scar over one brow. He looks like he bench-presses tanks for fun.
“I mean,” I say, voice slightly higher now, “she was seeing this guy. A cop.”
Rhett stiffens.
I keep going. “His name was Mark Renshaw. On paper, he’s clean. Shiny badge, commendations, good record. But I never liked him. Too smooth. Too… plastic. Like he was playing a part.”
Scarface Wall Man narrows his eyes. “And you think he’s involved?”
“I don’t know. But something about him never sat right with me. And then Mia started acting weird. Pulling away. Flinching when her phone rang. She wouldn’t talk to me about it.”
Rhett crosses his arms. “You said you found a note?”