But Violet's spy was wrong.
Back at the villa, the study light was on, but the chair was empty. Max had used the brooding act as a front, slipping out through the servant tunnels he'd built years ago for just such an occasion. He wasn't alone. Behind him, a literal army of shadows moved, men armed to the teeth, their faces painted for war.
"Sir," one of the tech-ops whispered into his headset, "the signal from Mrs. Byron's phone just jumped. It's moving at high speed toward the southern border."
Max stopped, his eyes narrowing. He looked at the map, then at the static location where the guard's phone had been tossed earlier. He knew Violet. He knew her calculated mind.
"It's a decoy," Max growled, his voice vibrating with a terrifying calm. "They wouldn't head for the border. She's being taken to a kill box. Ping the last location where her GPS showed. That's our ground zero."
He turned to Samuel. "Is the reporter ready?"
