Chapter 1 - Three Steps Away
Margot Ellery jerked awake and whispered: "Please don't make me leave."
Damian Voss looked down and saw her company badge beside a black leather handbag.
A number had been scratched into the back.
B-417.
This wasn't an employee sleeping after a late shift.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
The overhead industrial lamp buzzed above Margot's face, throwing hard white light across the concrete while the rest of the warehouse disappeared into rows of darkness.
Damian stood three steps away.
Exactly three.
Margot noticed because her frightened mind counted strange things when it needed somewhere to hide.
One polished black shoe.
Then the other.
The straight line of his trousers.
The black dress shirt beneath an expensive jacket.
The hand still resting beside the metal light switch.
And finally his face.
Damian Voss had a reputation for making other men forget how to breathe.
At thirty-nine, he controlled Voss Meridian Holdings, a logistics empire with shipping terminals, construction companies, security firms, and enough legitimate contracts to fill an entire financial newspaper.
The newspapers didn't print the other part.
They didn't write about the neighborhoods where men lowered their voices when the Voss name was spoken.
They didn't write about the old criminal families that had either learned to work with Damian or disappeared from the city's power structure.
They certainly didn't call him a mafia boss.
Not where he could read it.
Margot had worked as Damian's executive secretary for eleven months.
She had seen him dismiss three vice presidents without raising his voice.
She had watched a room full of lawyers stop arguing when he lifted one finger.
She had once seen a man twice his size begin apologizing before Damian had even asked a question.
But she had never seen him look the way he looked now.
Frozen.
Not angry.
Not yet.
Simply unable to understand what he was seeing.
Margot pushed herself upright.
The dark charcoal coat that had covered her slid into her lap.
Her cream blouse was wrinkled.
Her hair had fallen loose around her shoulders.
She could feel a painful stiffness in her neck from using her handbag as a pillow.
She wished she could disappear into the concrete.
"Sir."
Damian's eyes moved to the flattened cardboard she'd placed beneath herself.
Then to a half-empty bottle of water.
Then to the small paper bag containing two crackers she had saved for breakfast.
His gaze returned to her.
"How long?"
Margot swallowed.
"I fell asleep."
"That wasn't my question."
She looked away.
Damian stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
That somehow made it worse.
"How long have you been sleeping here?"
Margot pulled the coat tighter.
"Just tonight."
His expression didn't change.
She knew immediately he didn't believe her.
Damian rarely repeated himself. People usually discovered that lying to him was more uncomfortable than telling him the truth.
He glanced at her badge.
It was lying beside the handbag because Margot had removed it before sleeping.
Damian bent and picked it up.
Margot's pulse jumped.
"No."
The word escaped before she could stop it.
His eyes rose.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Damian turned the badge over.
She watched him see the scratches.
B-417.
Four characters cut into the plastic with something sharp.
His thumb moved across them.
"What's B-417?"
"I don't know."
Another lie.
Damian's eyes stayed on hers.
"Margot."
She forced herself to breathe normally.
"It's an old badge. Maybe it got scratched."
"Numbers don't scratch themselves into straight lines."
Her phone vibrated.
Margot flinched.
Damian saw it.
She grabbed the phone before he could.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
One message.
LEAVE BEFORE HE ASKS ABOUT B-417.
Margot locked the screen.
Too late.
Damian hadn't read the words, but he had seen her face.
"Who was that?"
"Spam."
"At one forty-eight in the morning?"
"Apparently scammers don't sleep."
It was a stupid attempt at humor.
Damian didn't smile.
He looked toward the enormous steel exit doors.
"Where is your car?"
Margot's fingers tightened around the phone.
"I took the train."
"The last train left before midnight."
"I missed it."
"So you chose the warehouse."
"I knew the night staff wouldn't care."
"There is no night staff in this building on Fridays."
Margot stared at him.
Damian's eyes narrowed.
"Which you knew."
Silence.
He had cornered her without moving.
Margot could feel her heart beating against her ribs.
The truth sat behind her teeth.
My apartment isn't safe.
Someone has been inside.
Someone knows where my younger brother is.
Someone has been following me from work.
And the person doing it has access to your company.
But she couldn't say any of that.
Three nights earlier, she'd found a white envelope beneath her apartment door.
Inside was a photograph of her twenty-two-year-old brother, Noah, leaving his evening class.
On the back were six words.
KEEP VOSS OUT OF YOUR BUSINESS.
The next night, someone had entered her apartment.
Nothing had been stolen.
Her kitchen chair had simply been moved into the middle of her bedroom.
Sitting on it was another photograph.
This one showed Margot walking beside Damian outside Voss Meridian headquarters.
Yesterday morning, a message had arrived.
SLEEP SOMEWHERE ELSE TONIGHT.
WE KNOW WHERE NOAH LIVES.
So Margot had stayed at work until everyone left.
Then she had taken the service elevator to Warehouse Three, where almost nobody came after business hours.
At least, nobody except Damian Voss at one forty-eight in the morning.
"What happened at your apartment?" he asked.
Margot's head snapped up.
Damian watched her carefully.
"I didn't say anything happened."
"You didn't need to."
"Sir—"
"Damian."
She blinked.
He almost never allowed employees to use his first name.
"Excuse me?"
"If I'm standing over my secretary while she's sleeping on a warehouse floor because she's too frightened to go home, we're temporarily past 'sir.'"
Something inside Margot cracked.
Not enough to make her speak.
Enough to make her eyes burn.
She looked down quickly.
Damian noticed.
Of course he did.
His voice changed.
Softer.
"Did someone hurt you?"
"No."
"Did someone threaten you?"
Margot remained silent.
That was answer enough.
Damian's jaw tightened.
"Who?"
"I can't tell you."
"Can't?"
She shook her head.
"Or won't?"
"I can't."
Her phone vibrated again.
Margot didn't look.
Damian did.
"Give me the phone."
"No."
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
Margot had never directly refused him before.
"I mean... please. It's personal."
"Your personal problem brought you into my warehouse to sleep on concrete."
"I didn't ask you to fix it."
"No."
His voice dropped.
"You just decided freezing alone in a warehouse was safer than letting anyone know you needed help."
Margot stood too quickly.
The blood rushed from her head.
She stumbled.
Damian caught her elbow.
Margot recoiled automatically.
His hand released her immediately.
That tiny gesture seemed to trouble him more than if she'd screamed.
He studied her.
"You're afraid of being touched."
"I'm tired."
"You're terrified."
"I'm fine."
"No one who is fine sleeps behind pallet racks."
Margot bent to gather her things.
"I'll leave."
"Where?"
"A hotel."
"Which one?"
"I'll figure it out."
Damian stepped between her and the exit.
Not threateningly.
Simply immovable.
"No."
Her exhaustion turned into irritation.
"You can't keep me here."
"I own the building."
"That does not make me property."
Something almost like approval passed through Damian's eyes.
"No. It doesn't."
"Then move."
"Tell me where you're going."
Margot stared at him.
"Why do you care?"
The question landed harder than she intended.
For the first time, Damian had no immediate answer.
Everyone wanted something from him.
Money.
Protection.
Influence.
A contract.
A favor.
Fear usually made people move closer to Damian Voss, not hide from him.
Margot had spent almost a year anticipating his schedule, correcting his mistakes before he noticed them, remembering which clients needed patience and which needed pressure.
She never asked him for anything.
Now she had been sleeping in one of his warehouses rather than asking for help.
That fact seemed to offend something deep inside him.
Finally he said, "Because someone who works fifteen feet from my office every day was scared enough to sleep here, and I didn't notice."
Margot's anger faded.
Damian looked toward the badge again.
"B-417."
Her stomach tightened.
He saw it.
"What is it?"
"I told you—"
"Don't."
One word.
Quiet.
Final.
Margot closed her eyes.
When she opened them, Damian was watching her differently.
No longer like a boss questioning an employee.
Like a man studying a threat he couldn't yet see.
"B-417 is a storage unit," Margot whispered.
Damian didn't move.
"Where?"
"South Harbor."
"What's inside?"
"I don't know."
"Why is the number on your badge?"
"Because somebody put it there."
Damian's expression hardened.
"When?"
"This morning."
His eyes dropped to the plastic card.
"You found this scratched into your badge today and said nothing."
"I thought it was a warning."
"From who?"
"I don't know."
This time it was true.
Damian turned toward the exit.
"Get your bag."
Margot stared at him.
"Why?"
"We're going to South Harbor."
"No."
He stopped.
"Absolutely not."
"Margot—"
"If someone wants you there, walking into the place is exactly what they expect."
Damian looked back at her.
"Good."
Her mouth fell open.
"Good?"
"I prefer knowing where an enemy expects me."
"That's insane."
"I've heard worse descriptions."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Damian pulled out his phone.
Margot stepped forward.
"Don't call your security team."
He paused.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know who I can trust."
There.
She had said it.
The warehouse suddenly felt colder.
Damian lowered the phone.
"What did you just say?"
Margot wished she could take the words back.
She couldn't.
She looked toward the dark aisle behind him.
"Whoever has been following me knows things from inside Voss Meridian."
Damian's face became still.
"What things?"
"My schedule. Your schedule. Which elevator I use. Which nights you leave through the private garage."
Damian's eyes sharpened.
"And B-417?"
"I think it connects to the company."
"Why?"
Margot hesitated.
Then she opened her handbag.
From an inner pocket, she pulled a folded sheet of paper.
She handed it to him.
It was an internal shipping manifest.
Voss Meridian.
Restricted circulation.
Damian scanned it.
A shipment scheduled six months earlier.
Destination: South Harbor.
Temporary Storage Assignment:
B-417.
Damian looked at the authorization signature.
His own name was printed beneath it.
But he had never signed the document.
"Where did you get this?"
"It was on my desk yesterday morning."
He studied the signature again.
Someone had forged it well.
Very well.
"Who has access to these manifests?"
"Seven people."
"Names."
Margot gave them.
Damian knew all seven.
One was his chief financial officer.
Another ran internal security.
A third had known Damian since childhood.
His expression gave nothing away.
Margot's phone vibrated for the third time.
This time the screen illuminated before she could hide it.
A photograph appeared.
Damian saw it.
So did Margot.
Noah.
Her brother.
Standing outside his apartment building.
The picture had been taken less than a minute earlier.
Beneath it were five words.
BRING VOSS TO B-417. ALONE.
Damian slowly lifted his eyes to hers.
Margot stopped breathing.
Then another message arrived.
A video.
Ten seconds long.
Margot pressed play.
A dark room appeared.
A man sat tied to a chair.
His face was hidden.
Someone behind the camera spoke.
"Mr. Voss has until three."
Damian's expression changed.
Because before the video ended, the captive lifted his head.
And Damian recognized him.
Margot whispered, "Who is that?"
Damian didn't answer.
The warehouse door behind them unlocked.
Once.
May you like
Twice.
Then slowly began to open from the outside.
