Chapter 71 Plan
"I said no, Minerva. I am not letting you walk into an abandoned building to play hide-and-seek with a psychopath."
"Tristan—"
"I don't care how secure Silas makes it," he interrupted, his face inches from mine. "I don't care if Vane brings in the National Guard. It only takes one mistake. One blind spot. One second."
"And if we don't do this, what happens?" I challenged, pushing back against his chest. "He waits. He watches. He finds another way in. Next time, it might not be the cat. Next time, it might be you. Or Marco. Or me."
Tristan’s jaw worked. He stared at me, the conflict tearing him apart. The logical CEO understood the strategy. The terrified lover hated the risk.
"It’s my life," I said softly. "My choice."
He slammed his hand against the bookshelf next to my head. The heavy oak shuddered.
"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" he ground out, resting his forehead against mine.
"Because soft things are so easy to break," I whispered, quoting Ida’s note back to him. "And I refuse to break."
He closed his eyes. He let out a long, ragged sigh that sounded like defeat.
"I hate this," he muttered.
"I know."
"If anything happens to you..."
"Nothing will happen," I promised. "Because you'll be watching."
He pulled back, his eyes opening. The storm was still there, but it was focused now. The warlord was back, and he was ready to fight.
"Silas," Tristan yelled over his shoulder, walking toward the library doors. "Silas, get in here!"
The head of security appeared a moment later, his hand resting instinctively on his holstered weapon. "Boss?"
"Get the blueprints for the old Opera House," Tristan ordered, his voice clipped and cold. "We're setting a snare."
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of intense, obsessive planning.
I didn't go to the historic preservation society meeting. Vane went in my place. Instead, I sat in the library with Tristan and Silas, pouring over the structural plans of the Opera House.
It was a sprawling, multi-level nightmare of a building. The main auditorium was a cavernous space filled with rotting velvet seats and a massive, crumbling chandelier. Below the stage was a labyrinth of dressing rooms, prop storage, and maintenance tunnels.
"We funnel him," Silas said, tracing a red marker over the blueprint. "We leave the front entrance heavily guarded. Too obvious. We leave the loading dock door seemingly unsecured. He’ll take the path of least resistance."
"He'll come through the loading dock," Tristan agreed, staring at the map. "Then what?"
"Then he has to navigate the lower corridors to get to the main stage," Silas explained. "We rig the corridors with motion sensors and infrared cameras. By the time he reaches the stage, we’ll know exactly where he is, how many weapons he has, and his heart rate."
"And where is Mina during this?" Tristan asked, his voice tight.
"I'll be on the stage," I said, pointing to the center of the blueprint. "It’s a wide-open space. Good visibility. I’ll have a floodlight set up, reviewing paperwork. I'll look completely exposed."
"You will be exposed," Tristan growled.
"Not really," Silas interjected. "We'll have snipers in the lighting booths above the stage. Two tactical teams stacked in the wings, just behind the curtains. The moment he steps into the light, we drop the net. He won't even have time to blink."
Tristan stared at the blueprint. He traced the route from the loading dock to the stage with his finger.
"It's a bottleneck," Tristan murmured. "If he figures out it's a trap before he reaches the stage, he could use the maintenance tunnels to circle back. He could come up behind the lighting booths."
"We'll seal the tunnels," Silas said.
"No," Tristan said, shaking his head. "If you seal them, he'll know we're waiting. Leave them open. But wire them with C4."
I stared at him. "C4? Tristan, we're trying to catch him, not blow up a city block."
"The C4 isn't to kill him," Tristan said coldly. "It's to collapse the tunnels. If he tries to flank us, we drop the ceiling on him. He stays in the corridor, or he gets buried."
Silas nodded slowly. "I can make that happen."
"Good." Tristan turned to me. "Lonnie is handling the leak?"
"Yes," I said. "He's 'accidentally' mentioning my solo site visit to a few choice reporters and socialites who are known for having loose lips. The rumor mill will ensure the stalker hears about it by tomorrow."
"Thursday night," Tristan said, looking back down at the map. "Tomorrow."
He looked at me. His eyes were dark, serious, and completely devoid of fear. The fear had been replaced by a cold, calculating resolve.
"We don't take chances," he said to Silas. "The moment he is in the designated kill zone, you take him down. If he twitches, you drop him."
"Understood, boss."
Silas left the library to brief his teams.
Tristan and I were alone.
He didn't pace. He didn't yell. He simply walked over to the leather sofa and sat down, staring into the cold, empty fireplace.
I walked over and sat next to him.
"It's a good plan," I said softly.
"It's a terrible plan," he corrected, not looking at me. "I'm putting the woman I love on a stage to lure a killer out of the dark. It goes against every instinct I have as a man."
"You're trusting me," I said. "You're letting me fight my own battles."
He finally turned to look at me. He reached out, his knuckles brushing gently against my cheek.
"I'm letting you be the architect," he murmured. "But if this goes wrong, Mina... if he even scratches you..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The unspoken promise of violence hung heavy in the air between us.
"It won't go wrong," I promised, leaning into his touch.