Chapter 128
Julian's POV
The parking garage was dim and quiet, the kind of concrete tomb that every urban building seemed to have. I found Evelyn standing next to her BMW, arms wrapped around herself like she was cold despite the cashmere sweater.
She looked up as I approached, and for just a moment—one heartbeat, one breath—I saw everything she'd been hiding. The fear. The desperation. The bone-deep exhaustion of trying to hold it together while her world fell apart.
Then the mask slammed back into place, and she was Evelyn Valentine again. Controlled. Composed. Playing her role.
"Thank you for coming so quickly," she said, her voice pitched to carry in the echoing space. Loud enough for any potential listeners. "I really appreciate you taking the time to help with this."
I moved closer, closing the distance between us until I could speak quietly enough that only she would hear. "Your phone's clean. Webb ran a technical sweep—no taps, no malware, nothing. They're bluffing about monitoring your calls." I watched the tension in her shoulders ease slightly at the confirmation. "So you can talk freely. Tell me what happened. Everything. Now."
Her blue eyes met mine, and I saw the moment she made the decision to trust me. To drop the performance and let me see the truth underneath.
"They took him," she whispered. "This morning, after he left here. Called me from his phone. They want twenty million dollars by tonight or they start cutting off his fingers." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. "Julian, they think—they saw him leaving my apartment this morning and they think we're having an affair. They're using that. Using the scandal, the shame of it, to keep me from going to his family or the police."
Twenty million. Not as high as I'd feared, but still substantial. And the affair angle explained why they'd targeted Evelyn specifically—they thought she'd be motivated by guilt and fear of exposure, would pay to protect both Adrian and her own reputation.
They had no idea who they were actually dealing with.
"Did they give you a location? Any details about where they're holding him?"
She shook her head. "No location. No proof of life except a brief video call where—" She stopped, swallowing hard. "They hit him. He's bleeding. Tied to a chair. Basement or warehouse, looked like."
I processed this information with the cold efficiency of someone who'd handled dozens of kidnapping cases over the years. "What about the ransom instructions? How are they expecting you to transfer the money?"
"Wire transfer to an offshore account. They're sending details within the hour." She pulled out her phone, showing me the threatening text messages. "Julian, I don't have twenty million dollars. Even if I liquidated everything Arthur left me, it wouldn't be enough. And I can't go to Adrian's family without—"
"You don't need to." I cut her off, my mind already moving to logistics. "I'll handle the money. That's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
"The problem," I said quietly, "is that even if we pay, there's no guarantee they'll release him alive. Kidnappers who ask for ransom from a third party instead of the family are usually planning to kill the victim anyway. The money's just a bonus."
I watched the color drain from her face as the implication sank in. But then something shifted in her expression—not just fear, but calculation. The tactical mind underneath the civilian facade starting to work through the angles.
"Wait." Her voice was quiet but sharp. "If the real goal is to kill him, not just get the ransom—" She looked up at me, and I saw the moment the pieces clicked together in her mind. "Could this be Blackstone?"
I felt something like pride cut through the urgency of the situation. Even terrified, even fever-weak and emotionally compromised, she could still think three steps ahead. Could still see the patterns underneath the chaos.
"That's exactly what I was thinking," I said, meeting her eyes. "But we can't confirm it until we find them. Until we know who's actually holding him and what their real endgame is."
She nodded slowly, and I watched her pull herself together with visible effort.
"So what do I do?" she asked.
"You go to the bank. Act like you're scrambling to pull together the ransom. Make calls, talk to managers, do whatever you need to do to sell the story that you're complying." I pulled out my phone, already composing a message to Webb with new instructions. "When the kidnappers contact you with the wire transfer details, you call them. Keep them on the line as long as possible—ask questions, act confused about the banking procedures, play up the frightened woman who needs her hand held through the process. Every second you keep them talking gives my tech team more time to triangulate their location."
"They're using a burner phone," Evelyn said. "Probably multiple phones. Will you even be able to track them?"
"If they stay on the line long enough, yes. Cell tower triangulation isn't perfect, but it'll give us a general area. Combined with security footage analysis and known Blackstone operative locations, we can narrow it down." I met her eyes, letting her see the certainty there. "We will find him, Evelyn. But I need you to trust me. To play your role and let my team do what we do best."
She was quiet for a long moment, studying my face like she was looking for something. Reassurance, maybe. Or proof that I wasn't just telling her what she wanted to hear.
"Okay," she finally said. "I'll do it. I'll keep them talking as long as I can."
"Good." I started to turn away, already mentally running through the logistics of mounting a rescue operation on a compressed timeline, but her voice stopped me.
"Julian?"
I looked back.
"Thank you." The words were simple, but there was something underneath them—gratitude, yes, but also a kind of desperate hope that made my chest tight.
I wanted to close the distance between us again. Wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her that of course I was helping, that there was nothing she could say or do that would make me walk away when she needed me. But we didn't have time for that conversation. Didn't have time for anything except the mission.
"Go to the bank," I said quietly. "Play your role. And Evelyn?" I waited until she met my eyes. "When they call with the wire instructions, don't try to be a hero. Don't push too hard or ask questions that might make them suspicious. Just be the frightened woman they expect you to be. Can you do that?"
Something flickered across her face—amusement, maybe, or irony at the idea that playing frightened required any acting on her part right now. "I can do that."
"Then we're good." I pulled out my keys, already moving toward the garage exit. "I'll have Webb coordinate with you on timing. Keep your phone on. And Evelyn?" I paused at the door, looking back one more time. "If anything feels wrong—if they change the plan or give you instructions that seem off—you call me immediately. Understood?"
"Understood."
I left her there in the parking garage, walking away before I could second-guess the plan or let my concern for her safety override my tactical judgment. Right now, Adrian Winthrop was tied to a chair somewhere in this city, bleeding and terrified, counting on me to find him before his captors made good on their threats.
And Evelyn was walking into a situation that could turn deadly if the kidnappers realized she was stalling, buying time, working with someone who had the resources to mount a rescue operation.
Everything else—the hurt, the anger, the desperate hope that maybe she hadn't actually meant the things she'd said—would have to wait.
I had work to do.