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“How?” Graham asked.

“We use Joy as bait.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from gasping out loud.

“Absolutely not.” Graham's voice turned deadly quiet. “That's off the table.”

“Graham, listen,” Simon's calm voice cut through the tension. “We set up a controlled situation. Somewhere we can monitor every angle, every approach. Joy appears vulnerable, but she's actually surrounded by protection.”

“No.” Graham’s voice came out like a gunshot. “I won't put her at risk.”

“She's already at risk,” Roan shot back. “This maniac knows where she works, where she lives, where she goes. He's been taking pictures of her for weeks. How is that safer than a controlled operation?”

My legs felt weak. I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, still listening through the door.

“Because in a controlled operation, there are variables we can't account for,” Graham said. “This guy's proven he's willing to escalate to violence. What happens if something goes wrong?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you stake my sister out like some goddamn goat,” Randy roared.

“What happens if we don't act?” Seth's voice cracked with emotion. “What happens when he decides to grab her like he did that woman in Dublin?”

The silence stretched so long I wondered if they'd left. Then Simon's voice, steady and authoritative, filled the void. “Hart and I are going through all the video from the vaccination day. We’re cross-referencing it with the sketch we got from the sketch artist in Dublin that the victim helped with.”

“He could have paid someone to put the flyer on Ava’s car, and there’s no video where I parked,” Graham said.

“Still, it has to be done,” Roan said.

“Meanwhile, this guy's getting bolder.” Jase pointed out. “Hart, you pulled anything useful from the clinic's exterior cameras?”

“You shouldn't have to ask.”

“I know. Sorry. This case is getting to me.”

“Unfortunately, the way Roxie had the cameras set up, it doesn't show faces. She was more concerned about watching the drug cabinets and the doors, not the actual people. I've already corrected that,” Hart explained.

“I like the way you’re handling this; it’s better than using my woman as bait,” Graham growled.

“Your woman?” Seth's voice turned sharp. “She's our sister.”

“And she's the woman I love,” Graham shot back. “Which means I get a say in what risks we take with her life. Anyway, why are we fighting on this? We’re on the same page.”

The conversation continued, voices overlapping as they debated surveillance techniques, background checks, and something called “digital forensics” and how they could flush out my stalker so they could take him down. But all I could think about was Hart mentioning the woman in Dublin.

Ten days. That woman had been held for ten days.

I wrapped my arms around my knees even tighter, making myself as small as possible. There was no two ways about it. I was scared. I was scared for them, too. Especially Graham. He’d take stupid risks if he thought it would keep me safe.

The front door opened and closed several times. Car engines started. The deep rumble of big trucks roared to life. The sounds of departure echoed through the house until finally, silence settled like a blanket.

Footsteps approached the bedroom door. I scrambled back into bed, pulled the covers up to my chin, and closed my eyes. I didn't want Graham to know I'd been listening. Didn't want him to see the fear that had to be written all over my face.

The door opened with a soft click. Graham's weight settled on the edge of the mattress, the springs creaking under him.

“I know you're awake.”

I opened one eye. “How could you tell?”

“Your breathing.” His fingers found my hair, stroking the tangled mess. “You were listening.”