The drive downtown was tense and silent.

The city lights flickered through the rain-slicked windows of the vehicle.

We passed the towering skyscrapers of the Loop, their tops lost in the low-hanging fog.

Marco parked the SUV a block away from the Blackstone Hotel.

“We’re in position,” Marco said over his earpiece to the federal team.

“Copy that,” Agent Vance’s voice crackled back. “We have eyes on the lobby. Voss just arrived.”

My stomach tightened into a hard knot.

“Ready?” Ryker asked, looking at me.

“Ready,” I whispered.

We got out of the car, the cold wind whipping my hair across my face.

We walked quickly into the warm, gilded lobby of the hotel.

The Beaux-Arts architecture felt heavy and imposing.

We took the elevator to the second floor.

The hallway was carpeted in deep crimson, muffling our footsteps.

We reached the door of the private library.

Ryker took a deep breath, his hand resting on the brass doorknob.

He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Gideon Voss was sitting at a large mahogany table in the center of the room.