I knew the way he sat, slightly tilted to the left, one hand resting on the top of the steering wheel.

“It’s Marcus,” I whispered.

The name felt like ash in my mouth.

“Marcus Vance,” Adrian repeated, his voice flat and dangerous.

He pulled another document from the envelope and slid it toward me.

It was a background profile with a corporate logo I recognized immediately.

“He is currently working as a senior consultant for Apex Logistics,” Adrian said.

“Apex is the primary logistics subcontractor for our shipping routes in the Midwest,” I said, my mind trying to piece the corporate connections together.

“Yes,” Adrian said. “And they are owned by the Vance family syndicate.”

He stood up from his leather chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside, the Chicago skyline was gray, masked by a thin drizzle that streaked the glass.

“He didn’t just find you by accident, Emily,” Adrian said, looking out over the city.

“He is using his position to track your movements.”

My hands began to shake again.

I crossed my arms, trying to hold myself together.