Three men in mismatched black gear were on their knees on the concrete, their hands zip-tied behind their backs.

Rowan stood over the lead decoy, his face shadowed by the wet brim of his tactical cap.

His sidearm was raised, pointed directly at the man’s chest.

Marcus stood nearby, holding a tablet, his brow furrowed as he watched the perimeter feed.

“Rowan,” I called out, my voice echoing in the high steel rafters.

Rowan turned his head quickly, his eyes narrowing when he saw me standing in the shadows.

“Maren, I told you to stay in the vehicle,” he said, his voice tight with anger and fear.

“Tessa called me,” I said, walking closer to the circle of white light.

“She said we were too late. She knew you were coming here.”

Rowan looked back down at the man on his knees.

He grabbed the collar of the man’s heavy jacket and pulled him upward until the man was balanced on his toes.

“Where is my daughter?” Rowan asked, his voice dangerously low.

“I don’t know,” the man gasped, his eyes wide as he stared at the barrel of the gun.