“And she was trying to keep me alive.”

Lucian stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.

“Marcus,” he barked when the call connected. “Where is Sinclair?”

He listened for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“What do you mean he left?” Lucian demanded.

“He was just in my office.”

He listened again, then swore under his breath.

“Get a team to his apartment,” Lucian said. “Now.”

He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

“He took one of the armored SUVs,” Lucian said. “He’s gone.”

A sudden, cold dread settled in my stomach.

I thought of Alina.

She was still at the Black Orchid, locking up for the night.

I pulled my own phone from my purse.

I had sent her a text message thirty minutes ago, but there was no reply.

I typed quickly: *Alina, are you still at the restaurant? Please call me.*

The message sent, but the bubble stayed gray.

“Alina isn’t answering,” I said, my voice rising.

“She should have been home by now.”