The Price of Her Name

Damen was halfway through a call when Marco entered without knocking.

He ended the call before Marco spoke.

"Cole took her from the staff lot. Anthony is alive. The relief guard was the leak. Hannah sent us the location and threw her phone back inside. The clinic called immediately."

For a second, Damen heard nothing after her name. Then every sound returned too loudly: the heating vent, Marco's phone, a car horn far below the window.

"How long?"

"Seven minutes. We have the truck on two cameras."

Damen stood. "Get everybody moving."

His personal phone rang as he reached the door. Victor's number filled the screen.

"Let me hear her," Damen said when he answered.

Victor chuckled. "You always did prefer to skip the preliminaries."

"Let me hear Hannah."

There was movement, then her breath, uneven but unmistakable.

"Damen, I am here. Anthony was hurt."

Even now, she was worried about someone else. He pressed his hand flat against the wall.

"He is alive. Are you hurt?"

"My arm hurts. I am awake."

Victor took the phone away.

"You have a very considerate woman. I understand the attraction."

Damen could see himself killing the man so clearly that he had to close his eyes. His father's rule returned with all its old precision. Never make a decision while angry.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"The terminal interest. Your shares, your operating rights, and your signature on the transfer my counsel sent last week. The original offer has expired. You get no payment now."

"And Hannah comes home."

"You sign here, in person. No convoy outside my door. Your driver may bring you, but he waits."

Victor gave him the address of a disused freight office attached to a river warehouse. Marco was already writing it down.

After the call ended, Damen looked at his deputy.

"We can surround the property," Marco said. "There are service entrances. Give us time to establish where she is."

"How much time?"

"I cannot promise less than an hour. We do not know whether he intends to move her."

Damen looked at the screen, imagining Hannah in another vehicle, taken somewhere the cameras would not find.

"Then I am signing."

Marco said nothing for a moment. "The terminal is not a bargaining token. Once he controls the company, unwinding it will take years, if we can do it at all. There are partners who will leave when they hear."

"I understand."

"You can give us thirty minutes."

"She has already given him twenty-eight years of a life he had no right to touch. He does not get another hour because I am attached to a dock."

His voice had risen. He heard it, recognized the anger, and made the decision anyway.

"Get the documents," he said. "Then tell me what you need me to do so you can bring her out."

During the drive, Marco explained the limited plan. Men were moving toward adjoining properties, staying out of sight. Once Damen confirmed the room where Hannah was held, Marco could direct them toward the closest entrance. There were no guarantees. Too much depended on what Victor allowed them to see.

Damen listened. He left his jacket open so the small transmitter could carry his voice, knowing Victor might find it. His weapon remained with Marco. He would not risk an immediate confrontation while Hannah was out of his sight.

At the warehouse, two men searched him. They found the transmitter and removed it. Damen let his disgust show; Victor would be disappointed if he appeared to have made no preparations.

"He does not think very much of you," one of the men said.

"I am standing here because he has something that belongs in my life," Damen answered. "Take me to her."

They led him through a loading area and into an office with high river-facing windows. Before they took his phone, Damen had seen Marco's final message: the men approaching along the river had a view of the office windows. They would have to identify the room from outside.

He moved slowly when the guard pushed him through the doorway, keeping himself in front of the glass for a moment. He could offer Marco that much. Afterward, he would have to trust him.

Hannah sat on a chair near the windows, her wrists fastened in front of her. One sock was dirty, and a shallow scrape marked her cheek. Evan stood beside her, fingers digging into her shoulder.

Damen looked at Hannah until she looked back. Her eyes filled, but she held his gaze.

"I am going to take you home," he said.

"She was fine before you interfered," Evan snapped.

Hannah turned her head away from his hand. "I was afraid of you. You knew that and called it love."

Evan's grip tightened. Damen took a step, and Victor lifted a gun from the desk.

"The documents first."

Damen sat where he was directed. A laptop stood open beside the transfer papers. Victor's lawyer appeared briefly on the screen to supervise signatures, then disconnected after receiving the scanned copies. Damen signed away the interest he had spent six years consolidating and instructed his office to release the necessary corporate records.

The loss was real. He felt it, understood it, and kept his eyes on Hannah.

Victor examined the final page. "You see how much easier life becomes when you stop resisting? Sophia never learned that."

Damen set down the pen.

"You sent men after her."

"I sent men to bring her home. She chose to drive like a madwoman."

"She was trying to get away from you."

Victor's mouth hardened. "And she called her little brother, who was too busy to answer. We all made mistakes."

The old guilt struck exactly where he intended. Damen let it hurt. He kept himself still.

Across the room, Hannah was working one thumb beneath the fastening at her wrist. She stopped when Evan looked down, then asked for water. Evan told her to be quiet.

"She asked for water," Damen said.

Victor gestured impatiently toward a bottle on the desk. "Give it to her. We are almost finished."

Evan moved away from the chair. Hannah lifted her eyes toward the window, then back to Damen. He followed the smallest turn of her head and saw the reflection of movement in the dark glass.

Marco's men had reached the outside service passage. He did not know how much they could see, only that somebody was there.

"Bring her here," he told Victor. "You have what you wanted."

Victor looked at the signed papers again, enjoying the pause. "You should have been this agreeable nine years ago."

"Bring her here."

Evan returned with the water and caught Hannah by the arm. She stumbled because of the missing shoe. Damen's control narrowed to the sight of those fingers pressing into her skin.

From beyond the office came a crash and a shouted warning.

Victor turned toward the door. Evan hauled Hannah backward, pulling a gun from beneath his coat. She drove her heel down onto his foot and dropped her weight before he could bring the weapon level. The movement did not free her, but it pulled them both off balance.

Damen crossed the space between them.

He caught Evan's wrist as the gun went off. Glass broke above the window. Hannah fell against the desk, and Damen tore the gun from Evan's hand while he screamed. He struck him once, hard enough to send him to the floor.

The door burst inward. Marco came through with two men as Victor raised his gun toward Hannah.

Damen fired first.

Victor collapsed beside the desk. For a moment, the room held only ringing silence and the smell of gunfire.

"Cole is covered," Marco said sharply. "Damen, look at me. We have him."

Damen realized he was still aiming at Evan. He lowered the gun, then put it on the desk before approaching Hannah.

She stood pressed against the drawers, shaking so hard her teeth clicked. He wanted to gather her against him, but there was blood on his hands and terror in her eyes.

"Hannah," he said softly. "It is me."

She looked at his empty hands, then at his face.

He reached for the fastening around her wrists. His fingers, usually so steady, could barely manage it. Marco handed him a small cutter and turned away to direct the others.

When the restraint fell, Hannah seized the front of Damen's shirt.

He held her carefully at first. Then she pressed her face into his chest, and his arms closed around her with a force he could no longer disguise.

"I was frightened," he said against her hair. "God, Hannah, I was frightened."

She was crying now. He could feel it through the cotton.

"You came," she whispered.

"I should have been there sooner."

She lifted her face and held his jaw between her trembling hands.

"You did not come too late. I am here."

He bent until his forehead touched hers, breathing her in while men moved around them and the first distant sirens grew louder outside.

For once, he let her hold him together.