"G.o.d, shut up." She peeked out the large window overlooking the backyard. The desert willow trees glowed silver in the moonlight, casting long shadows across the otherwise bright yard. The Taker could be out there, hiding underneath the trees.

She shook the thought out of her head. "I need to sleep. Maybe I'll go into the bank tomorrow and sift through Jeremy's office myself. It's Monday, anyway. I should be there. Nathan'll be p.i.s.sed, but he'll get over it."

The faucet continued to drip. "G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Jeremy."

Emilie closed her eyes. Her mind flashed to the last normal conversation she'd had with Jeremy, just hours before he'd confessed. She should have known something was wrong. He'd been sweaty and fidgety inside the vault-shifty. Emilie had chalked it up to his claustrophobia. Jeremy had always hated being inside the vault.

"I'm glad I had that alarm installed," he had said. "If this door ever shut on me, I'd have a full-out panic attack."

Emilie had stood at the entrance. She didn't want to go inside. She'd spent too much time in there with the Taker breathing down her neck.

Her eyes flew open. The vault.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

Emilie couldn't wait. Getting her hands on the letter would put her one step closer to freedom.

She laced her running shoes and retrieved her driver's license and bank card from her purse. She stuffed them into the back pocket of her cutoffs. Nathan was going to kill her, but she'd be back before he finished his shift.

Emilie crept through the quiet house, unsure of why she was sneaking. No one was around to hear her. She shifted the curtain just enough to see the street. Once the patrol drove by, she had five minutes to get the car out of the garage and onto a side street. All she could do was hope the officers didn't decide to switch up their route.

She gazed out into the night. Between the bright moon and streetlamps, the area was well lit, with few places to hide.

The Taker only needed one spot.

"You won't be outside. You'll be in the car. It'll be fine."

Headlights flashed from the left. The patrol car came into view. She let the curtain fall back into place. She waited until the vehicle had crawled past the house and out of sight, then she took off for the garage. If she timed it right, the car would be following the curving neighborhood road and out of sight when she pulled out.

Her heart stuttered as she jerked the garage door open. Darkness greeted her. She flicked on the light. Jeremy's Acadia dwarfed her Impala.

"Borrowing the SUV, Jeremy. Tinted windows and the cops don't know this car. I hope."

She glanced at her watch. Four minutes left. Emilie slid into the plush leather seat, a foot away from the steering wheel.

"Jesus, Jeremy, recline much?"

She slid the seat up, yanked on her seatbelt, and hit the garage door opener. "Relax. Worse thing that happens is patrol stops you and gives you an earful. Big deal."

The wealthy neighborhood was silent, its residents blissfully unaware of her attempted escape. She backed down the driveway and glanced to her right. No cars in sight. She closed the garage.

"Now or never." Sweat gathered on her forehead as she rolled into the street. Emilie felt like a teenager sneaking out to a party as the Acadia rushed out into the night, its tires. .h.i.tting every imperfection in the road. The stop sign loomed ahead.

Two minutes.

Emilie slowed to a rolling stop. She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to look left.

The patrol car was nowhere to be seen.

A flash from the backseat caught her eye. She gasped and twisted around, fists up. A baby doll leered back at her. Its blonde hair was a mess and the poor thing had been stripped of its clothes. Jeremy's daughter must have left her in the backseat.

"Get a grip." Emilie jammed her foot onto the gas and cut to the right. She raced out of sight before the patrol car rounded the corner.

Emilie guided the Acadia into Jeremy's spot at the bank and breathed a sigh of relief. No sign of police or anyone lurking in the parking lot. She'd spent more time looking in the rearview mirror than looking at the road.

She knew she should call Ronson or Avery. She couldn't.

Someone should know she was here. Nathan didn't check his phone while he was on shift. He wouldn't see the text until she was safely away from the bank. She'd have the letter by then, and he could yell all he wanted. She pulled out her phone and typed a quick message, letting Nathan know where she was and that she'd text back when she got back to Jeremy's house.

She readied her keys, took one last nervous look around, then jumped out of the Acadia. It was only about twenty feet to the employee's entrance.

Her Nikes slapped against the concrete as she ran. Blood rushed to her ears. She envisioned a shadow creeping behind her, mirroring her steps until she came to a stop. She grabbed for the door, key at the ready. The lock turned, a loud click in the middle of the night. A whisper of hot night air grazed the back of her neck, a phantom touch. Emilie whirled around so fast her ponytail smacked against her cheek.

Nothing behind her but the Acadia and darkness.

The bank's heavy door clanged shut behind her. She locked it and took a deep breath. Shadows fell across the lobby. She reached for her phone. The LCD screen glowed just enough to keep her from tripping on the way to the vault.

Cold washed over her. She'd put herself at risk for nothing if the note wasn't here. Emilie punched in her code.

The steel-reinforced concrete opened without a sound. Emilie switched on the light and winced as her eyes grew accustomed to the invasion. The vault's interior looked the same as always, cash bundled and stacked, safety deposit boxes hidden behind a newly reinforced interior door.

She scanned the small room. The letter had to be on one of the shelves, hidden by a stack of money.

This was going to take forever.

She began digging through the stacks. The air in the vault was stifling hot. Her skin grew tacky with sweat.

More than an hour later, Emilie sank to her knees. She'd searched every pile of money and found nothing.

"Where else could it be?"

Loud silence answered her.

"I have to get out of here for minute." She wiped the perspiration off her forehead. "Grab some water and then come back for round two."

She groaned at the slimy feeling of sweat on the back of her legs. "I'm going to need another shower."

Her right knee popped as she started to stand. She didn't register the pain-a tiny bit of white stuck out from under the shelving, wedged between the floor and the wall. It was a piece of paper. Emilie dropped back to her knees and slid her arm underneath the steel. The floor was gritty with dust. She ignored it and pulled the paper out with a quivering hand.

The paper was folded in half, a name scrawled across the front.

Her name.

She'd found it.

Nathan unloaded his Glock as Chris downed a bottle of water. The night had gone slowly, with half their targets moving on before SWAT arrived.

"I'm sure she's fine," Chris said.

Nathan had been telling himself the same thing since he'd left Emilie. But the worry remained lodged in his brain. He'd checked with patrol an hour ago. The neighborhood was quiet, just as it had been the previous night. The Vance's house was dark save for the lights he'd instructed Emilie to leave on.

"I shouldn't have left her."

"She's protected. He can't get to her."

Nathan might believe that if the Taker hadn't infiltrated Emilie's life and manipulated her close friend into helping him. But there was no end to the Taker's cunningness. Since his escape, everything had gone the Taker's way. He had to feel invincible, and maybe even brave enough to sneak onto the Vance's property and steal Emilie out from under patrol's nose.

A hard blow to Nathan's arm nearly knocked him out of his seat. "s.h.i.t, man."

"Stop making up crazy scenarios in your head," Chris said. "We need your mind here. Garson's house is next."

Liam Garson was an up-and-coming meth dealer gaining a reputation for distributing to Vegas's upper echelon. Garson was in his early thirties and heir to a prominent Las Vegas restaurant-chain owner.

"He's known to carry weapons. So does his security," Chris said. "f.u.c.king douche-bag."

The truck halted, and Nathan jumped out with the rest of his team. Garson's neighborhood was one of the most affluent in the city. Multi-million dollar homes lined the streets, all competing for best in show.

"Garson's house is around the corner, five blocks down," Sergeant Johnson said. "Narcotics has been working on this bust for months, so no f.u.c.k-ups. Focus."

Chris elbowed Nathan. "Hear that?"

"I got it," Nathan hissed. "Shut up."

He donned his helmet to block out Chris's scrutiny. Taking his place behind Johnson, Nathan thrust his concern for Emilie to the back of his mind. He just needed to get through this raid.

A young girl answered the door. Her eyes were dilated, and she swayed. "What's up?"

"Stand aside." A narcotics officer shuffled her outside and SWAT made entry, sweeping the rooms one by one.

"Listen," Chris said.

A rhythmic creaking sounded just above their heads. "Sounds like Liam's getting lucky."

Nathan led the way up the spiral staircase and stopped in front of a closed door. A bed frame began to thump against the wall. Nathan pointed to the doork.n.o.b. Chris nodded.

He swung the door open and leveled his a.s.sault rifle at the couple on the bed.

Nathan recognized the scorpion tattoo on the man's forearm. "Liam Garson. We have a warrant for your arrest."

The brunette on top of Garson jumped off and stumbled to the floor.

"Get out of the way," Nathan said.

Garson lay in bed, arms outstretched and his manhood still at attention.

"Cover that thing." Chris snickered. "I almost feel sorry for you." He glanced at the girl in the corner trying in vain to cover herself with a tiny shirt. "I definitely feel sorry for you. Why even bother?"

Emilie stuffed the letter into her back pocket. She wasn't going to waste time going back to the Vance's. She'd call Ronson and meet her at the police station.

She tugged the vault door shut and keyed in the code. Stupid, d.a.m.ned Jeremy. He was a rotten coward who'd taken the easy way out and left Emilie to clean up his mess.

"Selfish." Her sharp voice reverberated across the silent lobby. Her scalp p.r.i.c.kled, heat flared at the back of her neck.

Behind her, a soft laugh.

She dropped the keys. The metal rattled against the tile floor.

A sc.r.a.ping sound-one of the teller's stools being moved. Shoes smacked against the ceramic tile. Dress shoes.

Her heart rose in her throat and choked her. Her limbs locked.

The footsteps stopped behind her. Her mind ground to a halt.

A man sighed. His warm breath wafted across her bare neck.

Adrenaline surged through her. Fresh sweat dampened her cold skin, tinted with the metallic scent of fear.

How had the Taker gotten inside the bank? She'd locked the door.

She twisted her head to the right. A tall man in dark clothes and a facemask stood behind her. She couldn't see his eyes this time, but Emilie knew the Taker was smiling.

"h.e.l.lo, my love."

A stinging pain in her throat, and then, blackness.

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

She was finally his. In body, at least. Her spirit would soon follow. Julian had faith in her.