Wrong Place, Right Time
Raven Solis wasn't where she was meant to be.
She realized it the moment she entered the abandoned warehouse. The air reeked of rust and wet concrete, and her boots echoed too loudly on the broken floor. This was the sort of place bad things occurred in, the sort of place you heard about in exposés—just before someone ended up missing.
Like Valeria Cruz.
Raven gulped hard, clutching the strap of her backpack. Valeria had been an investigative journalist, one of the brave few who were not afraid to take on the types of people with the authority to make someone vanish. She'd texted Raven three nights previously: I have something big. If I'm not at the rally, try to find me.
Valeria never appeared. And Raven had been searching since.
She didn't know what she was looking for, only that Valeria's last known whereabouts were here. There were no police reports and no investigation. No one was saying anything. Which meant something was being hidden.
A rustling sound came from the other side of the warehouse. Raven froze. She wasn't alone.
She huddled behind a pile of decayed pallets, her heart racing. A man was beside a rusted metal desk, going through papers. He was moving with careful stealth, opening folders, shoving some into his pockets and discarding others. He wasn't like some hired enforcer—his dark jeans and leather jacket were too relaxed, his movements too calculated.
A cop? No. Too cautious.
Then he shifted slightly, and she glimpsed his face. Harsh angles, glaring green eyes that darted toward the darkness as if he already suspected she was there. Raven took a quick breath.
Dante Voss. Not only a private investigator—but much, much worse.
She recognized the name. He had ties to the Calloway family, the most influential crime syndicate in the city. Some claimed he was the next in line to inherit it all. Others claimed he was the family's problem solver, the man they sent in when it got too hot for anyone else to deal with. Either one, she did not trust him.
Raven shifted her weight, attempting to get a different angle—
And tipped over a loose board.
The noise cracked across the quiet. Dante's head jerked around to her.
Raven sprinted.
She didn't even get two steps before a hand closed around her arm and dragged her back into the darkness. She fought, prepared to kick, but Dante slapped a hand over her mouth before she could make a noise. His hand was tight, but not hurtful.
"Unless you want company, stay quiet," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
Raven was about to knee him in the ribs when she heard it—footsteps. More than one set. Heavy boots crunching against the concrete.
Someone else was here. And judging by the way Dante's body tensed, it wasn't someone he wanted to meet either.
A voice echoed through the warehouse. "I told you, if she talks, we're all screwed."
Raven's breath constricted in her throat. They were discussing Valeria.
Dante's hand relaxed, just enough that she could breathe. He looked at her, a silent warning flashing between them. You want questions? Remain still.
Raven, against her every instinct, nodded.
Dante eased her deeper into the darkness, pushing her into the concrete wall as the voices drew closer.
She wasn't supposed to be there.
Perhaps, and perhaps very likely, was precisely where she needed to be.