Trapped for 7 Hours in the Elevator, My Husband Saved His Mistress. I, Pregnant, Was Left Behind. When I Returned...

The next morning, Detective Miller arrived at the Lincoln Park bungalow. He was a veteran investigator with a sharp eye and a no-nonsense attitude, but as he sat at Sarah's kitchen table, his expression was filled with genuine concern.

"The prints in the snow match the boots from the Sterling warehouse fire," Miller said, placing a series of forensic photographs on the table. "Brand is Corcoran tactical. Standard issue for private maritime security contractors in Eastern Europe. The man we are looking for is named Viktor Drago. He’s a mercenary, a cleaner. Julian Sterling hired him two years ago to ensure the Grand Plaza building collapsed in a way that looked like a structural accident, allowing Sterling to collect a massive insurance payout."

"And I’m the only one who saw his face," Sarah said, her voice steadying as she looked at the photographs.

"Yes," Miller nodded. "Viktor Drago is a ghost. There are no official records of his face in any federal database. Your sketch from two years ago is the only lead we have. If we can get you to officially identify him in a lineup, we can lock him away for life on federal sabotage and attempted murder charges."

"But to do that, we have to catch him first," Mark said, standing behind Sarah, his hand resting securely on her shoulder. His grip was tight, a physical anchor that kept her from floating away into panic.

"He’s playing a game with us," Mark continued, his gray eyes turning to cold steel. "The fire at the Sterling complex, the prints in the snow... he wants us to feel hunted. He’s trying to pressure Sarah into running, or worse, trying to isolate her."

"I have a safe house set up in Michigan," Miller offered. "We can move Sarah and Clara there today under armed guard."

"No," Sarah said suddenly.

Both men looked at her in surprise.

Sarah stood up, her white sundress from the summer replaced by a thick, dark green sweater, but her eyes carried the same fierce, brilliant light that Mark had fallen in love with. "If I run, he will just follow us. He will find a way. I spent two years being afraid of the dark, looking over my shoulder every time I heard a generator hum or saw a black boot on the street. I am not going back into that elevator, Mark. I am not running."

Mark stared at her, his heart swelling with an overwhelming, profound reverence. She was no longer the fragile, broken survivor he had pulled from the shaft. She was a warrior, standing beside him in the storm.

"So what do we do?" Mark asked, a slow, dangerous smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"We find where he’s hiding," Sarah said. "Viktor Drago is a professional. He needs a base of operations. If he’s working for Julian Sterling’s surviving associates, he’s likely using one of Sterling’s old, unlisted properties along the shipping canal."