Chapter 142: Chaos In The Night

Morgan closed the distance between them in long, purposeful strides.

The moment he reached Isobel, he pulled her into his arms.

His embrace was so fierce it almost lifted her off her feet.

"Are you all right?" His voice was rough, stripped of its usual composure. He drew back just enough to search her face before his gaze swept over her from head to toe. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"

Isobel could only shake her head.

"I’m okay."

The tightness in Morgan’s shoulders eased, if only slightly. He gathered her against him once more, as though afraid that letting go would somehow allow her to disappear again.

A dull ache settled in Kristoff’s chest.

He had fought, bled, and gambled his life to get her out.

Yet the moment Morgan arrived, she belonged in his arms.

The sharp command of a police officer shattered the moment.

"Police! Drop your weapons! Hands where we can see them!"

Dozens of flashlights flooded the yard.

Morgan’s men instinctively raised their weapons, their fingers tightening around the triggers as they faced the officers surrounding the warehouse.

For one dangerous heartbeat, no one moved.

The slightest mistake would turn the standoff into a bloodbath.

Morgan never looked away from Isobel.

"Do as they say," he ordered quietly.

One by one, his men lowered their guns.

The tension broke.

Everyone was escorted back inside the warehouse.

Somewhere during the confusion, Kristoff had discarded the kidnapper’s jacket and cap. Beneath them, he was once again dressed in his charcoal-gray suit, though it was streaked with dust and smeared with dirt from the escape.

Only under the harsh fluorescent lights did he truly see Isobel.

Her hair had come loose, strands clinging to her tear-stained face. The shoulder of her dress had been torn, exposing bruised skin beneath.

His expression tightened.

Without a word, he slipped off his suit jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders.

The oversized coat swallowed her slight frame.

She looked up at him.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Kristoff answered with only a faint nod.

Beside them, Morgan watched the quiet exchange.

His face revealed nothing. Not a flicker of anger. Not a hint of gratitude.

Nothing at all.

Only his eyes lingered on the jacket resting over Isobel’s shoulders before they slowly lifted to meet Kristoff’s.

Morgan pulled away. His gaze lingered on Isobel for a second longer before turning toward the warehouse.

The moment they stepped inside, the air grew heavy with the metallic scent of blood.

Dark crimson stains splashed across the concrete floor and scarred the walls. Broken crates lay scattered among overturned tables, while spent shell casings glittered beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.

Six bodies lay motionless where they had fallen.

Every one of them was one of the kidnappers.

Morgan’s expression hardened.

"I want to speak with whoever’s in charge."

A tall, lean man in a dark leather jacket stepped forward. Though his tactical vest bore the insignia of the SWAT unit, his posture remained calm and composed.

"I am Sergeant Jonas Malri," he introduced himself. His eyes swept briefly over the three civilians before settling on Morgan. "I didn’t expect to find Mr. Morgan Foster and Mr. Kristoff Dalton at the center of our operation."

As commander of the SWAT team, Malri made it a point to recognize influential figures within the city. CEOs, politicians, judges, media personalities—knowing faces was part of the job.

His attention shifted to the young woman standing between the two men.

She looked exhausted, her clothes torn, Kristoff’s jacket draped protectively over her shoulders.

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face.

Who was she?

What kind of woman could bring two of the city’s most influential men to risk their lives for her?

Morgan didn’t waste another second.

"Your team breached protocol, Sergeant."

His voice was calm. Too calm.

The kind of calm that carried more weight than shouting ever could.

"You engaged the suspects without first securing the hostage."

The accusation hung in the air.

Several officers exchanged uneasy glances.

"If Kristoff hadn’t gotten her out..." Morgan continued, his eyes never leaving the sergeant, "...you might have forced those men into executing the hostage."

The warehouse fell silent.

Even the officers standing nearby shifted uncomfortably.

Sergeant Malri’s jaw tightened.

"They fired first," he replied evenly. "The moment we identified ourselves, they opened fire. My officers returned fire to protect themselves."

Morgan took a slow step forward.

"They fired because your team announced your presence."

"They were already desperate."

"You cornered armed kidnappers while the hostage was still inside."

His voice remained controlled, but every word landed with unmistakable force.

"What exactly did you expect them to do?"

For the first time since the confrontation began, Sergeant Malri had no immediate answer.

He knew Morgan wasn’t entirely wrong.

Neither was he.

Every decision had been made in seconds.

And every one of those seconds could have cost an innocent woman her life.

"With respect, Mr. Foster, my responsibility wasn’t only the hostage. It was also every officer under my command. Waiting could have cost more lives."

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Kristoff watched them in silence.

Neither was wrong.

Morgan was thinking about Isobel’s safety.

Sergeant Malri was thinking as the commander responsible for sending every one of his officers home alive.

"There wasn’t a perfect choice," Malri said quietly.

"There rarely is."

Morgan’s jaw tightened.

"There isn’t."

His gaze drifted toward Isobel.

"But tonight... there was only one life those kidnappers could bargain with."

"The moment your men breached that door..."

"...hers became the first one at risk."

The words settled heavily over the room. Even the officers who had been listening lowered their eyes.

No one could deny it.

Had the kidnappers chosen to execute their hostage in retaliation, the rescue would have ended very differently.

The weight of those words settled over the warehouse.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

At last, Sergeant Malri inclined his head.

"I understand your concern."

His voice was steady, stripped of defensiveness.

"I’ll conduct a full review of tonight’s operation."

Morgan held his gaze for another beat before giving a faint nod.

"I’ll hold you to that."

He turned toward Isobel, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"I’m taking her home."

The statement wasn’t a request. It was a decision.

He looked back at the sergeant.

"The investigation is yours. My security chief will remain behind and cooperate fully with your team."

Sergeant Malri nodded.

"You have my word. We’ll identify everyone involved."

Morgan’s eyes swept across the warehouse one final time—the bodies, the blood, the shattered crates.

"This wasn’t an ordinary kidnapping."

His voice was quiet.

"Someone financed it. Planned it."

He met the sergeant’s eyes once more.

"I want every person behind this found."

"We’ll leave no stone unturned," Malri replied.

Morgan gave a single nod.

"I expect nothing less."

Without another word, he placed a protective hand at the small of Isobel’s back and guided her toward the exit.

Tonight, Isobel had been rescued.

Tomorrow...

They would find out who had wanted her taken.

And why.