Chase Devineaux tore across Lisbon’s rooftops with one goal in sight: a flash of red disappearing ahead. These days, the chase wasn’t about ego or arrests. He wanted answers—and Carmen never made those easy.

She vaulted a gap without hesitation. Chase followed. Bad idea. His jump came up short, sending him crashing through the hood of a parked car below. Pain flared through his shoulder and ribs as he rolled onto the pavement, winded and thoroughly humbled.

By the time he sat up, Carmen was gone. Again. Footsteps approached through the quiet street. Not hurried. Not curious. Deliberate. Chase straightened, brushing dust from his coat despite the obvious damage. “I’m fine,” he said automatically.

The newcomer didn’t look like a bystander.

His eyes narrowed. “Unless you're here to help or hand me a lead,” he said dryly, “I suggest you save us both some breath.”