Ronan didn’t remember losing consciousness. He remembered fighting, remembered the specific, blinding fury of watching Ivy lifted off her feet while two men held him back with a coordinated skill that told him, even through the rage, that this had been planned with considerable care. He remembered waking on the parking structure floor with Garrick’s hand hard against his shoulder and a wound at his temple that would need stitches he had no intention of getting until Ivy was found.
“How long was I out,” he demanded, already on his feet, swaying slightly before Garrick’s grip steadied him.
“Eleven minutes.” Garrick’s voice was tight, controlled fury barely leashed underneath the clipped delivery. “They had a vehicle waiting. Professional. In and out before any of our people reached the str
