22. Digital Ghosts
22
DIGITAL GHOSTS
Ronan stared at the data spread across the command center’s displays, his mind working to connect the dots. In the six hours since Star and Ethan had broken into Tank’s private cloud storage, the picture had only gotten darker. Fifteen veterans dead in eight months. All recently treated at VA facilities in Southern California. None with life-threatening conditions.
Tank must have contacted Griffin—Ghost—for help investigating. Those two had always been close.
Marcus had tagged them all. The accountant who’d driven off a cliff on Mulholland Drive. The retired Marine who’d supposedly shot himself cleaning his gun. The Army nurse who’d drowned in her pool. The Air Force tech who’d had a “heart attack” while hiking. The rest, all seemingly healthy vets, who simply ... disappeared.
Too many coincidences.
But where to go from here? He paced the floor, trying to channel Griffin’s mind. Think .
The lights flickered. Security cameras cycled through random feeds. Somewhere, an alarm started wailing.
“Breach!” Star called out. “Someone’s in our?—”
Every screen in the command center went black.
Boots thundered up the stairs. Christian burst through the door, Austin and Jack on his heels, weapons ready.
“Got a ghost in the system,” Ethan announced, his usual calm cracking. “They’re playing with?—”
A digitally distorted voice filled the room: “Aww, professional branding. How cute.”
The main screen lit up with a spinning Knight Tactical logo. Then it shattered, pixels scattering like broken glass.
“Multiple system breaches,” Star reported. “They’re everywhere.”
“Not everywhere,” the modulated voice taunted. “Just wherever I want to be.”
New images flashed across the screens.
“How are they seeing these angles?” Austin demanded. “We don’t even have cameras there.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” the metallic voice sang. “Just improbable.”
Ronan felt the corner of his mouth lift. He knew that pattern, that style.
A shadow detached itself from the corner behind them. Ronan wasn’t surprised to see Zara hadn’t changed—same tactical black, same coiled grace, same knowing smirk. His team’s ghost, their digital phantom, looking exactly as she had the last time he’d seen her three years ago. Even her dark hair was still cut in that precise chin-length bob that never seemed to move, no matter what she was doing.
“Your system’s good,” she said, her natural voice replacing the digital distortion as she materialized like smoke. “Mine’s better.”
Maya had her weapon half-drawn before Ronan caught her wrist. “She’s one of us.”
“Was wondering when you’d call,” Zara dropped into the chair next to Star, who was staring at her with equal parts horror and admiration. Zara narrowed her eyes at Ronan. “Though technically, you didn’t.”
“How did you—” Star started.
“The same way I knew you ordered Thai food last Thursday, have a dinner date tomorrow night with the hubs here, and really need to change your personal banking password.” Zara whipped out her phone, studied the screen, and grinned. “Also, FYI, you’ve got three more bogies about to breach your perimeter. But don’t worry. They’re with me.”
Movement near the back wall caught Ronan’s attention. Axel emerged from behind a desk, his face too pale, hands slightly trembling.
Ronan could have kicked himself. And Zara. Two years out, Ax was doing better, but it still didn’t take much to activate his PTSD.
Zara’s smirk vanished. “Ax, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think?—”
“I’m good,” Axel cut her off, but his voice was rough. “Just ... maybe text next time?”
Ronan shifted closer to his friend, not touching, just present. The Knight Tactical team politely found other things to look at, but Ronan caught Maya’s concerned glance. She’d read the signs, but she wasn’t asking. Good.
The tension broke as heavy footsteps approached—two sets, moving in sync. Deke appeared first, his six-foot-four frame filling the doorway, looking every bit like the former NFL linebacker he was. Even in tactical gear, his athletic build was impossible to miss.
“Deke Williams,” Jack said, impressed. “Raiders defense never recovered after you left.”
“That touchdown in the Cleveland game?” Austin added. “Legendary.”
Deke’s laugh rumbled through the room. “That was a lifetime ago, boys.”
Ronan caught Maya watching as Deke quietly bowed his head before speaking, noticed her small smile of recognition. She’d grown up with that same quiet certainty he’d always envied in others.
Right behind him came Kenji, moving with the fluid grace of a martial artist. Six feet of lean muscle and focused intensity, his Japanese-American features set in their usual careful neutrality. But those dark, observant eyes missed nothing—especially not Axel’s state.
“Dr. Marshall,” Christian nodded respectfully. “Your paper on battlefield trauma response protocols changed how we train.”
“Just Kenji,” he corrected quietly, still watching Axel. “And I hear your team’s implementation of those protocols is exemplary.” They’d talk later, away from curious eyes.
Star was still glaring at Zara. “You completely bypassed our quantum encryption. How did you?—”
“Trade secret,” Zara winked. “But I left you some notes. Check your second backup server.”
An engine roared in the parking lot—custom headers, triple exhaust.
“That would be Izzy,” Kenji grinned. “Still running that souped-up Raptor?”
“The one she rebuilt after that explosion in Kandahar,” Ethan added. “What did you do to the engine management system? The specs are insane.”
Isabella Reyes sauntered in—their mechanical genius, all five-foot-two of her, wearing her usual cargo pants and tank top that showed off impressively muscled arms. Her black hair was still pulled back in that messy bun, streaked with engine grease despite the gold hoop earrings she refused to give up.
“Still driving that monstrosity?” Ronan asked.
“Still being a killjoy?” she shot back, dark eyes flashing. There was an edge under the banter, a hint of the hurt they’d all been carrying these past three years. “And my ‘monstrosity’ could outrun anything in your fancy garage.”
“Is that a challenge?” Austin perked up.
“Focus, people,” Axel cut in smoothly, drawing attention away from the growing tension. “Now that Zara’s done showing off”—a grateful look from Zara—“maybe we should talk about why we’re all here.”
Ronan had forgotten how good Axel was at managing the team’s dynamics. Or maybe he’d just tried to forget everything about those days.
“Yeah,” Ronan said, forcing himself to meet their eyes. His team. His responsibility. “We should talk about Tank.”
The room went quiet. Deke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We lost touch. I shouldn’t have let that happen. I have no idea what he was working on.”
“He was looking into something big,” Zara said quietly. “Week before he died, he asked me to run background on a list of names. All military contractors.”
Kenji’s fingers tightened around his coffee cup. “He called me too. Wanted to know about certain medication trials. Combat enhancement protocols.”
“He reached out to all of us,” Axel said, his voice carefully neutral. “Scattered pieces of intel, like he was building a puzzle but didn’t want any of us to see the whole picture.”
“Protecting us,” Ronan muttered. “Stupid guy was always trying to protect everyone else.”
“That’s what got him killed,” Deke growled. “Whatever he found, whoever he was investigating?—”
“They got to him first,” Zara finished. The edge in her voice was razor-sharp now. “Maybe Griff, too.”
Silence fell again, heavy with three years of unanswered questions and unspoken guilt. They’d all been busy with their own lives, their own missions. None of them had seen the danger until it was too late.
After the teams settled into an uneasy rhythm of introductions and shop talk, Christian caught Ronan’s eye and jerked his head toward the hallway. Ronan bristled at the summons—he wasn’t some rookie who could be called out for a lecture. But he followed anyway, if only to keep Christian from making a scene. He noted how his brother positioned himself where he could still see into the command center. Old habits.
“About Axel,” Christian said quietly.
Ronan’s shoulders tensed. Here it came—the big brother routine. Like Christian had any right to question how Ronan handled his team. “He’s fine.”
“Yeah. Like I was fine.” Christian’s voice was neutral, but his meaning clear. “Took me three years to admit I needed help. Would’ve been four, but Jack and the team ... they knew. Didn’t push, just had my back.”
The unexpected confession knocked the defensive anger right out of Ronan. He studied his brother’s face, seeing past the hard exterior to something unexpected—understanding.
“It’s better now,” Christian continued. “Not gone, but better. Your boy in there? He’s got good people watching out for him.” A ghost of a smile. “Even if they’re a bunch of dramatic show-offs who like terrorizing our security system.”
The tension in Ronan’s chest eased slightly. “Christian?—”
“If you ever tell anyone I admitted to having feelings,” his brother literally from another mother cut him off, “I will break your neck.” He pushed off the wall. “Okay. Enough family bonding.”
But there was something almost like approval in his eyes as he walked away, leaving Ronan to process this new piece of the puzzle that was his bio bro.