Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
The monitors ticked their steady rhythm.
Claire lay pale against the sheets, a tangle of IV lines threading into her body, her chest rising and falling with fragile persistence.
Reid’s hand never left hers. His thumb moved in small circles, the only motion betraying how hard he was holding himself still.
Across from him, Wes Crockett leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His eyes weren’t on the machines or on the door; they were locked on Reid.
“I was the medic with Joe Bowman when he died,” Wes said, the truth laid bare. “I’ve carried that day a long time, longer than I should.” His eyes flicked briefly to Claire, then back. “And I’ll tell you this, son, I’m not watching another Bowman slip away on my watch.”
The words hit like a stone dropped into still water, rippling deep. Reid’s throat tightened.
Wes straightened, resolve etched in every line of his face. “Senior exec or not, doesn’t matter. I’ll take shifts right here. You’ll know she’s covered when you can’t be here. Some debts don’t get paid sitting behind a desk.”
Reid gave a short, hard nod. His jaw worked once, but no words came.
Zach Wentworth, sharp, restless, and the strategist to Wes’s steady hand, broke the silence. “Ian will keep pressing Heather and the NSA, but that’s temporary cover. Vos is the real play. And he’s already in motion, which means Apex has to move faster.”
Reid finally looked up, meeting Zach’s gaze. “What’s Ian need from me?”
Zach didn’t hesitate. “Twelve hours of pressure. Bravo Team is running extra security on Ian. Crescent 1 was almost in New Orleans again. They’ve been rerouted back here.
Jamie O’Reilly and Logan Shepard are sending medical staff to augment Claire’s care.
But in these next twelve, we lock down every channel, every corridor, every perimeter.
“Apex drills in shifts. You hold her perimeter here, but your people show teeth everywhere else—public narrative, security posture, tactical readiness. Make it look like Chase has already mobilized a strike package, even if we haven’t.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Fuse runs comm intercepts; Shade and Spartan hold down visible patrols. Torch shadows campus chatter; Bluebird embeds at Med as a double-watch with Wes. Ghostwire pulls the back end of every movement log. We don’t give Vos daylight.”
Reid exhaled through his nose slowly. The burden was already on him. Zach was just naming it out loud.
“She’s not dying here,” Reid said, steel in every syllable.
Wes nodded once, solid. “No, she’s not.”
And Zach, ever the tactician, let the silence hold a beat before adding, “Then let’s make damn sure no one even thinks she’s vulnerable.”
The three men stood—different ages, different scars, but aligned—bound in the room’s sterile glow. Claire breathed on, fragile but present, and for Reid, that was enough to hold the line.
TRAINING ANNEX – 017 HOURS
The annex smelled faintly of oil and steel, the after-hours hum of ventilation loud against the silence. Tree Town One filed in one by one, boots heavy on the polished floor. No chatter. No jokes. Just the subdued weight of people who already knew something had gone wrong.
Reid stood at the center mat, sleeves rolled, his posture carved sharp from exhaustion and something harder beneath it. Wes assured him Claire was safe with him and Casey Reynolds, who relieved Tuck.
He scanned them all and let the silence stretch. He needed them to feel the weight. “You all know Claire Bowman was shot this afternoon.”
Reid didn’t soften it. “Sniper. Right flank. No exit wound. She survived because Tree Town One and our medics moved faster than the shooter calculated. She’s in the ICU, critical but fighting.”
He took a step forward. “From the timing, we believe the shooter wasn’t random. Claire was only exposed for two minutes. The NSA tried to pull her into custody before the bullet landed. That means we’re not looking at a breach anymore. We’re looking at a hunter.”
Fuse swore outright this time. Ghostwire didn’t move, but his stare cut sharper.
Reid’s voice hardened. “Lucien Vos, disavowed CIA, is in play. And that means every one of you is now running hot. No lapses. No ego. No half-measures. Tree Town One is the visible shield around Chase Ann Arbor, until Ian decides otherwise.”
He lifted his chin slightly. “Torch, watch campus chatter, full spectrum. Anything that smells like misdirection, I want it flagged before it hits a headline. And let Vos think we’ve doubled our force. Pull every log from today’s breach and scrub for anomalies. Don’t assume friendlies.”
Reid looked across all of them, his voice dropping lower. “Listen to me. Vos wanted a coffin today. He thought he’d get it. He didn’t. Which means he’ll come harder. And when he does, he’s going to find this squad standing in the way.”
The air tightened. A shared current, silent but unmistakable. Reid let it settle before giving the last order. “Zero-six hundred. Training annex. Bring everything. Today wasn’t chaos; it was clarity. You don’t need to prove you belong here.” He stepped back once. “Dismissed.”
They didn’t move at first. They just looked at him—his squad, team, family in the making—each measuring what he’d just dropped on them. Then, one by one, they peeled away, boots echoing out into the hall.
Apex was the last to leave. Before he stepped out, he turned to Reid. “Not the way we wanted, but you’ve got a team.”
Reid stayed standing until the last shadow cleared. Only then did he exhale. The image of Claire pale against the white sheets cut through his mind again. He whispered, just for himself, “She’s not dying here.”
The annex was empty now. The mats still smelled faintly of sweat and chalk, but the space had gone hollow. Reid stood at the far end near the weapons racks, his hands braced against cool steel, his eyes unfocused.
The door hinges groaned.
“Figured I’d find you here,” Tuck drawled. His shoes scuffed the mats as he crossed, a big silhouette against the dim annex light.
Reid didn’t look up. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Tuck leaned a shoulder against the nearest post, arms folded. His Texas drawl was steady, worn smooth by years of calling men out without breaking them.
Reid’s jaw flexed. He rubbed a hand over his face, the exhaustion deep in his bones. “She’s alive. That should be enough.”
“But it ain’t.” Tuck’s voice wasn’t accusing, just matter-of-fact. “You’re running loops in your head. How it happened. How you should’ve seen it. How you should’ve stopped it.”
Reid said nothing.
Tuck pushed off the post and came closer. “Listen. I’ve seen men burn themselves down with that kind of guilt. Watched ‘em hollow out until there wasn’t nothin’ left to lead. That what you want? For her to wake up and find you a shell?”
Finally, Reid looked at him. His eyes were dark, hard. But there was something raw under it. “If she doesn’t wake up—”
“She will,” Tuck cut in, firm as steel. “Foley’s in there. Pete’s in there. Casey’s in there. She’s got the best hands in the damn country working to keep her here. That’s their job. Yours is different.”
Reid’s hands curled against the rack. “My job is to keep her safe. I already failed once.”
Tuck stepped closer and dropped his voice. “You fail if you don’t sleep. You fail if you stumble tomorrow ‘cause you’re too stubborn to close your eyes. She’s fightin’ in there. And if she wakes up and sees you lookin’ like hell, you think that helps?”
Reid stared at him, silence stretching.
Tuck gave a small shrug, almost gentle. “C’mon, son. Shower. Bed. Four hours of shut-eye. You don’t gotta like it. Just gotta do it. ‘Cause she’ll need you clear-headed when she opens those eyes. And I don’t think she’d forgive you if you weren’t.”
Reid let out a slow breath. It wasn’t surrender so much as the day finally sagging his shoulders. “Four hours,” he muttered.
“That’s the spirit.” Tuck clapped him once on the shoulder with a hand that carried both concern and steadiness. “I’ll wake you myself if I gotta. But you’re not breakin’ on my watch.”
For the first time all night, Reid allowed himself to turn away from the rack. Not relief or peace. But the first step toward it.