15. Michael
Chapter fifteen
Michael
I checked my phone for the seventeenth time in thirty minutes. No messages. No calls. My thumb hovered over Alex's name. The urge to contact him was almost overwhelming.
He'd only been gone three hours. Contacting him again would cross the line from concerned to controlling.
My tactical vest lay across my kitchen table, freshly checked, alongside the small go-bag I'd packed after spotting a mysterious sedan outside my window in the morning. It was black, with tinted windows and government plates poorly concealed with mud.
I hadn't mentioned it to Alex before he left for the university archives. What was the point of scaring him?
I raked my fingers across the top of my head. "He's fine. He's in public spaces. They wouldn't try anything there."
I'd let Alex walk out alone because he'd insisted. I wanted to respect his autonomy.
One knee bounced in an erratic rhythm as I sank onto the couch. I kept one eye on the clock—3:47 PM. Alex promised to be back by five.
I rose again, unable to remain still. Survival training taught me to conserve energy, but I didn't know how to process the adrenaline spiking through my bloodstream. Every car that passed on the street below drew my attention. Every shadow on the wall raised the hair on my arms.
The apartment was a hollow space without Alex's presence. In the short time since he'd crashed back into my life, the space had transformed from a place I slept to somewhere that echoed with his laughter, sharp insights, and sexy sounds he made when we touched.
I opened the drawer where I kept my father's backup service weapon. The responsible thing would be to leave it locked away. The trained SWAT officer in me knew better than to arm myself while on administrative leave.
Unlocking the drawer, I checked the magazine and chamber before tucking the weapon into my waistband at the small of my back. Its weight was a steady anchor against the rising tide of dread.
I kneaded the muscles at the base of my neck, trying to ease the tension building there.
"Come on, Alex," I whispered to the empty apartment. "Just come home."
Home. It wasn't Alex's home—only a temporary shelter against the storm. At least, that was the idea, but I couldn't negate the fact that he was the only person outside of me who lingered for more than one night.
The waiting was the worst part. When the threat finally materialized, I'd know what to do. Until then, all I could do was pace, watch, and calculate all the ways I might fail to protect him.
The phone's vibration jolted me from my thoughts. I lunged for it, nearly knocking over my cold coffee. Alex's name flashed on the screen, and relief flooded through me—until I answered.
"Michael." His voice was wrong, stretched thin and taut like a wire about to snap. It wasn't his usual academic tone.
"What happened?" I was already on my feet, grabbing my keys.
"Someone tampered with my laptop. Again. They didn't even try to hide it this time. They rearranged files and wiped the search history. When I powered it on, there was a message waiting for me."
My throat tightened. "What did it say?"
"'Time's running out.'" He exhaled shakily. "But that's not all."
"Tell me."
"I left the archives about an hour ago. A car followed me. It was a silver sedan with two men inside. I tried to lose them by cutting through the quad, but when I came out, they were waiting." His voice dropped lower. "One of them got out. He stood there, watching me. He didn't approach or say anything. Only stared until I ducked into a coffee shop."
My blood ran cold in my veins. It wasn't subtle surveillance anymore. It was the delivery of a threatening message.
"Where are you now?"
"Still at the coffee shop. Corner of Broadway and Pike."
"Stay there. Inside. Don't move. I'm coming to get you."
"Michael, I don't think—"
"This is active intimidation, Alex. They're escalating. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't leave the shop and stay where people can see you."
"Okay." He paused. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For dragging you deeper into this."
A lump rose in my throat. "You didn't drag me anywhere I wasn't already heading. Watch for me. I'll be there in minutes."
"I will. Just... hurry."
The line went dead. Reality sank in, and I found myself driven by a singular focus.
Get to Alex. Secure him. Protect him.
Nothing else mattered.
I burst into the parking garage, keys already in hand. My truck waited in the dim concrete cavern, exactly where I'd left it, but suddenly it looked exposed.
If they'd been watching Alex at the university, they could have followed him here before. They might know my vehicle.
I hesitated for half a second and then decided it didn't matter. Speed trumped stealth for the moment.
My focus narrowed to a laser point—the route to Alex and any threats that might lie along it. I calculated and discarded options with mechanical precision while my heart hammered against my ribs.
Every delay—every red light or pedestrian crossing—scraped against my nerves like sandpaper. I slammed my palm against the steering wheel as if my pounding might speed my progress.
Broadway and Pike finally appeared ahead. I double-parked outside the coffee shop, hazard lights flashing, not caring about the ticket I'd likely receive.
Through the glass storefront, I spotted him immediately—hunched over a small table in the corner, back to the wall, eyes constantly scanning the entrance. The professor was gone, replaced by someone who understood he was targeted prey.
Our eyes met through the window. I nodded once, and he carefully gathered his belongings, trying not to broadcast his urgency to the other patrons.
When he pushed through the door, I saw it all—the tension in his jaw, dark circles under his eyes, and how his knuckles whitened around the strap of his messenger bag. He was more rattled than he'd let on over the phone.
"Get in. We need to move."
He slid into the passenger seat without argument.
I scanned the surrounding streets before pulling away from the curb. "Did you see them again? After you got to the coffee shop?"
"No." He gripped his bag in his lap like it contained state secrets. "But I couldn't shake the sense that they were still watching me."
I took an alternate route to his apartment. "We're going back to your place, but not the direct route."
"I figured." His voice was steadier. "Michael, what are we going to do?"
I didn't have an answer that wouldn't scare him even more. I reached across the center console and placed my hand over his, feeling the light tremors running through his fingers. "First, we get you somewhere safe." I squeezed gently.
Alex's apartment building stood six stories tall, wedged between a vintage clothing store and a tea shop that had closed for the day. The brick facade was weathered but maintained, with small balconies jutting from upper units.
I scanned the perimeter with practiced efficiency—marking exits and blind spots. Two cars looked like they didn't belong: a black SUV with government-issue tires parked half a block down and a nondescript beige sedan with rental plates across the street. Both were empty but recently occupied, judging by the condensation on the windows.
"Stay behind me." I guided Alex with my hand as we approached the building's entrance.
The foyer was deserted. An older woman's voice filtered through a partially open door on the ground floor, speaking rapid-fire Russian into a phone. The elevator pinged softly in the quiet space.
"Stairs." I decided not to trust the confined space of the elevator. "Which way?"
Alex nodded toward a door marked with a faded exit sign. We climbed in silence, my body positioned between him and any potential threats from above or below. The stairwell smelled of old cigarettes and industrial cleaner.
At the fifth-floor landing, I paused, listening. Nothing but the building's ambient sounds—water running through pipes, someone's television murmuring behind a door, and the subtle creak of settling wood.
"Wait here."
Alex gripped my arm. "No. Together."
I started to argue, but determination hardened his features. It was his home territory. He wouldn't cower in the stairwell while I cleared it.
"Stay three steps behind me. If I tell you to run, you run. No questions."
He nodded, jaw set in a line of stubborn resolve.
The hallway stretched before us, empty and quiet under buzzing fluorescent lights. There were six doors on each side, Alex's at the far end. We moved quietly, my senses hyperaware of every sound and every shadow.
***
When we reached his door, I positioned myself to the side, motioning for him to stay back. The lock showed more evidence of tampering—fresh scrapes where a pick had been inserted, subtle but damning.
"Did you leave your laptop out?"
"No. It should be in my desk drawer."
I nodded, then gestured for his key. He placed it in my palm, our fingers brushing momentarily. "I'll establish a clean line and clear the space before you follow." My pulse raced as I inserted it into the lock.
The door swung open silently. I entered first, moving with the practiced efficiency drilled into me through years of tactical training. The main room is clear. Kitchen clear. Bathroom and bedroom clear.
No intruder remained, but evidence of their visit was everywhere.
Alex's laptop sat open on the coffee table—not tucked away in his desk. The screen was black, its power light pulsing slowly. Books had been removed from shelves, examined, and replaced, slightly out of alignment. His desk drawers stood partially open, contents rearranged.
Most telling was what they hadn't touched: the valuable antique clock on the mantel, the silver frame holding a photo of Marissa, and the cash in the drawer beside his bed. The calculated restraint delivered a message clearer than any written threat: We could have taken everything but chose to take only your peace of mind.
Alex entered behind me, his breath catching as he surveyed the violated space. He moved toward his laptop. "They didn't even try to hide that they were here."
I blocked his movement with my arm. "Don't touch it. Not yet."
He froze. "You think they planted something?"
"I think we can't rule it out." I studied the room more carefully. "When exactly did you notice the car following you?"
"After I left the archives. They must have known I wouldn't be home."
"Or they wanted you to find this." I gestured at the deliberate disarray. "This is psychological warfare."
Alex's shoulders hunched slightly, but he forced them back, refusing to physically demonstrate the fear I knew churned beneath his composed exterior. I recognized the effort it took to maintain that control—I'd seen it in suspects, witnesses, and victims countless times.
I wanted to pull him against me and offer him physical comfort, but something held me back. It wasn't the time or place for that.
The apartment wasn't a safe space anymore. Strangers had moved through it, touching Alex's belongings and dismantling his sanctuary.
"Pack what you need. You're not staying here tonight."
Alex didn't argue.
I watched him move through the apartment, collecting essentials with mechanical precision. His hands remained steady as he packed clothes, toiletries, and research materials.
He stared at the framed photo of Marissa on his nightstand, fingers tracing the edge of the frame without quite touching the glass. "Should I bring it? Would that be ridiculous?"
I moved closer, stopping just shy of touching him. "It's not ridiculous."
He packed the photo and continued through the space. "I mean, do I grab the first edition Hemingway my father gave me? Or is that too sentimental when you're potentially hunted by people who eliminate problems permanently?"
His voice tightened. "Do I cancel my department meeting tomorrow or just not show up? Will my absence make them target my colleagues? Am I endangering everyone I know by poking at this hornet's nest?"
I gripped his shoulders and turned him to face me. "Alex, stop."
His eyes were wide with fear. "I didn't want this—any of it. I'm a researcher, not a—what would you call it in your field? An asset? A principal under threat?"
"In my world, we'd call you a priority principal—someone worth protecting at all costs." I pressed my thumbs against his collarbone.
He stared at the dark screen of his laptop. "And I didn't want you pulled into this because of my stupid curiosity."
"You think you have a choice?" I stepped toward him, anger and tenderness twisting together in my chest. "I'm already in it, Alex. I was the minute paradise exploded. That preceded your involvement."
Alex zipped his bag closed, then hesitated, gazing around the apartment one last time. "What if they come back and destroy my notes and books?"
He didn't say it out loud, but I heard the real question he was asking. What if they take everything from me?
"We'll deal with that if it happens." I placed a hand at the small of his back, steadying him. "Right now, the priority is ensuring they don't get to you."
He nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Okay, I'm ready."
I grabbed Alex's duffel before he could reach for it, slinging it over my shoulder.
He reached for the strap. "I can carry that."
"I've got it."
At the threshold, Alex hesitated. "Wait." He disappeared back into his bedroom, returning moments later with a weathered leather journal and a small external hard drive. "Research backup and personal notes that aren't digital."
I nodded in approval. "Anything else essential?"
He scanned the apartment one last time, eyes lingering on his bookshelves, framed diplomas, and a small collection of antique maps hanging on the wall. It was a lifetime distilled into possessions, many of which he might not see again if things escalated further.
"No, nothing else essential."
I opened the door, checking the hallway in both directions before stepping out. Empty.
I placed myself between Alex and any potential threat as we approached the stairwell. "Stay close."
Outside, dusk had fallen over Seattle, painting the street in charcoal shadows and muted blues. The black SUV I'd noted earlier was gone, but the beige sedan remained, occupied by a single figure behind the wheel.
I unlocked the passenger side of my truck first. "Don't look at the car. Get in and stay low."
Alex slid into the seat and ducked his head as I closed the door behind him. I circled around, hyper-aware of my exposed position, before climbing in and starting the engine.
The sedan's headlights flared to life as we pulled away from the curb.
I pounded the steering wheel. "They want us to know they're watching us." I took a sharp right at the next intersection, then another, navigating away from direct routes to my apartment. "It's a tactic. Make the target feel exposed and helpless. Force a mistake."
Alex gripped the edges of his seat. "Is it working?"
I glanced at him. "What do you think?"
A thin smile appeared on his face. "I think they underestimated who they're dealing with."
"You're not staying there anymore—at your apartment. Not while this is happening."
Alex turned toward me. "Michael—"
"You're staying with me." I wouldn't argue. "Tonight and for as long as necessary."
"I can't just—"
I interrupted him again. "You can, and you will." I reached over and gripped his knee. "I'm not asking."
"Okay."
***
As we drove through the darkening city, rain began to spatter against the windshield—fat drops that smeared the glow of streetlights. Alex exhaled. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For believing me and not telling me I'm overreacting." His voice dropped lower. "For being willing to fight for me when most people would run the other way."
I tightened my grip on his knee, not trusting myself to speak.
The city lights blurred around us as we drove toward the only sanctuary I could offer—imperfect and temporary, though it might be. Alex sat beside me, one hand still gripping the edge of his seat, the other holding his phone—powered off now to prevent tracking.
"Are we still being followed?" Alex asked after the third unexpected turn.
"No. Not actively, at least."
Alex shifted in his seat and turned his head to face me. "How do you know all of this? I mean the counter-surveillance techniques. You can identify threats most people wouldn't even notice."
The automatic response started to form on my tongue: Standard police training. Nothing special.
I stopped the words from coming out. Alex deserved better than the practiced lies I'd told others. "SWAT training only accounts for part of it. Before joining the Seattle PD, I served in a specialized military unit."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Special Forces?"
"Adjacent to that world." I navigated around a delivery truck, headlights cutting through sheets of rain. "My team operated in areas where traditional military presence wasn't... acknowledged."
"Black ops?" There was no judgment in his voice, only fascination.
"That term makes it sound more glamorous than it was." I managed a wry smile. "Much of it involved gathering intelligence, establishing networks, and identifying threats as they materialized. Sometimes, there was more direct intervention."
Alex rubbed his cheek.
"I've seen operations like this before." I surprised myself with my candid admission. "Not domestically, and not exactly the same, but similar patterns. This level of surveillance, with the escalating intimidation tactics, is not random harassment. It's a message."
"What kind of message?"
"That they can reach you anywhere. There's nowhere to hide." I glanced at him. "They designed it to make you feel like surrender is the only option."
Alex clenched his teeth. "The historical parallel would be siege warfare—psychological rather than physical. I'm not surrendering."
"I know. That's why they're escalating."
We lapsed into silence as I navigated through a residential area, houses hunched against the storm, windows glowing like beacons in the gathering darkness.
"I lied to you earlier," I said, the words scraping out. "Back at the apartment—when you caught me on the phone. I told you it was work checking in. It wasn't. I was talking to Marcus."
Alex turned his head toward me, silent but listening.
"I've been keeping him updated. Trying to pull in extra backup without dragging you deeper into it."
I tightened my hands on the steering wheel."I thought I was protecting you by not telling you. I was wrong."
I drove through two more turns in silence.
"You know, this isn't easy for me, Alex. Letting people in and admitting to weaknesses."
"Trusting someone isn't a weakness."
"In my world, it often was." I navigated a sharp turn. "Trust was a luxury we couldn't afford. We compartmentalized information for a reason. If you didn't know something, they couldn't pull it out of you under questioning."
The words hung between us, heavy with implications about my past that I'd never discussed with anyone outside the unit.
Alex was quiet for a long moment. "But this isn't that world anymore."
"No, it's not."
His hand moved from the seat to rest on my forearm, warm and grounding. "You're trying to protect me."
"I am."
I turned onto the street leading to my apartment building. "There's something else you should know." I drove into the parking garage beneath my building. "The people behind this aren't merely corporate thugs. Their tactics suggest government training, possibly intelligence community backgrounds."
"Former operatives?"
"Maybe. Or current ones operating off the books." I parked in my assigned space, killing the engine. "Either way, they have resources, connections, and a high tolerance for risk. It's also impossible to tell whether they have any government connections. Marcus is scouring the backgrounds of anyone we ask to help."
"So what's our next move?"
"We regroup. Secure our position. Evaluate our options." I turned to face him fully. "And we stay together."
Once we reached my door, I again positioned myself to enter first. The apartment received us with a fortress's embrace—solid walls that predated modern construction shortcuts and windows placed to eliminate direct sightlines from surrounding buildings. Everything was as I'd left it—coffee mugs still on the counter, my tactical vest on the kitchen table, and blinds half-drawn against the world outside.
Unlike Alex's bright, open space designed to support intellectual exploration, my apartment was built for containment and defense—corners visible from multiple angles and furniture positioned to provide cover if needed. What his space offered in warmth and culture, mine provided in security and tactical advantage.
Alex was a scholar inhabiting a warrior's domain.
I moved past him to check that the windows were secure. "You can put your things in the bedroom. The bathroom's stocked with fresh towels if you need a shower."
I set his duffel on the floor by the couch and crossed to him, gently extracting the smaller bag from his grip. "You're safe here with me."
"Are we? Really?"
I wanted to offer reassurance and promise that nothing could touch him within the walls of my apartment, but it was time to boot any lies to the curb.
"Safer than anywhere else you could be right now." I set his bag beside the duffel. "I have security measures in place that most civilians don't."
Alex stood in the center of the living room, a strange hesitancy in his posture.
"What is it?"
He gestured vaguely toward the bedroom. "I just realized I'm imposing. I can take the couch."
Finally, something to break the tension. I laughed at the absurdity of his comment.
"You're not sleeping on the couch, Alex."
"But I—"
"We've been sharing a bed for days." I moved closer into his space. "That doesn't change now."
I reached for him, wrapping both arms around his neck. "We're in this together. All of it."
Alex extracted himself from my grip to retrieve his duffel bag. I watched him move toward the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look back at me.
"Are you coming?" he asked.
I nodded, following him into the room where our boundaries had already begun to dissolve. The door closed behind us with a soft click, sealing us in together.
We had created a sanctuary for the night—fragile and temporary, but ours.