Chapter 7
Elena’s hand closed around her Glock before her eyes opened fully, muscle memory and five years of constant vigilance overriding the peaceful quiet of morning.
For a disorienting moment, she couldn’t remember where she was—the unfamiliar softness of high-thread-count sheets, the filtered sunlight streaming through windows that faced east instead of west, the absence of traffic noise that had become the soundtrack to her existence in hiding.
Then awareness flooded back. Reed’s house. Reed’s guest room. Safety.
Elena slowly released her grip on the weapon and placed it back on the nightstand, her heart still racing from the adrenaline surge.
She sat on the edge of the bed, orienting herself to this strange new reality where she didn’t have to sleep with one ear listening for footsteps in the hallway or engines in the parking lot.
The relief was so overwhelming that her knees buckled, and she found herself sliding to the floor beside the bed. Without conscious thought, she folded her hands and bowed her head.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for bringing Reed back to me last night. Thank you for his willingness to help, for his brothers’ acceptance, for this safe place to rest.”
She took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of gratitude settle in her chest like warm honey.
“I’ve been alone for so long, carrying this burden by myself.
But now I have him as a partner again, and I feel like maybe—maybe we can actually stop this.
Please guide us in the days ahead. Help us be successful in our mission to protect innocent people. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Elena remained on her knees for a moment longer, letting the peace of prayer settle over her. Outside, birds sang their morning songs, such a different soundtrack than the sirens and city noise she’d grown accustomed to in her various hideouts.
Rising to her feet, Elena pulled on a pair of workout clothes from her meager wardrobe—black leggings, a moisture-wicking tank top, and running shoes that had seen better days but still had good miles left in them.
The familiar ritual of preparing for a run was comforting, a constant in a life that had been anything but.
She thought about the night before—how Reed had made them both sandwiches with the quiet efficiency she remembered from their time at the facility.
They hadn’t really talked, the weight of everything that had happened settling between them like a physical presence.
Elena had been exhausted, emotionally drained from the roller coaster of rejection and acceptance, and Reed seemed to understand that.
He’d simply shown her to the guest room with a brief “bathroom’s through there, towels in the closet,” and left her to process everything in solitude.
The guest room was beautiful. It was on the second floor like Reed’s master suite, with windows that looked out over Lake Washington.
The view was breathtaking, all dark water and evergreen trees with the distant Seattle skyline visible on clear days.
It was the kind of place she could imagine staying forever, if circumstances were different.
Elena moved to the window, drawn by the sight of early morning mist rising from the lake’s surface.
It was late August, and she could tell the morning was cooler than it had been in recent weeks—that crisp hint of autumn that made her skin crave movement.
She’d always been a runner, even before her life had depended on staying in peak physical condition, and being sedentary for too long made her restless.
As she headed downstairs, Elena found Reed sitting on the couch in the living room, iPad in hand, dressed in his own workout clothes. He looked up when he heard her footsteps and smiled.
“Morning run?” he asked, and Elena felt a flutter of warmth at the fact that he remembered her patterns.
She nodded. They had always run together back at the facility, stealing early morning miles before the chaos of their respective days began.
Some of her favorite memories were of those quiet runs when it was just the two of them and the rhythm of their feet hitting pavement in perfect synchronization.
She hesitated, not wanting to impose. “I don’t want to disrupt your morning routine—”
Reed put the iPad down and stood, cutting off her protest. “Let’s get to it.”
If she’d thought for a moment that it was an inconvenience for him, Elena would have declined.
But she could see the anticipation in his eyes, the way he moved toward the back door with purpose.
Reed had always loved running as much as she did—it was one of the things that had bonded them from the beginning.
He guided her through the house to a back door that opened onto a long deck overlooking the lake. The morning air was indeed cool, carrying the scent of pine and water, and Elena breathed deeply. The sun was bright and seemed to make steam rise from the lake’s surface.
Reed paused at a security panel near the door, typing in a code to disable what Elena assumed were motion sensors around the property’s perimeter. He turned back to her. “Five miles?”
Elena noted with satisfaction that he remembered her daily minimum. She had done five miles every day for years, sometimes more depending on circumstances, but at least five. It was one of the constants that had kept her sane during the worst periods of hiding. “Please.”
They started at an easy pace, falling into a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.
Elena let Reed lead, trusting him to know the best route, and he took her around the lake on a path that wound through trees and along the waterfront.
The trail was well-maintained but not crowded at this early hour—just the occasional fellow runner or dog walker who nodded politely as they passed.
They didn’t talk, and Elena’s mind filled with memories she’d tried for five years to keep locked away.
Missions they had worked on together before everything went wrong—surveillance operations where they’d spent hours in vehicles, talking about everything and nothing while watching targets.
The time they’d been sent to Paris for a security conference and stolen away for an afternoon of playing tourist, kissing on top of the Eiffel Tower like teenagers while the City of Light stretched below them.
Quiet dinners in out-of-the-way restaurants where they could pretend to be a normal couple for a few hours.
So many memories, all tinged with the bittersweet knowledge of what had come after.
The run passed more quickly than Elena expected, her body falling into the meditative state that made long distances manageable.
When they finally circled back to Reed’s house, she felt more centered than she had in months—the combination of prayer, exercise, and Reed’s steady presence working like a balm on her frayed nerves.
As they walked through the back door, cooling down, Elena could smell bacon and eggs cooking. James and Terrel were in the kitchen, James manning the stove while Terrel set the table with the efficiency of someone accustomed to group meals.
James turned as they entered, grinning. “I made breakfast for you guys. Terrel helped. But we’re not sharing the bacon.”
Elena couldn’t help but smile, feeling all kinds of happiness about how Reed’s brothers had accepted her as if she belonged there. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced since her mother’s death—being part of something larger than herself, being cared for by people who expected nothing in return.
They settled around the kitchen table, and Elena hesitated for a moment before closing her eyes out of habit.
Reed cleared his throat. “Shall we say grace?”
Elena opened her eyes to find James and Terrel looking at her with something that might have been smirks, while Reed nodded seriously. “I’m not a complete heathen,” he said to his brothers, then bowed his head and said a brief prayer over the food.
Elena was touched that he remembered her patterns, that he was willing to honor something that mattered to her even if it wasn’t necessarily his own practice.
“All right,” Walker said as he joined them, apparently having arrived while they were running. “Let’s talk logistics. We have four days to plan and execute. What’s our timeline looking like?”
Elena swallowed a bite of perfectly cooked eggs and pulled her thoughts back to the mission. “The auction is Friday night. I think we should plan to be in Vancouver by Wednesday to give us time for final reconnaissance.”
“Agreed,” Reed said. “That gives us today and tomorrow for detailed planning, Wednesday for travel and setup, and Thursday for final surveillance and positioning.”
Terrel looked up from his bacon. “What about cover identities? We can’t just show up as tourists.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Elena said. “There’s a catering company that services high-end events in the Vancouver area—Pinnacle Hospitality. If we could insert a few people into their staff for the evening...”
James raised an eyebrow. “You want us to be waiters?”
“I want you to be invisible,” Elena corrected. “Service staff are the perfect cover for moving through a secure location. A person in a tuxedo serving champagne doesn’t register as a threat.”
Walker nodded approvingly. “I like it. What about building schematics? Exit strategies?”
Elena pulled out her laptop, which she’d retrieved from her bag before coming downstairs. “I’ve got architectural plans, but they’re three years old. We’ll need current intel on security modifications.”
“I can handle that,” Terrel said. “Give me until this afternoon, and I’ll have updated blueprints and security protocols.”
Reed leaned back in his chair, and Elena could see his tactical mind working through scenarios. “Weapons?”
“Small arms only,” Elena said. “Concealed carry for personal protection, but nothing that would compromise our cover if we’re searched.”
“What about extraction?” James asked. “If this goes sideways—and let’s be honest, these things usually do—how do we get out?”
Elena had been dreading this question because the honest answer was that extraction would be nearly impossible if they were compromised. “The estate is isolated. Single access road, water on two sides. If Webb’s people realize what’s happening...”
“We fight our way out,” Reed said simply. “Just like old times.”
Elena looked around the table at the four Star brothers, seeing the calm acceptance in their faces. These men had spent their careers walking into situations where extraction wasn’t guaranteed, where success meant something bigger than their own survival.
“There’s one more thing,” Elena said quietly. “Once we’re inside, once we’ve identified Webb and confirmed he has the WATCHDOG access codes, the first plan is to take him alive. Go through proper authorities, put him away where he belongs.”
The brothers nodded.
Elena took a breath. “The second plan... is I kill him.”
All four men scoffed simultaneously.
“No, Elena,” Reed said.
She turned to him, her jaw set with determination. “Yes, Reed. If we don’t think we can take Webb to a place where he will receive justice, then I’ll kill him. He took my life—fair is fair.”
The statement hung in the air, heavy with implication.
“Elena…” Reed began.
“I’m serious. This man has been selling surveillance capabilities to enemies of the United States for three years. How many people have died because of intelligence he’s provided? How many journalists, activists, and dissidents have disappeared because Webb gave someone the tools to find them?”
Walker was quiet for a long moment. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. We’ll focus on plan A.”
“Agreed,” Elena said. “But we need to be prepared for both scenarios.”
Reed was quiet for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Understood. Anything else we need to discuss?”
Elena shook her head, suddenly exhausted despite the morning’s exercise and prayer. The weight of what they were planning—the risks they were taking, the lives that hung in the balance—settled over her like a heavy blanket.
“All right then,” Reed said, standing and beginning to clear dishes. “We’ve got work to do.”
As Elena watched Reed and his brothers move around the kitchen with practiced efficiency, she found herself thinking about prayer again.
She’d asked God to guide them, to help them be successful.
Looking at these four capable men who were willing to risk everything to help her make things right, Elena couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—her prayers were already being answered.