Chapter 20
Ty
The cheap motel sheets stuck to my skin where Charlotte’s naked body pressed against mine.
She’d finally fallen asleep, her breathing deep and even against my chest, still coming down from what we’d just shared.
I held her close, one hand tangled in that long auburn hair, the other resting protectively on her hip where my fingers had gripped her as she’d come apart beneath me.
Jesus. The memory of her crying out my name, the way she’d met me thrust for thrust with that same fierce determination she brought to everything—it was burned into my brain.
Too brief a time of losing ourselves in each other, of forgetting the danger closing in, of finding something real in the midst of danger and uncertainty.
She’d asked me to make her feel human again, to make her feel, and God help me, I’d given her everything I had.
She needed the rest now. Hell, she’d pushed herself past every reasonable limit these last few days, and the physical release had finally let her body surrender to exhaustion. But I’d have to wake her soon. We couldn’t stay here.
I shifted carefully to check my watch. 4:47 a.m. Ben and Donovan should have called by now. They’d left for the safe house over three hours ago, promising to check in once they’d done their sweep. The silence made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Charlotte stirred slightly, pressing closer.
Even exhausted and scared, even after everything that had happened, she still trusted me enough to sleep in my arms. That trust felt heavier than any responsibility I’d carried in combat.
At least in war zones, we went in prepared to meet an enemy.
Here, the threat could be anyone—her colleagues, the FBI agents supposedly protecting her, any given stranger on the street.
I reached for the burner phone from my bugout bag, careful not to jostle Charlotte. George’s number went straight to voicemail again. Third time I’d tried. The George I knew would answer a burner at four in the morning if it meant helping with an operation. Either something had happened to him, or…
No. I wouldn’t go there yet. George had been solid in the Army. Solid when we’d worked together since. There had to be another explanation.
The phone on the nightstand buzzed, making me tense as I answered it.
“Ty, it’s Ben. We’re heading to your location. Be there in ten minutes.”
No update about the safe house. No all clear. Just that they were coming here. That meant nothing good.
“Got it,” I responded quietly. “See you soon.”
Charlotte’s eyes fluttered open at the sound, immediately alert despite the exhaustion written across her features. “What’s wrong?”
“Ben and Donovan are coming here.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting my thumb linger on her cheek. She leaned into the touch for just a moment before reality kicked in.
“They are? Why?” She sat up, the sheet falling away from her bare shoulders.
“I don’t know. All I know is that it’s not good.”
Good news, they would’ve just relayed via a call. They would’ve told us it was okay to make our way to the safe house and would’ve met us there.
But they hadn’t.
Charlotte slid to the edge of the bed. I wanted nothing more than to pull her back down, to lose ourselves for a few more minutes in the heat we’d found together.
That hadn’t been just sex. That had been something else entirely, something that had shifted everything between us.
But it definitely hadn’t been nearly enough to sate the hunger that had been building since the moment I’d met her.
She was already sliding out of bed, reaching for her clothes scattered on the floor. “I should—they’ll be here soon, and I don’t want to be…” She gestured at her naked form, cheeks flushing.
“Here.” I grabbed one of my T-shirts from my bag and handed it to her. “It’s clean.”
She pulled it over her head, and it fell nearly to her knees, making her look even smaller, more vulnerable. The sight of her in my clothes did something primitive to my chest, made me want to stake a claim I had no right to make. Not yet. Not until she was safe. Maybe not even then.
Just because she wasn’t treating the sex between us as an experiment didn’t mean she was interested in anything long-term with me.
“We’ll get you proper clothes as soon as we can,” I promised, pulling on my jeans. “Among other things.”
She nodded, tugging her pants on under the shirt. “Ty, if something’s wrong—”
A knock at the door cut her off. Three rapid taps, pause, two more. Ben and Donovan’s signal.
I checked the peephole anyway—paranoia had kept me alive more than once—then opened the door. Ben entered first, his Belgian Malinois Jolly padding silently beside him despite the dog’s barely contained energy. Donovan followed, shutting and locking the door behind them.
Both men looked grim. Not the kind of grim that came from a firefight—I’d seen them both after those, pumped on adrenaline and victory. This was the careful, controlled expression of soldiers who’d found something very, very bad.
“Charlotte, this is my brother Donovan and Ben Garrison from Citadel.” I moved to stand beside her, close enough that our arms touched. She pressed against me slightly, drawing comfort from the contact. “Guys, Dr. Charlotte Gifford.”
Ben nodded politely, Jolly’s tail wagging in greeting despite his handler’s serious demeanor.
Donovan studied her with those sharp eyes that missed nothing, then cut his gaze to me.
The slight raise of his eyebrow said he’d noted the protective stance, her wearing my shirt, probably the lingering scent of sex in the air. But he kept his mouth shut. Smart man.
“How bad?” I asked.
“Bad.” Ben’s hand dropped to Jolly’s head, an absent gesture I’d seen him make literally thousands of times. “Place was rigged. Explosives on the gas heating system. Professional job—it would’ve looked like an accident. Faulty heater, winter weather, tragic explosion. No evidence of foul play.”
Charlotte’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound she made, but I felt her tense beside me. I shifted slightly, putting myself partially between her and the door. Old habit.
“The whole safe house was a trap,” Donovan added. “Just waiting for you two to walk in and get comfortable.”
“Jesus.” I ran a hand through my hair, mind racing through implications. “They’ve escalated.”
“Fuck yeah, they have.” Donovan’s expression darkened. “This isn’t about slowing down Charlotte’s work anymore. They’ve moved to a permanent solution.”
“Now they’ve decided the easiest way to stop the countermeasure is to eliminate the person who can create it,” Charlotte said quietly. Her voice was steady, but I could feel the slight tremor running through her.
“It makes sense.” We were lucky it hadn’t been that way from the very beginning.
“If they fail here, the next attempt won’t be subtle,” Ben continued. “No more trying to make it look accidental. They’ll just—”
“Put a bullet in her and be done with it,” Donovan finished bluntly.
I shot them both a death glare as Charlotte went pale beside me. “All right, Picasso, no need to paint a fucking picture. She gets it.”
“Sorry.” Ben had the grace to look apologetic. “But you need to know what we’re dealing with. This is professional wet work now.”
Donovan’s smile held no humor. “There were two separate surveillance teams at the safe house—which is a relatively isolated cabin. One parked in a van a little off the long driveway, another in a sedan on the north approach. They were watching the roads, not expecting anyone to come through the woods on foot.”
Of course they weren’t. They were watching for vehicles, for us to drive right into their trap like good little targets. But Donovan and Ben had spent years moving through hostile territory in Afghanistan. Approaching on foot, through cover, was second nature to them.
I studied my brother. Donovan was looking grim. Twitchy. He could have eliminated both teams without them ever knowing he was there, had both the skill and the temperament. The fact that he hadn’t meant he’d chosen intelligence over action. Smart play.
“We have to address that a so-called FBI safe house was completely compromised,” Ben added.
There was a big-ass elephant in the room. “George gave me that address.”
“George Mercer?” Donovan’s eyebrows rose. “Your Army buddy? The FBI agent?”
“Yeah.” The word tasted bitter. “But I haven’t actually talked to him since the Vertex incident. I haven’t been able to reach him. The safe house address came via text from his number. But it could have been anyone with access to his phone.”
“Or George himself,” Ben said carefully.
“Maybe.” I didn’t want to believe it, but I couldn’t rule it out. “Either way, the FBI is compromised. We can’t trust anyone there.”
“You can’t stay here either,” Ben said. “When you don’t show up at that safe house, it’s going to be a manhunt.”
“We can’t stay on the run.” I ran a hand through my hair, wincing when it pulled at the butterfly bandage. “Charlotte needs somewhere to work. We only have four more days until the Cascade Protocol goes up for sale on the black market.”
“Rocheport,” Donovan said.
Charlotte looked between us. “What’s Rocheport?”
“Our hometown,” I explained. “Not too far from here. Population barely pushes two thousand on a busy day.”
“Home-court advantage,” Donovan added. “We know every street, every building, every face that belongs and every one that doesn’t. Strangers stick out like neon signs.”
Ben nodded slowly. “It’s not a bad idea. Small-town dynamics work in our favor. Plus, you’ve got family there. Extra eyes and ears.”
“And anyone coming after us would have to come through pretty limited access points,” I continued. “Two main roads in, maybe three if you count the old farm route. Easy to monitor. Easy to call backup if we need it.”
“Speaking of backup…” Ben’s expression turned pointed. “Ty, it might be time to call in the cavalry. The full Citadel team.”
I groaned internally. I knew he was right, but that meant calling Ethan Cross.
My boss. Who’d specifically ordered me to take medical leave.
Who’d made it crystal clear that I wasn’t cleared for active duty for another four weeks.
Who was going to be absolutely furious that I’d gone operational without authorization.
“Ethan’s going to lose his shit,” I muttered.
“Better his shit than your life,” Donovan said bluntly. “You need resources, Ty. Secure communications, satellite surveillance, maybe another shooter or two. This is bigger than what the four of us can handle.”
Four of us. He’d included himself without hesitation. Despite everything he’d been dealing with since leaving the Army, despite the nightmares I knew he still had, my brother was ready to step up. Ben too, ready to do whatever was needed. That’s what family did—blood or otherwise.
“I know,” I admitted. “But before we call in the cavalry and definitely before I face Ethan’s wrath, I want to handle something first before we run out of time. The safe house situation—we can use it.”
Charlotte’s head snapped up. “Use it how?”
A plan had been forming since Ben had mentioned the explosives. Risky, but it might buy us the time we desperately needed.
“They rigged that safe house to kill us and make it look like an accident,” I said. “So let’s give them what they want. Let them think they succeeded.”
Understanding dawned in Donovan’s eyes. “You want to blow the safe house.”
“Make it look like we walked right into their trap,” I confirmed. “They’ll think we’re dead. It’ll buy us time while they’re congratulating themselves on a job well done. To get Charlotte somewhere safe, to finish the countermeasure, and to figure out who’s behind this.”
“It could work,” Ben said slowly. “But we’d have to do it fast. Those surveillance teams will report if too much time passes without you showing up.”
Charlotte’s hand found mine, squeezing tight. “You want to fake our deaths.”
“Just temporarily,” I assured her. “Long enough to get ahead of this thing instead of constantly reacting.”
The room fell silent as everyone processed the plan. It was dangerous. Complicated. Required precise timing and more than a little luck. But it was better than running blind while professional killers closed in.
“All right,” Donovan said finally. “Let’s give these bastards exactly what they want.”