Chapter 22
Ty
I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. The ceramic was one of those thick diner-style mugs my mom collected, solid enough to survive whatever life threw at it. Unlike me, apparently.
Every muscle in my body screamed when I shifted position on the kitchen chair.
The temple wound throbbed beneath the butterfly bandages Charlotte had applied back at the motel, a steady drumbeat of pain that pulsed with my heartbeat.
My shoulder—the one that had taken a bullet two months ago—had joined the symphony of pain.
My other cuts and bruises also made themselves known.
Between the fight at Charlotte’s place and dragging myself out of that safe house window, I’d definitely set my recovery back.
But we were alive. Charlotte was safe. For now.
My parents’ guesthouse sat far enough from their main home to feel private, but close enough that we weren’t completely isolated. One story, two bedrooms, a kitchen that opened into a small living area. Nothing fancy, but definitely better than that motel or a safe house about to explode.
Donovan had cleared out within an hour of our arriving, throwing his stuff into a duffel and heading back to the main house without complaint. Just a nod and “Take care of her” before disappearing into the morning sun.
My brother understood what it meant to protect someone.
Even if he didn’t understand the rest of it—the way my chest tightened every time Charlotte pushed herself too hard, the way I wanted to surround her in bubble wrap and simultaneously watch her take apart problems that would make most people’s heads explode.
Through the bedroom doorway, I could just make out Charlotte’s form under the quilt.
She’d crashed hard about four hours ago, literally falling asleep mid-sentence while typing at the workstation we’d rigged up on the kitchen table.
One second, she’d been explaining something to herself about quantum entanglement and error correction, and the next, her head had dropped forward, fingers still on the keyboard.
I’d carried her to bed, and she hadn’t even stirred.
Just curled into my chest with a soft sigh that did things to my insides I didn’t want to examine too closely.
She weighed next to nothing, all soft curves and brilliant mind wrapped up in a package that barely reached my shoulder.
The contrast killed me—this woman who could revolutionize technology, who held solutions to problems most people couldn’t even understand, and yet she felt so fragile in my arms.
Time was running out, though. Whoever had stolen the Cascade Protocol would be looking to sell it soon.
Once it hit the black market, there’d be no controlling who got their hands on it or when they’d use it.
Foreign governments, terrorist organizations, anyone with enough money and a grudge.
Charlotte knew it. I knew it. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on both of us.
My burner phone sat on the table like a live grenade. I’d been staring at it for the past twenty minutes, working up the nerve to make the call I’d been dreading. Ben was right. We needed backup. Professional backup. The kind only Citadel Solutions could provide.
Which meant calling Ethan Cross and admitting I’d fucked up.
Before I could talk myself out of it again, I grabbed the phone and dialed Ethan’s personal number. He wouldn’t recognize the burner number. Probably wouldn’t even answer. I could leave a message, buy myself more time to figure out how to explain—
“Cross.”
The familiar voice hit me like cold water. Of course he’d answer. Ethan always answered.
“It’s Ty.”
A pause. Then, “I know.”
I straightened, wincing as the movement pulled at my ribs. “How the hell did you know it was me? This is a burner.”
“I run one of the top security companies in the world, remember?” His tone was dry, but I caught something else underneath.
Concern, maybe. “Although, if I’m honest, Ben told me you might call.
From a burner. Want to tell me what the hell is going on?
Last I checked, you were supposed to be on medical leave.
Doctor’s orders, company policy, all that. ”
I rubbed my jaw, feeling three days’ worth of stubble. “I took a temporary gig. Helping out a friend in the FBI. George Mercer, you remember him?”
“The one from your Army days. Yeah, I remember.” Papers rustled in the background. Ethan was probably in his home office, working even though it was barely seven in the morning. “This temporary gig—was it supposed to be easy? Low-risk? Just keeping an eye on things?”
“Something like that.”
“Let me guess. It got a lot more complicated.”
The understatement of the century. “You could say that.”
“How complicated are we talking?”
I closed my eyes, seeing Charlotte’s face when she’d realized someone had sabotaged her work. The terror when that truck had slammed into her car. The exhaustion that seemed bone-deep now, that no amount of sleep could fix. “I’m in over my head, Ethan. Way over.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ve been worse.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Before I could respond, a knock echoed through the guesthouse. Soft but deliberate. Two sharp taps. Not a pattern Ben or Donovan would use.
“Hold on.” I set the phone down, grabbed my Glock from the table. My body protested as I moved toward the door, keeping to the side of the windows. Old habits. Stay out of sight lines. Control the angles.
Another knock. Same pattern.
I peered through the edge of the window, angle sharp enough to see without being seen. Then blinked. Checked again.
No fucking way.
Ethan Cross stood on my parents’ guesthouse porch, hands visible, posture relaxed but alert. He was wearing jeans and a Henley, Colorado casual, but his eyes swept the perimeter with professional assessment.
I yanked open the door. “What the—”
“You sounded like you needed help.” He stepped inside without invitation, those dark eyes taking in everything.
My bruised face. The weapon in my hand. The makeshift workstation with its tangle of cables and equipment.
The bedroom door where Charlotte still slept.
“When Citadel Solutions got no fewer than thirty-seven calls from Vertex and the FBI wondering where the hell you were, I figured something was going on I wasn’t exactly privy to. ”
“Thirty-seven?”
“Thirty-seven. In eight hours.” He moved deeper into the house, checking sight lines automatically.
“Since I was already planning to come out from Colorado this week to talk to Donovan anyway, today seemed like a good time. Got a mission in Kenya coming up. Thought Donovan might be particularly well suited for it. Anti-poaching unit needs someone with his K9 background.”
My phone buzzed on the table. I grabbed it. Text from Ben.
Sorry I didn’t warn you. Was afraid you’d run. Or do something stupidly heroic. PS: tell Ethan I kept the perimeter secure like a good soldier.
“Ben says hi,” I muttered.
“Tell him and Donovan I said hi back.” Ethan’s mouth quirked slightly. “Good to know they’re watching your back out there.”
He pulled out a kitchen chair, turned it around, and straddled it. The casual move didn’t fool me. Ethan could go from relaxed to lethal in under a second. I’d seen him do it.
“Sit,” he said. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”
I sat. My ribs thanked me for it.
“Let’s start with the obvious,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into that tone he used when cutting through bullshit. “You’re the youngest member of our team. Newest too. But you’re still part of the Citadel Solutions family.”
“I know—”
“Do you? Because family doesn’t take side jobs without telling anyone. Family doesn’t disappear off the grid when they’re supposed to be recovering from a gunshot wound.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I know I should’ve been upfront about it from the beginning.”
“Yes, you should have.” He leaned forward slightly.
“Look, I get it. I understand the frustration of being on the sidelines too long. Feeling useless. Watching everyone else do the job while you sit at home counting ceiling tiles. But we wanted you on the sidelines so you’d come back stronger than ever.
Getting the shit kicked out of you—” His eyes tracked over my visible injuries “—which has obviously happened, could make things worse. Set back your recovery. Maybe permanently affect your performance.”
I nodded, accepting the truth of it. My shoulder already ached worse than it had in weeks.
The temple wound throbbed constantly. “You’re right.
I know you’re right. And I’ve definitely set myself back.
” I shifted in the chair, unable to find a position that didn’t hurt. “But that’s not even the worst part.”
His eyebrow rose. “Worse how?”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I’ve gotten involved with the principal. The person I’m protecting. Charlotte. Dr. Charlotte Gifford.”
The silence stretched between us. I waited for the explosion. The lecture about maintaining professional distance. The reminder about company policy. The disappointment.
Instead, Ethan laughed. Low and short, but genuine. “You expect me to read you the riot act?”
“Don’t you have to? Professional boundaries and all that?”
“I can’t throw too many stones there.” His expression softened slightly. “Considering I met Mel while on assignment. You were there for that disaster, remember? Me trying to keep it professional while falling for her? How’d that work out?”
“You married her.”
“I married her.” He shrugged. “Sometimes the heart doesn’t give a damn about professional boundaries or company policy. The question is whether it’s affecting your ability to protect her.”
I thought about the past three days. The desperate drive to keep Charlotte safe that went beyond professional duty.
The way I’d taken risks I might not have taken for another principal.
The knife-edge between keeping her alive and wanting to be close to her.
“It’s making me more invested. Maybe too invested. ”
“There’s no such thing as too invested when someone’s life is on the line.” Ethan’s voice carried the weight of experience. “The key thing is that Citadel is a team. We’re family. Real family. Family helps each other out when they’re in trouble. We don’t say ‘I told you so’ and walk away.”
Relief flooded through me, loosening muscles I hadn’t realized were tense. “I wasn’t sure—”
“What? That we’d have your back? Come on, Ty. You know us better than that.” He pulled out his phone. “Now, tell me everything. Start from the beginning. What’s the threat, who’s the enemy, and what do we need to do to keep Dr. Gifford alive?”
I started talking. George’s visit to the gym.
Vertex Dynamics. The Cascade Protocol that could turn every lithium-ion battery into a weapon.
Charlotte’s race to create a countermeasure.
The sabotage at the lab. The car accident that wasn’t an accident.
The chase through St. Louis. The mole in the FBI.
The safe house that had turned into a deathtrap.
Ethan listened without interrupting, his expression growing darker with each detail. His fingers drummed against the table when I described the explosion, the only sign of his agitation.
“This Cascade Protocol,” he said when I finished. “If it’s deployed—”
“Every phone, laptop, tablet, electric vehicle, anything with a lithium-ion battery becomes a potential bomb. Coordinated attack could take out infrastructure, first responders, government facilities. Thousands dead in the first wave.”
“Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And Charlotte’s the only one who can stop it?”
“She and her team created it. She’s the only one who understands it well enough to build a countermeasure. And we’re running out of time. The black-market auction is in three days.”
“What does she need?”
“Time. Safety. Access to her equipment.” I gestured toward the makeshift workstation. “She’s been working nonstop, but it’s complex. Every time she thinks she has it, something goes wrong. And now with the mole in the FBI, we don’t know who to trust.”
“You trust George?”
“I thought I could trust him with my life. But now? Fuck if I know. Somebody for sure was trying to kill us at that safe house.”
My phone buzzed again. Text from Donovan.
Inbound.
I stood, hand moving to my weapon. “Donovan’s coming.”
“Good. I want to talk to him about Kenya anyway.” Ethan rose too, all casual demeanor gone. “How many exits from this place?”
“Front door, back door through the bedroom, windows if necessary.” I moved toward the front door. “Ben’s covering the tree line to the east, best vantage point for—”
Three knocks interrupted me. Donovan’s pattern this time.
I opened the door, ready to brief him on Ethan’s arrival. The words died in my throat.
Donovan stood on the porch, his expression carved from stone. And he had a sweaty George Mercer at gunpoint.