Chapter 11 #2
What we just did was reckless. Unprofessional. Anyone could have walked in. The cameras definitely caught everything.
I don't regret a second of it.
Willa's fingers trace the burn scars on my neck, gentle despite what we just did. "That was intense."
"Too intense?" I pull back enough to see her face, searching for regret or fear.
"No." She meets my eyes steadily. "That was exactly what I needed. What we both needed."
"I marked you." My hand brushes her hip where I know bruises are already forming. "I shouldn't have...”
"I wanted you to." She cuts me off. "I wanted proof that someone sees me as more than a target or a liability. That someone claims me because they want to keep me, not use me."
The words hit deeper than they should. This woman who spent years running from a man who hurt her is asking me to claim her. Trusting me with vulnerability that could destroy her.
"I don't want to let you go." The confession comes out rough. "I know I should. Know you'd be safer if I put you on a plane to Mexico and never looked back. But I can't. I don't want to."
"Good." She kisses me softly, a contrast to everything that came before. "Because I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Commander."
The tension I've been carrying since I saw those surveillance photos eases a fraction. The calculation running in the back of my mind—how long until she realizes being with me is a death sentence and leaves—quiets.
"We should move." I glance at the cameras. "Tommy's going to have questions when he reviews the footage."
"Let him." She doesn't seem embarrassed. "Everyone here knows we're together anyway. We weren't exactly subtle."
She's right. The team figured it out the second they saw us together after the firefight. Sarah's knowing looks. Stryker's jokes. Even Khalid watches us with quiet approval.
I help her down from the console, steadying her when her legs wobble. Pride and possession surge through me at the evidence of what I did to her.
"Can you walk?" I ask, half-concerned, half-smug.
"I'm fine." But she leans against me anyway. "Just need a minute."
I hold her close, breathing in the scent of her—soap from the shower, the faint salt of sweat, something underneath that's purely her. My shirt hangs off one shoulder, marks already visible on her throat where I bit too hard.
Mine. The word echoes through my head with fierce certainty.
"Kane." She pulls back to look at me. "What you said. About not wanting to let me go. Did you mean it?"
"Every word." I cup her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "I know it's tactical stupidity. Know caring about you makes me vulnerable. But I meant it. I don't want to let you go."
"Then don't." Simple. Certain. Like the decision's already made. "Whatever comes next, I'm not running. And neither are you."
I should argue. Should list all the reasons why together gets people killed. Should push her away while I still can.
But I'm done fighting this. Done pretending I don't need her. Done trying to maintain distance that stopped meaning anything the second she stitched my head wound with steady hands while the Committee hunted her.
"Yeah." I pull her closer, feeling her heartbeat against my chest. "You're not going anywhere. Neither am I."
She smiles, and it transforms her face from beautiful to something that makes my chest ache. Then she winces, hand going to her hip.
"Sorry." Guilt cuts through the possessive satisfaction. "I was too rough."
"I liked it rough." She meets my eyes without shame. "I liked knowing you were marking me. Claiming me. Making absolutely certain anyone watching knew I belonged to you."
The cameras. Right. I glance up at the nearest one, knowing Tommy's probably already flagged the footage for review.
"He's going to give us so much shit," I mutter.
"Let him." Willa retrieves her coffee, takes a sip like we didn't just have desperate sex on a console surrounded by equipment worth millions. "We earned it."
The comm crackles before I can respond. Tommy's voice, carefully neutral: "Kane, when you're done with your... tactical briefing... we've got updates on the surveillance photos. Mercer found something."
Willa chokes on her coffee. I fight the urge to grin.
"On my way," I say into the comm. "Give me five minutes."
"Take ten," Tommy suggests, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Pretty sure you need it."
The comm cuts out.
"He definitely saw everything," Willa says.
"Probably." I help her straighten my shirt, which is wrinkled beyond redemption. "You okay with that?"
"Are you?"
I consider it. The old me—the operator who kept everyone at arm's length—would be furious at the exposure. At letting anyone see vulnerability.
But looking at Willa wearing my shirt with my marks on her skin, I realize I don't care who knows. Let them see. Let them understand exactly what she means to me.
"I'm okay with it," I say.
She stands on her toes, kisses me softly. "Good. Because I'm not hiding this. Not hiding us."
"Neither am I." I pull her close for one more moment, letting myself have this before we have to face whatever Mercer found. "Not anymore."
We head to the conference room where the team's assembled. Every eye tracks us when we enter—Willa in my shirt, barefoot, marks visible on her throat. Me in tactical pants and nothing else, scratches from her nails evident on my shoulders.
Stryker grins. Mercer raises an eyebrow. Rourke's expression stays neutral, but I catch the hint of approval. Sarah smiles knowingly. Even Khalid looks pleased in his quiet way.
Tommy doesn't look up from his laptop. "Nice of you to join us. Have a good... briefing?"
"Briefing went well," I say evenly. "What did Mercer find?"
"Authentication marker." Mercer slides a photo across the table. "Embedded in the folder spine. Passive RFID tag that registers when scanned through security protocols. Single-use confirmation beacon."
My blood goes cold. "They know we have it."
"They know someone has it," Tommy corrects. "The tag sends a one-time encrypted ping when it passes through certain types of scanning equipment, military-grade security systems, advanced detection arrays. Confirms the documents were moved but doesn't transmit location data."
"So they know the files were intercepted." I lean forward. "By whom?"
"That's the problem." Tommy pulls up a screen of code. "The tag's authentication signature is keyed to specific security protocols. The kind only a handful of organizations use. Once they analyze which system triggered it, they'll know it wasn't random."
He switches screens. A file loads. My stomach drops.
"And whoever embedded this tag has a signature we've seen before.
Victor Kessler," Tommy says quietly. "Former Delta.
Worked black ops for eight years before going private.
Specializes in target acquisition and surveillance.
And according to his service record..." He pauses.
"He served with Gunnery Sergeant Michael Hart in Yemen. "
Willa goes absolutely still beside me. "My father knew him?"
"More than knew him." Tommy pulls up deployment records. "They were in the same unit. Same operation where your father discovered the chemical weapons cache. And Kane..." His eyes find mine. "Kessler was there when you burned it all down."
The pieces snap into place with sickening clarity.
Kessler knows about Yemen. Knows about the chemical weapons.
Knows Gunnery Sergeant Hart saw something that got him marked by the Committee.
And now he's tracking Hart's daughter, using surveillance to document her connection to the man who helped bury the evidence.
"He's not just stalking her," I say slowly. "He's avenging Hart. Thinks I'm responsible for what happened to him."
"Are you?" Willa's voice is quiet. Dangerous.
I meet her eyes. "You already know the answer to that."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then Willa squares her shoulders. "So we find him. We make him understand that revenge won't bring my father back. And we end this."
"It's not that simple...” I start.
"It is that simple." She cuts me off. "He's hunting us because of something that happened in Yemen. Something my father chose to keep quiet about to protect me. Well, I'm done being protected. I'm done hiding from ghosts. We find Kessler, we get answers, and we finish what my father started."
"Tommy, I need everything we have on Kessler," I order. "Last known location, known associates, preferred tactics. If he's in Montana, I want to know where."
"Already pulling files." Tommy's fingers fly across keys. "But Kane, if he's watching us specifically, he probably knows about the RFID tag. Knows we'll find it. This might be bait."
"Let it be bait." I look at Willa, see my own determination reflected. "We're done being hunted. Time to become the hunters."
Stryker grins. "Now that's what I like to hear."
The team moves into action—Mercer coordinating surveillance, Rourke planning tactical approaches, Sarah analyzing patterns. Tommy coordinates it all from his console, screens filling with intel faster than I can process.
And through it all, Willa stands beside me. Marked. Claimed. Under my protection.
Whatever Kessler thinks he's doing—whatever revenge he's planning—he's about to learn that targeting Willa Hart was the last mistake he'll ever make.
Because I protect what's mine.
And I'm very, very good at my job.
Tommy's screen flashes red. "Kane, we've got movement. Multiple signals in the area—they're deploying assets based on the RFID ping. Committee operators spreading through the mountain range in a search pattern."
I study the tactical display. Eight signatures scattered across a five-mile radius. They're not converging on us—they're sweeping the area, trying to narrow down where we activated that tag.
"Time to relocate?" Stryker asks.
I glance at Willa. She's already reaching for her weapons, no hesitation, no fear. Just readiness.
"No," I say. "They don't know where we are yet. But if they keep searching, they'll find the access points eventually. Time to thin their numbers before they get that chance."
I look at the tactical display one more time. Eight signatures closing in through the mountain passes. Kessler could be out there somewhere watching, waiting to see if his revenge plays out the way he planned.
He's going to be disappointed.
I pull Willa closer with one arm while signaling the team with the other. Whatever he thought would happen when he photographed us, when he marked her as a target—he was wrong.
The Committee's coming. Let them. Let Kessler watch from whatever hole he's hiding in.
They're all about to learn what happens when someone threatens what I've claimed as mine.