Chapter 11
Something drags me out of my sleep. It’s not the usual dry crackle of the desert wind scraping against the canvas or the subtle stomping of boots on the dry sand.
It’s quieter than that. Subtle. But my instincts don’t give a damn about subtlety.
They snap awake before my mind does, adrenaline crawling up my spine before I can even open my eyes.
My hand slides beneath the sheets, my fingers brushing against the handle of the pistol resting beside my thigh as I lie still on the cot, listening.
The tent is silent except for the soft rhythm of breathing from the others.
Papers shuffle on Reese’s makeshift desk.
I turn toward the quiet noise and catch a flicker of light from her corner of the tent.
The faint glow pulses against the wall, the pale light of electronic screens turned low.
“Jesus, Reese,” I whisper-shout, releasing my tight hold of the pistol. “It’s the middle of the fucking night. Whatever that is, it can wait a few hours.”
She doesn’t respond. The light wavers slightly, and I catch the movement of a shadow.
That’s not Reese. Every nerve in my body fires.
The figure is too tall with broad shoulders.
The angle of light shields their face, but from sheer size, I’m certain it’s a man.
A man standing right beside where Reese is sleeping.
I don’t think. I shift slowly, and my cot creaks.
The second it groans under my weight, the figure jerks toward me.
Fuck that. I launch myself across the space, hitting him low and hard.
The impact sends us both crashing into the rough plywood floor.
Reese’s laptop flies off the crate by her bed and clatters against the leg of her cot.
The intruder grunts, swinging an elbow that catches me square in the throat.
My vision flashes white as pain explodes through my windpipe, and I choke out a curse, tightening my grip as he twists, trying to break free.
I get a knee into his ribs and drive him backward, but he’s fast and trained.
Well-trained. He uses the momentum to roll, shoving off the ground and bolting for the flap before I can catch my breath enough to recover.
“Son of a—”
I lunge after him, catching the edge of Damon’s cot. The others jolt awake at the noise just in time to see the shadow vanish into the dark. Gunnar bursts from his bed, already halfway to the exit. “What the hell?”
“Someone was in here!” I rasp, my voice still raw from the hit.
He doesn’t wait for me to say anymore, sprinting out of the tent barefoot with a rifle in hand. Damon is right behind him, and Jagger flicks on the small lamp by his bed. The harsh light slices through the tent, revealing the wreckage.
Reese sits upright, hair tangled, with confusion still hazy in her eyes. “What happened?” she demands, scrambling off the cot. Then she sees the broken laptop on the floor, and the color drains from her face.
“Someone was in here,” I repeat, forcing my voice steady. I rub my throat and glance toward the entrance where Gunnar disappeared. “He was standing over you.”
“Over me?” Her voice cracks. “What… How did he even…”
“I don’t know.”
Jagger crouches beside the shattered laptop, brushing dirt and shards of plastic aside. The screen is cracked clean through, spiderwebs of black stretching across the display. He turns it gently and shows it to Reese. She stares at it, her mouth parting as her brain catches up. “My files—”
“Hold up,” Jagger interrupts, his eyes narrowing as they adjust to the dim light. He leans closer, running a thumb along the open compartment. “The memory card is gone. Whoever that was knew exactly what they wanted. They were fucking ballsy enough to come for her laptop. Fucking insane.”
“Insane or calculated,” I growl. My pulse hasn’t slowed since I hit the floor. I can still feel the solid weight of the man under me. Whoever he was, he wasn’t some random thief. He knew what he was doing—sneaking into a tent full of former Delta Force assault team members.
“Whoever he is, he’s not here anymore.” Gunnar’s voice rumbles from outside as he steps in, bare-chested, rifle still in hand. Sweat slicks his skin despite the chilly night. “I circled twice. Nothing. Whoever he was, he knew the layout. Moved like he’d done it before.”
I drag a hand through my hair. My voice is still rough, every swallow burning like fire. “Fuck...”
Reese kneels beside the wreckage, fingers shaking as she picks through the debris. The sight of her—bare feet, tank top, hair a wild mess of curls—does something to me. Even vulnerable, she’s stubborn as hell. Her voice is soft when she finally speaks. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Reese—”
“It doesn’t.” She looks up, meeting my eyes. There’s something defiant glinting in them. She almost looks amused. “Because the memory card isn’t gone.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
She reaches into the pocket of her pajama shorts and pulls out something small, a slim black SD card. She twirls it once, then sets it carefully in my palm.
“Old habits die hard,” she says, shrugging. “I’ve had too many editors try to ‘lose’ my work to steal the story. I learned a long time ago to leave a decoy and keep the important part on me.”
The four of us stare at her in disbelief.
“Believe me now?” she asks quietly, as I close my hand around the memory card.
“No story is worth this.” My tone is sharper than I intend. “You could’ve been killed.”
She meets my stare, chin lifting. “So could you.”
“You think this is a joke?”
“No.” Her eyes flick to the broken pieces of her laptop. “But I think whoever that was didn’t just want to scare us. He wanted something buried in those photos.”
Gunnar crosses his arms, his brows furrowing. “Something is happening or has happened in that village.”
“Yeah,” Damon agrees. “Which means we missed something.”
My thoughts are racing a million miles an hour: faces, threats, the village, the body, the military… Reese. Whatever she saw, someone is willing to crawl into our tent in the middle of the goddamn night to cover it up.
I hand the card back to Reese. “You keep this on you at all times. Understand?”
She blinks back at me, surprised. “You’re not going to take it?”
“Not yet.” My voice hardens as I shake my head. “After sending someone in here, they’ll assume they’ve got it. That buys us a little time.”
Damon nods. “Smart. If they’re that fucking ballsy, they will be back.”
Jagger lets out a breath, running a hand over his face. “Guess no one’s getting back to sleep tonight.”
“No…” I meet his stare. “I think whoever that was knew exactly where she was sleeping, what she has proof of, and when we’d be out cold.”
The tent falls silent again, all of us knowing this will only get worse. Reese swallows, hugging her arms around herself. “So what now?”
I look at her, at the flicker of fear she’s trying so damn hard to hide. Fighting the urge to cross the room and wrap my arms around her—to give her the comfort I know she needs—I say quietly, “For now, we lock this place down. And we all stay together.”
Her brows draw together. “You think he’ll come back?”
I don’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t just think he might—I know he will.
Whoever this is, he isn’t done.
The next hour is a blur of movement and controlled chaos.
Gunnar checks the perimeter again, while Damon and Jagger inspect every inch of the tent, finding nothing but scuffed prints and a torn flap near the back corner.
I patch it myself, realizing it is far too easy for someone to slink in here again.
Reese sits on her cot, the soft light throwing shadows across her face. She’s calmer now, but her eyes never stop moving. She’s on high alert. Good. She needs to be. She catches me watching and gives me a small, humorless smile. “You look like you’re about to lose your shit.”
“Because I am.”
“I’m fine, Chris.”
“No,” I insist flatly, tying off the final stitch with a sharp tug. “You’re not. Someone broke into our tent and stood over you while you slept. That’s not fine.”
Her gaze flicks to the ruined laptop. “You protected me.”
I stop what I’m doing and look up. The words hit something deep and buried. It’s not the first time I’ve heard them, but the way she says it lands wrong, cutting right through the walls I’ve spent years building.
“I was already awake,” I lie.
“No, you weren’t,” she says, quiet but sure. “You reacted before you knew what you were reacting to. That’s not the same thing.”
I look away first. Because if I don’t, I’ll forget that she’s not mine to protect. Not like that. Not anymore.
By the time my adrenaline fades, dawn is still hours away. The camp’s gone still again, a fragile calm settling over the desert.
I sit at the edge of my cot, pistol balanced loosely in my lap, as everyone tries to sleep, but no one really does.
My gaze flits between the tent flap and Reese.
She’s curled up under her blanket, the faint rise and fall of her breathing the only proof she’s resting.
As I watch her sleep, I make a silent promise to make this right because, being this close to her again, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to walk away from her again.