Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Sydney
When we pull up to the rental in the Highlands, our headlights sweep across two steel-gray Tahoes with North Carolina tags parked in the gravel drive. The vehicles look oddly official against the rustic cabin backdrop—a reminder that we haven’t fully escaped the events in D.C.
“Who’s here?” I ask Jake, tension creeping back into my shoulders. After everything that’s happened, unexpected visitors trigger wariness even in this peaceful setting.
“I’ve been with you in D.C. Know as much as you.”
It’s about ten o’clock at night, and the mountains embrace us with their particular symphony—crickets at peak chorus, the distant rush of the creek we crossed on our way in, the whisper of wind through pine needles.
A full moon hangs low and heavy over the ridge, bathing the clearing in silver light that transforms the ordinary house into something almost magical.
After the harsh fluorescent lights of government buildings and hotel rooms, the natural illumination feels like a homecoming of sorts.
As Jake turns off the ignition and we step out, the cool mountain air fills my lungs—clean, restorative, untainted by city pollution or political machinations.
For a moment, I pause to look up at the stars, impossibly bright and numerous here where light pollution can’t reach them.
They remind me of the diamonds on my wrist—Rhodes insisted I put the bracelet back on before I left D.C.
I agreed, because him knowing he can track me is one less thing for him to worry about as he confronts his business partner.
Jake presses a code into the keypad on the rental and twists the knob.
“Howdy,” he says in greeting. I step inside behind him, as he adds, “Those are some grim faces.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, all three facing the foyer, are Hudson, Noah, and Quinn.
“Hi,” I say. “Have you guys been back long?”
We split up at the private landing strip. Some might call it an airport, but that name feels like an undeserved embellishment. Jake had to go to the restroom, and I called to check in on Rhodes, but didn’t reach him. The others jumped in Hudson’s car and came straight back here.
Hudson insisted he wanted all of us out of D.C. It feels like overkill to me, but he is the boss.
“Not too long,” Hudson says.
“You guys get some updates?” Jake asks.
Quinn’s gaze falls to her hands. Noah scratches his neck. Something is wrong. Is it Rhodes? Did something happen?
“No updates yet. That’s out of our hands and will require security clearance. But…”
“What is it? You’re making me nervous.”
“In the morning, we’ll do a postmortem. Review the good and the bad,” Hudson says, repeating what we already knew.
“Alright. So? Why are y’all sitting here like someone died?” Jake asks.
“We got word about the leak,” Hudson answers, his voice gentler than usual. The hardened former military officer rarely shows this side, which tells me how serious this is. “Dristol. As expected, he’s a goldmine. Singing like a canary.”
“And?” I lean forward, every nerve ending suddenly alert. This is the question that’s haunted me since France—the betrayal that cost lives I was responsible for. “Was it Dristol? Or someone else?”
“It’s classified,” Hudson says, exchanging glances with Quinn.
“Dristol’s guilty. But he didn’t act alone.
Someone based in D.C. High clearance. Out of the public eye.
They were selling asset names to the highest bidder.
Dristol learned how much he was making and decided to create a similar business.
” His jaw tightens. “But the individual has been detained. The FBI wanted me to assure you personally the leaks have stopped.”
My eyes burn unexpectedly. Maybe they were burning before I walked in the door—it’s been a long day, and the cabin pressure in the small plane we flew here played havoc with my sinuses.
But this burn is different. It’s the release of a weight I’ve carried for months, but the vindication comes too late for those we lost.
Quinn reaches across the table, her fingers briefly touching mine. “Your assets in France,” she says quietly. “They didn’t die because you made a mistake. It was always the leak.”
Noah nods solemnly. “System failure, not operator error.”
It’s the absolution I never sought out loud but desperately needed to hear. We’re trained not to dwell on losses, to compartmentalize and move forward. But the responsibility for human lives isn’t something you shrug off, no matter how much training you have.
“I didn’t cultivate those assets lightly,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I took on responsibility for their livelihoods. Their safety.”
“We know,” Hudson says. “That’s why you’re good at this.”
The simple validation hits harder than any medal or commendation could. These people understand the weight of what we do, the cost of failure measured in human lives rather than spreadsheet numbers.
“There’s no way you can tell me?” I ask, needing to know who betrayed us.
Hudson shakes his head. “That’s above my clearance level. All I can tell you is they’re in custody and the breach has been sealed.”
I take in the three of them, coffee mugs filled with what I’m guessing is tea, or maybe whiskey, knowing these guys. “Is that what the long faces are for?”
“Partly,” Hudson admits. “The other part is that this changes things for you.”
“How so?”
“You have options now,” Quinn says carefully. “Your record’s been cleared. The France operation has been officially reclassified as compromised by the leak, not operator error. More than that, it doesn’t appear your name was included in the sold data.”
“Which means?” Though I think I know where this is heading.
“Which means,” Hudson continues, “you could go back to Langley next if you wanted. Full reinstatement, probably a promotion given what happened to you. Likely not in France. A different territory, I’d assume.”
The possibility hangs in the air between us. Six months ago, it would have been everything I wanted. Now, after working with this team, after what we accomplished in D.C. ...
“I’m good,” I say finally. “You know, the way you were looking at me, I didn’t know if something happened to Rhodes, or if you were about to fire my ass.”
Jake barks out a laugh. “Spy girl, I told you, all’s good.”
“Forgive me, southern gent,” I say back to him, echoing what I heard Daisy call him earlier today, “if I didn’t take your word as gospel.”
“We’ll go over it all in the morning, but your job’s safe if you want it,” Hudson says. “You did good work. Real good work. Now grab a mug, pick your poison, and join us. Noah’s been pushing for a card game.”
“A game?”
Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
After a lengthy debate about rules and stakes, we sit around the table playing quarters until nearly midnight, the tension from the day gradually melting away. There’s something therapeutic about the mundane ritual—friends around a table, talking and laughing, no life-or-death decisions required.
With a yawn, I stretch and say, “Alright guys. I’m calling it. So, which room in this place are you giving me?”
“That’s right,” Jake says. “Spy girl has yet to spend a night in this here humble abode.”
I roll my eyes and look at Quinn. “Is there still an extra room downstairs?”
There’s a knock on the front door and all of us look at each other like we’re uncertain we heard correctly.
Jake stretches his jaw and gets up, moving toward the front door.
Hudson calls out, “Wait a minute, Jake.”
We’ve all had a bit too much to drink, but Hudson has the presence of mind to locate a firearm.
Given everything that’s happened, it’s not the worst idea, but it’s hard to believe anyone would come after us down here. That’s the reason this location was chosen. It’s off the beaten path and where we won’t be observed.
“Look who can’t stay away,” Jake bellows, his voice carrying the warmth reserved for people he’s decided are worthy of trust.
The firearm disappears from Hudson’s hand as footsteps sound in the entryway. My heart seems to stutter, then race, responding to a possibility my conscious mind hasn’t fully processed yet.
Rhodes strides in, silhouetted against the porch light. He looks exhausted—shadows beneath his eyes, his normally perfect posture slightly curved with fatigue—but to me, he’s never looked better. Real. Present. Here.
Our eyes lock across the room, and everything else fades to background noise—the team’s murmurs, the clink of glasses, Jake’s knowing chuckle. In that electric moment of connection, something shifts inside me, a certainty crystallizing where doubt once lived.
I’d told myself I’d see him again, that what we built in those intense days wouldn’t simply evaporate when I left D.C.
I’d even half-convinced myself it was true.
But watching him cross the room toward me now, having followed me to this remote mountain outpost after such an exhausting day, erases every lingering question.
We’re real. Not an operation, not a temporary alliance, not a vacation fling. Something enduring that neither government pressure nor professional obligation could sever.
“I thought you’d be stuck in D.C. for weeks,” I say, my voice betraying more emotion than I’d intended as I rise to meet him halfway.
“Oh, I’ll need to return. But I’m not their employee. Tomorrow’s gonna be a shit storm. Nothing I can’t deal with remotely though. For now, it’s better I’m on the East Coast to deal with it,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal he ended his day and flew down here.
“Have you got a bag?”
He twists, showing me a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Your stuff's in that?”
“Doesn’t take much.”
“Alright, you two,” Quinn says, getting up and pushing her chair under the kitchen table. “Extra rooms downstairs. Take a left at the end of the hall. I’m calling it a night.”
One by one, my team files downstairs.