Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Raven’s Cliff, Present day…
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Nick stared up at the glass-and-steel lodge clinging to the cliff like a prayer. He’d been expecting a cedar A-frame with a retrofitted security core, clean fields of fire — the kind of structure he could defend against a medieval siege. This…
This was a tombstone with their names on it.
Nick’s teammate, Buck Landry, former-Marine Raider and their resident ordinance guy shifted in beside him, brow furrowed, mouth pinched tight.
He tilted his head, gaze pausing at all the structural points a simple charge could cripple. “Call me crazy…” he glanced at Nick, “and trust me, people still do, but I was picturing more cozy costal, less Bond villain.”
Eric Dalton, former-Green Beret and one of the best snipers Nick had every worked with, grunted as he tracked the long, exposed sky-bridge spanning a forest-choked ravine to a separate west wing. “Angles everywhere. Glass everywhere. Not to mention multiple choke points. It’s a tactical nightmare.”
Nick nodded, glancing at the specs on his phone, then back to the deathtrap spread out before them. “Sniper risk?”
Dalton snorted as he waved at the surrounding thicket of massive Sitka spruce. “I realize it’s reinforced glass, but with the interior exposed like that, pick a tree, buddy.”
“That’s what I thought.” Nick turned to their client.
Elias Ward — CEO of a multi-million-dollar tech company.
The guy had requested a security consultation for an upcoming conference hosted at his new age retreat.
Wanted to discuss Raven’s Security’s unique brand of defense.
Seemed impressed they were all former-special forces.
Though, if the guy honestly thought a place like this was defensible…
Nick snorted to himself. This was why he’d left the CIA — all the faulty intel and politically motivated missions — joined Raven’s Security in the fog-shrouded coastal town of Raven’s Cliff.
But one month into his new life, and the semi-quiet rhythm of the Oregon coast still didn’t fit quite right.
Not wrong, just different, and better than the coffin Sloane had insisted he’d been heading for.
Though, it wasn’t the change of scenery or the civilian twist to his ops that felt off.
It was the silence where Sloane’s constant presence had been. A never-ending ache that dimmed any residual pain in his shoulder. Sure, they talked when their schedules allowed, but not seeing her everyday had taken a toll he hadn’t realized he’d have to pay.
Proof he’d left the best part of himself in Virginia.
Nick nudged Dalton. “Did Bodie actually look these over?”
Dalton sighed. “Wade took the call late last night. He’s been manning the phones a couple days a week — so he’s not completely removed until he’s cleared to return, which will still be a few months. From what I heard, this assignment was all pretty rushed.”
Nick snorted. “It’s like you’re all trying to tell me something.”
Elias paled when Nick focused on him, sweat beading his brow, every nerve jumping like Nick had hooked him up to a generator — kept zapping him with an electric charge. “Sorry, guess I sent you the old blueprints by mistake. The new structure was just finished a month ago. Complete retrofit.”
Nick bit back a curse. Unlike the CIA, the private sector required him to have a bit more…
tact, which had never been his strong suit.
“It’s impressive, unless you’re worried about an attack.
We can definitely provide security — try to stop any threats before they fully take shape — but if you’re looking for absolutes, you’ll need a change of venue. ”
“There’s a panic room.” Ward pointed to the opposite side of the sky-bridge. “In the west wing.”
Dalton practically growled. “Of course, it’s on the other side of the glass kill box.”
Ward frowned, checked his watch like he’d been doing the entire ride over. “The what box?”
Nick waved it off. “A panic room’s a great failsafe, and we’ll run the specs on it, but before we go inside, care to tell me why you keep checking your watch?”
Ward glanced at his wrist, again, brow arched. “Excuse me?”
“Your watch.” Nick motioned to it. “You’ve checked it every two minutes since we picked you up at the airport. Something we should know?”
Ward made the rounds, his gaze not quite meeting their eyes. “I’m in the middle of an acquisition — came back early to discuss this event. I’m expecting an update any minute, now. Guess I’m a bit anxious.”
Nick stared at him, noting the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way his mouth twitched ever so slightly, before nodding. “Then, let’s get this started.”
Dalton sighed, falling in beside Nick as Ward and Buck headed for the front door. “He’s lying. About wanting security, not about being nervous. No one picks something like this as a stronghold.”
Nick snorted. “No shit.”
“You gonna call him on it?”
Nick slid his gaze to Dalton. “If I called out everyone I thought was lying to me, I’d be talking to people all day. Besides, in theory, this is just a consultation. We’ve got plenty of time to have Bodie run additional background checks on this guy before we sign up.”
And if it gave Nick a benign reason to call Sloane, have her work her magic, then he wasn’t about to jeopardize that.
Dalton chuckled. “Either you just gave someone the benefit of the doubt, which, I gotta say, isn’t the Nick Colter I know and love. Or you’re using this as an excuse to call Sloane.” He stopped, grinned. “Wanna guess which way I’m leaning?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought.” Dalton arched a brow. “Isn’t she gonna be in town soon?”
Nick chuckled. “That’s assuming the CIA keeps to any kind of schedule.
She’s been all over the map for the last bit of her joint task force assignment with the DIA, so I’m not holding my breath.
She should be finishing up just north of Astoria — dropping by for a couple days — but knowing her, she’ll text me from Budapest or worse… New Orleans.”
“Is that her being afraid to see you, or you scared of what you might tell her once she gets here?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right, and I don’t have abandonment issues.”
Nick shoved Dalton as they jogged up the short flight of limestone steps to the main entrance, more glass reflecting the storm-bruised sky. An incoming front loomed on the horizon, the increased winds already capping the waves a turbulent white.
They reached the door, Ward looking at his watch, again, riling up the voices in Nick’s head. He glanced at Dalton, nodded when the guy motioned toward Ward. A clear indication either Nick broached the subject, again, demanded some serious answers, or Dalton would.
Nick hooked Ward’s arm. “Ward, we need to—”
A sharp compressive thump tore through the air, the gatehouse at the bottom of the driveway exploding into an ugly orange bloom of fire and smoke. The barrier arm sheared off, glass spitting out across the pavement as the report rolled up the driveway, passed through them with a concussive punch.
Nick grabbed Ward, shoved him beneath him as he drew his weapon, swept the area. Black smoke choked the air, flames licking at the remains of the structure as men poured out of the encroaching forest, muzzles flashing against the shadows.
Nick pulled Ward to his feet, pushed him to the door. “Get us inside. Now.”
Ward’s hand shook as he punched in his code, jumping when a spray of bullets chewed up his limestone stairs.
Buck shoved the door open, sweeping through the foyer like a damn ghost, Dalton on his heels.
They cleared the immediate area, locked the door, boxing Ward between them as they headed toward the west wing.
Rounds pounded the steel structure, the front door rattling as someone tried to muscle their way in.
Ward pointed to a set of fire doors, hands shaking, skin ghostly white. “Those lead to the sky-bridge.”
They angled left, hit the doors moving fast but controlled, Ward still centered between them.
The sky-bridge opened up in front of them, trees bending against the howling wind thrashing beneath the glass walkway.
The ocean rolled in angry waves across the horizon, sharp spires rising out of the tide like daggers.
Suppressors thumped from the surrounding tree line — the disciplined, rhythmic fire creating spiderweb cracks in the safety glass.
They moved out, staying low, booking it across the bridge amidst more gunfire, a couple rounds punching through, bouncing back from the other side.
Nick clenched his jaw, the steady clicks a ghostly echo of that night in Prague.
How this felt more like containment than chaos.
As if the men had been driving Nick’s team toward the west wing, all along.
The thought sparked a memory, and he snapped his gaze down, searched the support structure — caught a glimpse of a small, puck-like disc stuck to the primary beam beneath their feet.
“Charge!”
The word bounced off the glass as he shoved his buddies and Ward the last few yards toward the tiled entry. They stumbled forward, tripping onto the solid floor as the small LED on top of the charge blinked green, blew.
No fireball, this time, just a savage, focused concussion that turned the steel into screaming metal.
The span tore, girders twisting inward as the glass shattered, shot a blanket of piercing shards through the air.
His buddies hit the floor, their wing holding firm as the section under Nick sheared away.
Dropped him into the gaping chasm.