Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
G host lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling, Becca’s soft breath warming his chest.
What the hell had he done?
That was crazy, insane, completely off-the-scale good, and there was no rule book for this one. He was in enemy territory now, unsure of his way, relying on gut instinct alone to see him through.
Becca lay spent in his arms, her dark hair falling over his shoulder, her breathing even and rhythmic. He’d never seen anyone more angelic.
His chest tightened as he gazed down at her, feeling her breath on his chest. Fuck, how was he going to let her go?
Before tonight, this thing between them had been simple—manageable, at least. He could handle it. He’d been fully prepared to walk away when it was over, move on.
Now? Now, he wasn’t so sure.
It was like something had shifted, something irreversible. A line had been crossed and there was no going back. He didn’t even know what the hell it was. But it was something. Something that felt like it might’ve just wrecked him for good.
He’d never been with anyone like Becca before. The way she’d taken him in, the way she’d wrapped herself around him—tight, warm, perfect—had left him raw and vulnerable. When she screamed his name, it had shredded him.
She wasn’t just in his arms, she was in his damn head, in his soul. It was terrifying.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
She was his now. He knew it.
She might be leaving, but tonight, she’d given herself to him in a way that went beyond anything he’d ever felt. And, God help him, he’d given himself to her, too. There was no hiding behind the walls he’d spent years building up. No more undercover roles or bullshit lies. She’d seen him—really seen him.
And she still wanted him.
That’s what killed him the most.
Her fingers trailed down his chest, her eyes closed, her face angelic. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another person. They’d made a connection, something real and solid, like a bond he didn’t know he needed. But as much as he wanted to hold onto it, keep her close, he’d have to let her go.
She was leaving.
After tomorrow, he’d never see her again.
Something inside him twisted, made his chest tight.
Fuck.
He was going to let the best thing to ever happen to him walk out of his life, and that was that. She’d start over somewhere, build a new life—one he wasn’t part of.
He didn’t know what was in store for him. His future was a damn question mark. Always had been. But one thing he knew for sure—whatever it was, it didn’t include her.
It couldn’t.
Becca deserved better than this mess of a life he lived.
He glanced down at her, and his heart clenched. She’d told him she wanted something more—something stable. She wanted to settle down, maybe have a family. Hell, she wanted to be happy, and Ghost knew he couldn’t give that to her. He didn’t even know what happiness looked like anymore.
She needed more than a guy like him. More than a soldier without a mission. More than a man who lived on the edge, surviving undercover jobs, playing a game where any wrong move could get him killed.
What kind of future was that for her?
She’d been right—there was no happily ever after for people like him. That was a damn fairytale, one that didn’t fit the brutal reality he lived in. He was a weapon, pure and simple, good for taking down scumbags, for infiltrating criminal organizations, but for love? For a family? That wasn’t in the cards.
So why did he hate the idea of letting her go so much?
He kissed her head again, this time letting his lips linger, trying to memorize the feel of her, the way her body molded perfectly into his. His chest tightened again, that same damn ache that told him he was in too deep.
And he was. Too deep to walk away from this without feeling like he was leaving a part of himself behind.
But tomorrow would come. And when it did, she’d be gone, and he would go back to being who he was before her—a man built for survival, not love.
He just wished it didn’t hurt so damn much.
When Becca finally drifted into a deep sleep, Ghost slipped out of bed as quietly as a shadow. Her soft breathing filled the room, chestnut hair spilling across the pillow, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm churning inside him.
For a second, he stood there, just looking at her. God, he didn’t deserve her. Not with what was about to go down. But that was his world, wasn’t it? Smoke and mirrors. Lies on top of lies. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to move.
Ghost crept across the room to the wardrobe, where he kept his military backpack stashed. His hands moved swiftly, silently, like second nature. Hidden in the lining, he found what he was looking for—the burner phone. The one that no one else knew about, not even Becca. He glanced back to make sure she hadn’t stirred. Still sleeping. Still beautiful.
He slid out the door and tiptoed downstairs, keeping his movements light. Outside, the night air hit him, cool and salty. He crouched by the back deck and quickly tapped out a message to Pat, sending a pin-drop a little farther down the beach, outside the hacienda’s boundaries. It wasn’t ideal, but if they were going to meet, it had to be far enough away to avoid suspicion. Especially with the heat they were dealing with right now.
He knew it’d take Pat a while to get here. The guy was lounging in a cushy four-star hotel back in Panama City. Meanwhile, Ghost was neck-deep in enemy territory, trying to juggle a half-dozen lies without getting them all shot.
Again.
An hour later, his phone buzzed—Pat’s reply.
Ghost checked on Becca one last time, making sure she was still dead to the world, then set off down the beach. He stuck to the shadows, hugging the line where the forest met the sand. His mind was running a mile a minute, but his movements stayed sharp, practiced. He couldn’t afford to slip up, not now. Not this close to the endgame.
Twenty-five minutes later, he reached the meeting spot. The only sound was the ocean, quiet and rhythmic. He scanned the area, listening, watching, until a low whistle cut through the night. Ghost whistled back, and Pat stepped out of the trees, blending in like he was part of the damn scenery.
Ghost grinned, despite himself. “Still got it, huh?”
Pat smirked, extending a hand. “Old habits, brother.”
They shook hands, and Ghost gestured for them to sit on a fallen tree. They positioned themselves so they could watch each other’s backs. It was second nature now—always watching, always expecting a threat. Hell, after everything they’d seen, they’d be fools not to.
“What’s going on?” Pat asked, his tone casual, but Ghost could hear the edge underneath. He wasn’t a fan of surprises. None of them were.
He got straight to the point. “There was an ambush. We’ve got a leak. Someone’s feeding intel, and it’s screwing with the operation.”
Pat frowned, eyes narrowing. “Any idea who?”
Ghost shook his head. “Been running through every name. No one makes sense. But someone’s talking.”
“The Panamanians?”
Ghost exhaled through his nose. “Can’t trust them. Too risky to ask questions that’d raise flags. We keep digging, we’ll tip our hand. There is... one other possibility, though.”
Pat’s eyebrow shot up. “I’m listening.”
“Ramirez’s wife. They’ve been having problems for months. She called Becca the other night—really upset. We think she may have been the leak.”
“Can we confirm it?”
Ghost’s jaw tightened. “No. She’s dead. Freak car accident yesterday—on her way to the airport.”
Pat didn’t miss a beat. “That’s convenient.”
“Too convenient.”
Pat drummed his fingers on his thigh, thinking. “I’ll check it out. We’ve got contacts who can run her phone records, see if anything stands out.”
“Do it. But at this point, it’s secondary. The shipment’s already with my contact on the Colombian side. He’s holding it until we give the green light.”
“When’s the drop?”
“The day after tomorrow. I’m flying out to Bogotá tomorrow to oversee it. You wanna tag along?”
A grin split Pat’s face. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Nothing like a good showdown to make things interesting.”
Ghost chuckled, but it was short-lived. He still had one more bomb to drop, and he knew Pat wasn’t gonna like it.
“There’s... a complication,” he said, his tone shifting.
Pat’s grin faded. “What kind of complication?”
Ghost dragged a hand over his face. “Becca. She’s not just Markov’s assistant... she’s his daughter.”
Pat blinked, staring at him for a long moment before leaning in, his voice low. “How much does she know?”
“About her father? Not much. About me? Everything.”
“Shit, Ghost.” Pat’s face twisted in frustration. “You’ve been sleeping with Markov’s daughter?”
He didn’t bother with excuses. Pat would see through him in a heartbeat. “She’s back at my place right now.”
Pat swore under his breath. “Do you trust her? What if she tells him who you really are? She’ll blow the whole fucking op wide open.”
“She won’t,” he said firmly, ignoring the tight knot in his gut. “She’s leaving tomorrow. I told her to get out, that it’s not safe. Once we grab Markov, everything’s gonna go sideways. I can’t risk her being around for that.”
Pat gave him a long, hard look, then sighed. “You better be right, man. If she doesn’t leave...”
“She will,” Ghost cut in, his voice steady. He had to believe it. “I’ll make damn sure she does.”
“Good.” Pat rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling sharply. “We can’t afford loose ends. Once the fireworks start, no one’s safe. You know that better than anyone.”
He nodded, feeling the weight of it pressing down on him. There were too many loose ends already. But Becca... she wasn’t part of this world. She shouldn’t have to deal with the fallout.
He needed to get her out, keep her safe. Even if it meant never seeing her again.
“In the meantime,” Ghost said, shifting back into mission mode, “get in touch with your contacts. We need every piece in place. I’ll send you the coordinates and the time of the handover when I have them.”
Pat gave him a curt nod. “I’m on it. After the Suarez bust, the higher-ups are all over us. They’re ready for round two.”
Ghost nodded. That was Pat’s domain—the bureaucrats and suits. Ghost’s job was simple. Get Markov to the drop. Catch him red-handed. And get Becca the hell out of dodge before the whole thing went nuclear.
The two men sat there in silence for a minute, listening to the waves. There was a quiet understanding between them, the kind only men like them could share. They’d been through enough ops to know how this would play out. They’d catch Markov, take down his empire. And then? Then it was back to the grind, back to the shadows.
And Becca... Becca would be gone.
Ghost shook his head, pushing the thought away. There was no room for sentimentality in this line of work. Not when lives were at stake. He’d done what he could for her. Now it was up to her to listen.
“You better book that flight,” he said, standing up. “I’ll see you in Bogotá.”
Pat stood and clapped him on the back. “Take care, Ghost. Watch your six.”
Ghost nodded, his mind already shifting back to Becca, to what the next 48 hours would bring. “Always.”