Chapter 9
9
ABBY
I bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. The sheets cling to my skin, and my heart’s galloping like I ran ten miles through snow. My eyes scan the room, hunting shadows, trying to separate dream from memory. The lamp on the nightstand flickers dim yellow light. Travis isn’t beside me.
The nightmare’s already dissolving at the edges, but the feeling lingers—Nick’s voice echoing as if someone shouted it through static. A name. Blood. Someone calling for help that never came.
I shove the covers off and sit on the edge of the bed, gripping the sides of the mattress like it’ll hold me together. My body still buzzes from what we shared last night—heat, honesty, surrender—but my mind is on fire. Something’s off. The timeline. The lies. The gaps in what little Travis has told me.
The door creaks open, and there he is, backlit by the hallway. Unzipped hoody, jeans slung low on his hips, jaw shadowed and set. The second he sees my face, he knows.
“Nightmare?” he asks, voice quiet.
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse. “But not just that.”
He crosses the room in two strides and crouches in front of me, hands bracketing my thighs, steadying me. “Tell me.”
“I remember a name,” I say. “From the dream. Carlton. Nick said it once—just once—but he made me promise I’d never forget it.”
Travis’s jaw tightens.
“Travis,” I whisper, “you have to tell me everything. No more shielding me from the truth.”
He stands and paces to the window, his entire body is filled with tension. I give him ten seconds. Then I get up, wrap the blanket around myself, and go to him. I ease the hoody off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. I open the blanket and wrap myself and the blanket around him. I think skin-to-skin contact will help… both of us. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lean in. Just stares out into space like it might give him permission.
“You said you’d tell me in the morning,” I say. “Well, it’s morning.”
He turns slowly. His eyes find mine, and whatever’s in them—it’s not anger. It’s guilt. Deep, carved into his bones guilt.
“All right,” he says. “You want the truth? You get it.”
I nod once. I’m ready. I think.
“Carlton was black ops,” he begins. “Officially, he didn’t exist. CIA-adjacent, but off-the-books. One of those guys who played both sides of every war depending on who wrote the check.”
I swallow hard. “Nick said you guys worked with intel guys. But he never mentioned him.”
“We weren’t supposed to. Carlton embedded with our unit during a mission in Syria. Unofficial op. Our mission was to extract a defector who allegedly had dirt on U.S. officials laundering arms via third-party fronts.”
He disengages from me and walks back to the bed and sits heavily, hands clasped in front of him like he’s praying or breaking.
“We dropped into the outskirts of Al-Hasakah. Night mission. No air support, no backup. It was supposed to be surgical. In and out.”
My breath stutters.
“But it wasn’t; it was a setup,” Travis says, voice flat. “Carlton sold us out. Used our insertion point to tip off a local militia. They killed four of my men within minutes. I managed to pull Nick out. We tried to fall back to the extraction point, but the evac was already compromised. We made it to the ridgeline. Nick stayed behind to cover our retreat.”
“And you…” My voice breaks. “You left him?” I tried to keep the accusation out of my voice.
“Someone mortally wounded him. He wouldn’t have survived. I didn’t have a choice,” he snaps, “not a good one, anyway.” Then he softens. “He ordered me to go—made me promise to make it home. He said someone had to survive. He gave me the detonator for the fallback charges and told me to clear the path and disappear—not just from the op, but from everything.”
“And he died? Alone?”
Travis closes his eyes and I see his hands tremble. “I saw the blast. Given where he was, I knew it would save him from being tortured or dying slowly. There was no way anyone could survive it. Pushing that detonator and killing my best friend is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
My legs start to fold beneath me, and I sink to the edge of the bed.
“I knew if I surfaced, they’d kill me and try to blame the failed op on me and my team. I faked my death two days later,” Travis continues. “Blew up the extraction gear, dumped my tags in the rubble. Took the money and fake identification we’d stashed for an emergency, adopted the alias—Jack Stratton—and ran.”
My head spins. “Why? Why not report Carlton? Go public?”
“Because no one would’ve believed me. Carlton was protected. That op was never officially authorized. If I’d come forward, I’d have been court-martialed, silenced, or worse, and they’d have smeared the honor of every single one of my men. They would have altered the records to show they died in disgrace. So instead I started writing and a portion of the royalties gets sent each month to their survivors.”
“But Nick…”
“Left me a note for you. Each of us had left a note for whoever survived. Nick knew if I lived, I’d protect you. That’s what I’ve been doing. Or trying to.”
I stare at him. “You’ve been hiding in the woods writing bestsellers under a fake name.”
He laughs once, bitter. “Books are the only thing I can control anymore.”
“And Carlton?”
“Still out there. Still covering his tracks. My guess is he’s the one who threatened you, and I’d bet money he’s the one who sent that sniper. He knows I’m alive. And now he knows you’re connected to me.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “You think I’m a threat to him?”
“You are. You always were. Nick told you his suspicions. You had access to his journals. Then you started researching who Jack Stratton really was. You connected the dots back to me. That means you’re smarter than he expected. And that makes you dangerous.”
I stand, walk to the window, needing air that isn’t thick with secrets and ghosts. The snow outside reflects the pale dawn, and for the first time in days, the storm has cleared. But the real one’s just getting started.
“We have to expose him,” I say quietly. “Whatever it takes.”
Travis nods. “We will. But I’m not letting you walk into this blind. From here on out, you don’t leave my side.”
I turn, and he’s already there, towering over me. His hands settle on my hips. “You mean it?” I ask.
“Every damn word,” he says. “I should’ve told you sooner. But I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of what you’d think. Of what it would cost.”
I lift my chin. “You don’t get to protect me by cutting me out. You did what Nick wanted and saved him from a horrible end. I don’t blame you for his death, and I know you well enough now that I know what it cost you.”
His gaze is molten. “You’re not getting cut out. You’re mine now. And if Carlton wants a war—we’ll give him one.”
My heart hammers, but this time, it’s not from fear. It’s from knowing we’re done running. It’s from knowing Travis Holt is all in… and so am I.
“Okay,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Let’s burn him down.”
He leans in, presses a kiss to my forehead, and whispers, “We start today.”
And just like that, the lines of battle are drawn.
I’m still trying to process the wreckage of everything Travis just told me. My pulse hasn’t settled, and my thoughts are tripping over themselves, tumbling through memories and flashes I’d locked away for years. Nick’s face. His voice. The way he made me promise to find Travis if anything ever went wrong.
It all makes sense now. The ghost missions. The classified files that didn’t match the story. The way Nick’s journals and his post-op reports were delivered to me anonymously. The way the military shut the whole thing down so fast, like they were afraid of what might leak. I thought I was being paranoid. I wasn’t.
Carlton.
I repeat his name in my head like it’s a curse. Travis’s story plays in a loop—the mission in Syria, the setup, the betrayal, Nick choosing to cover his best friend’s escape when he knew there was no hope for him. Travis surviving only because my brother made that choice.
“I should hate you,” I say finally, my voice low. “Why don’t I? I’m not angry at you. All I am is incredibly sad for all of you.”
“I didn’t want to leave him,” Travis says, his voice steady, sharp. “He made the call. It was the only way any of us survived. As long as there is someone left to remember, their spirits remain free.”
“You never told me. Never told anyone.”
He shakes his head. “Because if I had, it would’ve put a target on you. And it looks like even staying quiet didn’t work.”
I take a breath and lean back against the wall, my heart thudding like I’ve just run ten miles through the snow. I look at him, really look, and I know he’s not lying. Everything in his body language says truth. It’s brutal. It’s ugly. But it’s real.
He carries it like it’s burned into his bones.
“I keep thinking about the journal,” I say slowly.
His brow furrows. “Nick’s?”
I nod. “He told me to find you if anything ever happened. But there was more. He had me make a go bag—fake IDs, cash, a burner phone… and that field journal.”
“You still have it?”
“I hid the bag in the Jeep. Before I came to the cabin. I keep the journal with me. If Nick left it,” I say, thinking out loud, “and Carlton knew it existed—knew Nick told me something, or left something for me—then it makes sense why they came after me. Carlton doesn’t know what Nick wrote. He’s trying to clean up the last of the mess.”
Travis is silent for a beat. Then: “And you’re the mess.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“You know what I mean.” He strokes my hair. “But you’re my mess and you’re beautiful.”
I blush. “I do know, and thanks… I think. I’ve been thinking,” I say, my mind already racing ahead. “He’s still out there, right? Watching, waiting. He sent a sniper to take me/us out. That failed. He’s going to try again.”
“Yeah,” Travis says darkly. “He will.”
“Then let him.”
He straightens, jaw going tight. “No.”
“We use me as bait.”
“Abby.”
I step toward him, unflinching. “You said it yourself. He’s coming. He’s already watching. If we do nothing, he’s in control. But if we make a move, it’ll draw him out and put control in our court.”
He stares at me like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Because he knows I’m right.
“If I go out in public—just briefly—he’ll show his hand,” I add. “You know he has to have someone—if not himself—watching Misty Mountain. He’s scared of what I might have… what I might know… what Nick left behind.”
“You do not know how dangerous this man is.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “Nick trusted me to finish this. I’m not backing down. And you’re not doing it without me.”
Travis closes the space between us in two strides. His eyes flash with that thing I’ve come to recognize—command, control, protect. I know the man standing in front of me would level an army to keep me safe. But I’m not asking him to do this alone… I won’t let him.
“You think I don’t want to keep you locked away until this is over?” he growls, eyes drilling into mine. “You think I don’t lie awake at night calculating every possible angle—every shot, every window, every weakness they could use against you?”
“I know you do,” I whisper. “But you’re not the only one in this fight anymore.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy and full of things we don’t say. Then he exhales sharply and nods once.
“Fine,” he says. “We do this my way. No improvising. No running off. You don’t move unless I say so.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Control freak much?”
“Absolutely.”
I can’t help the small smile that pulls at my lips. It fades quickly, though. Because we both know what’s coming. And neither of us is ready for what it might cost.
“So,” I ask, voice quiet. “What’s the plan?”
Travis turns, already shifting into SEAL mode. “First, we get the journal. We confirm what’s in it. Then we make noise. Put you somewhere visible. Not flashy. Just enough to stir interest. You’re right; Carlton’s got to be watching. He’ll take the bait.”
“And then?”
“Then I end this.”
The finality in his voice sends a chill down my spine.
“I want to be there,” I say.
“No.”
“Travis.”
He cuts me a look. “You’re the bait, Abby. You don’t get to be the knife.”
“I don’t need to be the knife. I just need to see him fall.”
He considers that, then nods. “Fine. But when I say get down, you drop.”
“Deal.”
We stand in silence for a long moment, the weight of everything pressing in. I’ve never done anything like this before. Never gone head-to-head with someone who has a kill list—much less one I was on. Never been a pawn in a game I barely understood.
But I’m not scared. Not really. Because I’ve got Travis. And I’ve got Nick’s words ringing in my head: ‘Trust him.’
Nick was right. I do.
But this isn’t about trust anymore. It’s about justice.
“You’re sure Carlton is still CIA?” I ask.
Travis’s jaw clenches. “Not officially. Guys like Carlton—they slip between shadows. He’s not in the system anymore. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t active.”
“And no one’s stopping him?”
“There are people looking the other way,” Travis says, and there’s so much disgust in his voice it makes my stomach churn. “He has leverage. Or money. Or both. He’s been running ops off the books for years.”
“And Nick knew?”
“Nick found something. My guess? We discovered that the person we were sent to extract wasn’t a defector. He was bait. Carlton needed us gone. Nick figured it out too late.”
“And now I have the last piece.”
Travis nods once. “Which means we either use it… or bury it for good.”
My fingers curl into fists at my sides. “I’m not burying anything… except maybe Carlton.”
“Didn’t think you would,” he says. “That’s why I’m going to make damn sure you walk out of this.”
I meet his eyes. “Only if you do too.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he says nothing. He doesn’t make promises he isn’t sure he can keep. That, somehow, is more terrifying than if he had.
Still, I believe in him. In us. Whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming… and maybe that’s the scariest part of all.
We leave Misty Mountain tomorrow. We’ll make sure Carlton sees me. We’ll give him the opportunity to come in close, and then Travis will end it... end him. He hasn’t said how, but I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he talks about Carlton. There’s no room for negotiation.
Tonight, though, we pack. We review contingencies. Travis sketches maps and exit routes and backup plans on the back of a Pine & Petal napkin. I try not to think about what happens if things go sideways.
As we settle into bed, the weight of it all pressing down, I curl into his side and whisper, “What if this doesn’t work?”
Travis turns to me, eyes fierce. “Then I make sure he never touches you again.”
He kisses the top of my head, his arm tightening around me.
Tomorrow, we step into the fire, and if Carlton thinks he’s hunting the girl who ran, he’s about to learn I stopped running the second I found my brother’s truth—and the man willing to help me fight for it.