Chapter 15 Damon
DAMON
The new safehouse is a cabin tucked deep in the woods, far from the nearest road, with nothing but miles of trees and the glassy stretch of the lake behind it.
It’s a seven hour drive from the last one and we took several stops along the way just in case we were being followed.
The air smells clean, crisp, untouched by city life.
The lake reflects the dawn in hues of orange and pink, rippling softly in the early morning breeze.
Birds stir in the trees, their calls echoing across the still water. It should be peaceful.
It isn’t.
I watch the security team work, my arms crossed as they install the new motion sensors and perimeter alarms. The cabin itself is solid—reinforced doors, thick walls, small windows that limit entry points. Isolated. Defensible.
But the lake keeps me on edge. Too many variables. Too many blind spots. Water access is a security nightmare. Someone could approach by boat, slip in unnoticed. No fences, no walls. Just open space and deep, endless water. I don’t like it.
“The lake gives me bad vibes,” Zane mutters, coming up beside me. He watches the tree line with the same wary expression I feel etched onto my own face. “Hard to defend.”
“Exactly,” I grunt.
Still, it’s our best option. The last place was compromised. We needed to move fast, and this place was prepped and waiting. It’ll have to do.
I glance toward the cabin. Through one of the windows, I spot Mia inside, unpacking supplies in the kitchen. The girls are nowhere in sight, probably still asleep upstairs.
When I walk in, Asher is at the surveillance hub, fingers flying over the keyboard.
It’s a small room right by the back door, reinforced but also good for a quick exit in case of emergencies, and also just to keep an eye on the property, especially the lake.
“Perimeter alarms are almost done,” he reports casually.
“And I set up a motion-sensor buoy in the water. It won’t stop someone from coming in, but at least we’ll know if they do. ”
“Good.” I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the tension that’s settled deep in my bones. A week ago, it was a simple job–keep Mia and her daughters safe. But after everything that has transpired between us, I’m not sure what the hell it is anymore.
Zane goes out to the back porch, returning a few minutes later after securing the last motion sensor with a little more force than necessary.
“Did you go over that together?” I ask, looking between them.
Asher turns to look at me. “I think we have everything under control.”
They’re not even looking at each other, pretending everything is okay. Usually, Asher hums under his breath while he works, or makes some comment about upgrading our gear. Not today. Today, he’s dead silent.
I think I can point out the exact moment things went wrong.
It was right after Asher announced he was leaving for Dubai.And I’m not exactly blind.
I noticed how cold he’s been to the kids the last few days.
I guess Zane noticed it too because right after, he said, “Good of you to inform us you were leaving in a week, asshole.”
Asher's brooding, and he’s not the only one. Zane is the same. They’ve worked together for years, reading each other in high-pressure situations without speaking. But now, it’s like they’re daring each other to snap first.
I lean against the door to the surveillance room. “You two gonna talk, or are we just accepting that this is the vibe now?”
Asher doesn’t look up. “We’re working.”
“Yeah. Some of us actually do that.”
There it is.
My gaze flicks between them as irritation rises in me. This isn’t the time for whatever this is.
“That supposed to mean something?” I demand.
“Nothing,” Zane mutters, but his jaw ticks as he moves past me into the house.
Asher exhales sharply and mutters, “Jesus, man.”
I sigh, watching Zane go. “You want to tell me what the hell that was about?” I ask Asher.
His jaw flexes. “Nope.”
“You’re pulling back, Zane’s pushing forward, and neither of you are talking about it. That about right?”
Asher huffs out a humorless laugh. “You think you have it all figured out, don’t you?”
“I think I know what I’m looking at,” I counter. “I get why you’re acting differently, but what’s Zane’s excuse? He’s not usually the type to get tangled in things that aren’t his problem.”
This isn’t just about Dubai, and all of us know that. The actual problem is currently upstairs.
Asher finally looks at me, something flickering in his gaze. “Maybe you should ask yourself the same question.”
I don’t react, but the words hit their mark. I feel them sink in like a slow burn.
Zane’s interest in Mia isn’t hard to see, not to me. And Asher? He’s already one foot out the door, trying to convince himself this isn’t his fight.
Meanwhile, I’m standing in the middle of it, watching the whole damn thing fall apart.
This is getting ridiculous. I’ve handled hostage negotiations in war zones that were less tense than this. I move further into the house, trying to find Zane. Maybe he would be a better talker than Asher.
He’s at the kitchen counter now, cleaning his gun with slow, deliberate movements that scream do not engage. The air between them is thick enough to chew.
I should leave it alone. Should let them work out whatever the hell is going on.
But I don’t.
Instead, I clear my throat. “So… I was thinking, maybe we should all sit down later, have a beer, talk about our feelings.”
Two sets of eyes snap to me, identical expressions of disbelief and vague horror.
Asher blinks. “Are you dying?”
Zane scowls. “Blink twice if Jason got to you.”
I sigh, leaning against the counter. “Look, I get it. Tensions are high, and we’re all a little—”
“A little?” Asher scoffs. “That’s generous.”
Zane mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch, but based on the way Asher’s head snaps toward him, it wasn’t something friendly.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “In case you forgot, we’re supposed to be working as a team.”
“Is this about Asher leaving?” I say.
Asher doesn’t look at me. “We’re all professionals here, aren’t we? Asher’s leaving for a better pay. Good for him.”
“So him leaving has nothing to do with the fact that you are acting like a kicked puppy?
Zane finishes assembling his gun with a little too much force. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And you definitely don’t know what’s going on with me.”
I think I do, yeah. Zane likes Mia. Something clearly happened between them. And Asher. Jesus, I can’t keep myself straight anymore.
Asher snorts coming into the kitchen. “Right, because you’re all about teamwork.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Zane deadpans. “Did you want me to bake cookies and braid your hair first? Let’s all then sit in a circle and talk about our feelings. We can even get Emma’s emotional support unicorn to help us”
“Boys,” I say, my patience thinning.
Zane gestures to Asher. “Tell him to stop acting like he’s already got one foot out the door.”
Asher shoots him a look. “Tell him to mind his damn business.”
I exhale slowly. “Tell both of you to quit acting like middle schoolers at recess.”
They glare at me.
I gesture toward the door. “Maybe we do some push-ups, scream into the woods—whatever helps you two recalibrate.”
Silence.
Zane finally huffs a little laugh. “You are so bad at this.”
“I’m excellent at this,” I argue. “You’re both being difficult.”
Asher shakes his head, standing up. “This is why you don’t do emotional support, Damon.”
Zane smirks. “Yeah, this was painful for all of us.”
I rub my temples. “Okay, great talk. Real bonding moment.”
“The truth is, we got sloppy.” Asher’s voice is clipped, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “All of us.”
Zane doesn’t look up from his gun. “Don’t.”
“What? You want to talk, then let’s talk,” Asher exhales harshly. “We’re not going to talk about how we missed a tracking device because we were too busy watching her?”
I straighten. “Asher, keep your voice down, man.”
Asher lets out a bitter laugh, ignoring me. “I think we are. Look at us. The great Mars Security team, undone by one woman and her kids.”
Zane’s hand clenches around his knife. “Careful.”
Asher scoffs. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I don’t. I can’t. Because he’s not.
We’ve been distracted. Crossing lines. Letting emotions get in the way.
But Mia isn’t the problem here. We are.
“We let our guard down,” I admit, the words sharp. “That’s on us. Not her.”
Asher leans back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes burning. “Yeah? So what’s the plan, boss? Keep pretending we can do this job with our heads fucked six ways to Sunday?”
“That’s enough.” My voice drops to a warning.
“So what do you suggest? We drop the job? Leave her and the kids out here alone?” Zane shoots back.
Asher looks away, jaw tight.
“That’s what I thought,” Zane mutters.
“I’ll check their belongings. Every toy, every piece of clothing,” Asher says. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”
“Sure,” Zane says. “And for fuck’s sake, keep your opinions to yourself.”
They both walk off in opposite directions, leaving me standing there.
Mission: Not accomplished.
From the upstairs hallway, I catch a glimpse of Mia through the window, her silhouette moving around the twins' temporary bedroom. The soft glow of a bedside lamp casts long shadows on the walls as she carefully arranges their things, trying to make the unfamiliar space feel like home.
Emma clutches her battered unicorn, her small fingers wrapped so tightly around it that her knuckles turn white.
Even after what we found inside, she refuses to let it go.
I can’t blame her. It’s more than just a stuffed toy; it’s comfort, security.
A piece of stability in a world that keeps shifting under her feet.
Ella murmurs something, and Mia leans down, stroking her dark curls, whispering reassurances I can’t hear. My chest tightens at the sight, at the tenderness in the way she soothes them. At how much she’s carrying on her own.
Then Emma turns her head, and our eyes meet and for a second I forget to breathe. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave. Just watches me with those too-familiar eyes.
My mother’s eyes.
I swallow hard, looking away first.
This is why I have to keep my distance. Why I can’t let myself think about what I already suspect. Because the moment I say it out loud, the moment I let myself believe it… I won’t be able to walk away.
I tighten the last screw on the last reinforced lock, stepping back to check the fit. The lake house is secure, but it doesn’t sit right with me. Too many windows, too many variables. Water access makes it harder to approach, but if someone was determined, they could find a way.
“We should install more motion sensors on the dock,” I say, glancing at Asher who’s at the bottom of the staircase, planting a sensor on the wall. “It’s an access point we can’t ignore.”
Asher nods. “Already on my list. The back gate’s another weak spot. We can set up a camera there, but it won’t be perfect.”
“We can’t afford imperfections.”
“No shit.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “This place is better than the last, but it’s not a fortress. And we still don’t know how many people Whitmore has working with him.”
I clench my jaw at the name. “We need to find out.”
“I’ve been digging.” Asher leans against the counter. “His accounts are moving money faster. He’s paying people off, making deals.”
“You think it goes beyond personal?”
“I think he’s playing a bigger game. Mia’s just one piece of it.”
I’m about to say something else when I hear small footsteps on the stairs. We both turn.
Emma clutches her stuffed bear, its torn tail dragging against the floor. Her bottom lip juts out as she holds it up.
“Secret Agent Damon?” Her voice is small. “Can you fix Sparkle’s boo-boo? She needs a band-aid.”
The unicorn. The same one Zane had torn apart looking for a tracker. Guilt slams into me. Emma doesn’t understand why it happened. She only knows something she loves is broken.
Before I can say a word, Asher steps forward. “I'll take care of it,” he says, his voice gruff but softer than usual. “Just needs a few stitches.”
Emma hesitates, looking between us, her small fingers twisting in the hem of her pajama top. I recognize that expression—the same stubborn set to her jaw, the same analytical stare. It’s like looking into a mirror of my past, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“Why can’t Agent Damon do it?” Emma finally asks.
The question catches me off guard. I feel Asher glance at me, but I don’t look away from her. Emma isn’t being difficult—she’s trying to include me. And that realization makes my chest feel too tight.
I’ve spent the past few days keeping my distance. Even before that, when I first saw the twins, I made a conscious effort to step back, to not get too involved. The most time I’ve spent with them was in the panic room, when fear kept us huddled together in the dark.
Mia hasn’t told me anything. But in my gut, in my bones, I know the truth.
The thought hits me like a punch to the ribs. My daughters.
The need to protect her, to protect them, slams into me with a force that’s almost painful.
But Asher’s right about one thing: we can’t afford distractions. Not now. Not with Jason getting this close to who might be my daughters.
I force a small smile, crouching in front of Emma. “Because Agent Asher is the best at fixing boo-boos,” I tell her, tapping her nose lightly. “Even secret agents have specialties.”
She studies me a moment longer before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Okay. But you have to help next time.”
My throat feels tight. “Deal.”
She turns back to Asher, watching as he finishes the last stitch, her little fingers brushing against the fabric as if reassuring herself that Sparkles is okay.
I rise to my feet. I don’t know how this ends, or what happens when this job is over. But I know one thing for certain.
I’m not walking away this time.