Claiming The Forbidden (GUARDIAN PEAK SECURITY #3)

Chapter 1

HAYES

The bullet misses my ear by three inches.

I drop behind the concrete barrier, chest heaving, rifle tucked against my shoulder. Dust kicks up where the round buried itself in the dirt wall behind me. Another crack echoes across the range, and I hear Ryder's voice from the observation deck above.

"You're dead, Donovan."

"Like hell I am." I roll left, pop up on the opposite side of the barrier, and put two rounds center mass into the target Ryder's been repositioning with the remote pulley system. The paper silhouette shudders. Both holes sit inside the kill zone.

I rack the slide and clear the chamber. "Pull the target."

The pulley whirs. When the paper comes in close enough to read, Ryder leans over the railing and squints at it. He's quiet for a beat too long, which means I nailed it and he doesn't want to admit it.

"Not bad," he finally says.

"Not bad." I sling the rifle over my shoulder and pull off my ear protection. "That's a clean double tap at two hundred yards after a combat roll on gravel. From your brother, that gets a 'solid work.' From you, I get 'not bad'?"

Ryder shrugs, already resetting the range for himself. "Deck doesn't grade on a curve."

I let it go. Because that's the thing about being the youngest operator at Guardian Peak.

Doesn't matter that I spent twelve years in Air Force Pararescue.

Doesn't matter that I've fast-roped out of helicopters into active firefights, performed field surgery on a teammate's blown-open femoral artery while taking fire, or dragged a two-hundred-pound Marine through six miles of Afghan desert with a dislocated shoulder. My shoulder, not his.

To these guys, I'm still the kid.

I head up the trail toward the main lodge, peeling off my gloves.

March in the Nevada mountains means the mornings still bite, but by afternoon the sun's warm enough to make you forget winter happened.

The compound looks good today. Deck's been investing in upgrades since the Nexus situation last month, when Boone took two bullets protecting Mara.

New perimeter cameras on the north tree line.

Reinforced gate on the access road. Sully rewired the entire sensor grid in seventy-two hours on about four hours of sleep and enough energy drinks to kill a small horse.

The lodge door swings open before I reach it, and Cade steps out holding a coffee mug with "#1 Dad" printed on it. Natalie bought it for him even though their baby isn't due for months. He's already practicing.

"Deck wants you in the briefing room," Cade says.

"Now?"

"Five minutes ago."

I pick up the pace. Deck doesn't call people to the briefing room for casual conversation. The man's idea of small talk is a tactical debrief.

Inside the lodge, the smell of coffee and pine smoke hits me.

Someone left the fireplace going. The main room is all exposed timber and leather furniture, the kind of space that looks like a high-end hunting lodge but functions as a command center.

Sully's server rack hums behind a locked door to the left.

The weapons locker sits behind a reinforced panel to the right.

The giant oak table in the center of the room has held everything from mission plans to Thanksgiving dinner.

I push through the door to the briefing room and find Deck standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, looking at a file spread open in front of him. His left arm still moves a little stiff from where he took the bullet last year protecting Vivian, but you'd only notice if you knew to look.

Mace sits to his right, which means this is real. Mace doesn't show up for routine assignments.

"Close the door," Deck says.

I do. "What's the job?"

Deck slides a photo across the table. Corporate headshot.

The woman in it has a platinum blonde bob cut sharp enough to draw blood, cheekbones that could cut glass, and blue eyes that manage to look both beautiful and bored at the same time.

She's wearing something expensive and dark, and she's looking at the camera like she's deciding whether it's worth her time.

Something low in my gut tightens.

"Alexandra Morrison," Deck says. "CEO of Morrison Pharmaceuticals. Forty years old. Former surgeon. Took the company's top seat at thirty-five and has tripled their market cap since."

I drag my eyes off the photo. "Pharma CEO. What's she need us for?"

"Corporate espionage. Someone inside her company has been selling proprietary research data to competitors.

We're talking drug formulas, clinical trial results, and patent filings.

Stuff worth hundreds of millions." Deck leans forward on his knuckles.

"Three weeks ago, someone also broke into her penthouse while she was sleeping.

Nothing stolen. Just a note on her pillow that said 'We can reach you anywhere. '"

My jaw tightens. "So it's not just corporate. It's personal."

"The threat escalated fast. Her head of security recommended us specifically. She needs a full protective detail while she's here for a two-week corporate retreat we're hosting. Wilderness executive training on the surface, secure location underneath."

"Sounds like a Boone job." I glance at Mace. "He just handled the Plummer detail. He's got the corporate background."

Mace shakes his head. "Boone's on medical leave for another two weeks. The shoulder's healed but his abdomen wound needs more time. Doc Morrison won't clear him for active protection."

"Wolfe?"

"Running a tracking op for the marshals in Montana. Three-week commitment."

"Priest?"

Deck's expression doesn't change. "Priest is unavailable."

Which means classified. Fine. "Kai? Ryder?"

"Kai's working the leak angle from our end. Digital surveillance, communications intercept, building a profile on Morrison's inner circle. Ryder's on standby for compound security." Deck straightens. "The detail is yours, Hayes."

I should feel good about that. Lead operator on a high-profile protection detail. This is what I've been working toward for years.

But there's something in the way Deck said it. Like he's delivering news, not opportunity.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Mace pulls a tablet from beside his chair and sets it on the table. An email chain fills the screen. I lean in and skim it. My eyes catch on a line halfway down.

With all due respect, I require someone with more experience for this assignment. Mr. Donovan's profile suggests he may lack the seasoning necessary for a threat of this complexity.

I read it again. Then a third time.

"She requested someone else," I say. My voice comes out even, which takes effort.

"She requested someone older," Mace clarifies, and something about the way he says it tells me he's not happy about delivering this particular piece of information.

"Her security chief assured her you're fully qualified," Deck adds. "She pushed back. Twice."

I pick up the photo again. Those blue eyes stare up at me. Controlled. Composed. Certain she knows better than everyone else in any room she walks into.

I've spent my entire career dealing with men who looked at me and saw a kid playing soldier instead of a combat-tested PJ who's pulled bodies out of crashed helicopters and kept people alive when every odd said they should die.

I've been underestimated by guys who bench-pressed twice my weight and had half my training.

I figured it out. I always figure it out.

But something about this woman dismissing me without even meeting me lands differently.

"When does she arrive?" I ask.

"Two hours."

I set the photo down. "I'll be ready."

Deck holds my gaze for a long moment. Whatever he's looking for, he must find it, because he gives me a single nod.

"She's a high-value client with a legitimate threat.

She's also difficult. She's used to being the smartest person in any room and she doesn't respond well to people she perceives as beneath her. "

"Good thing I'm not beneath her."

The corner of Mace's mouth twitches. He covers it with a sip of coffee.

"Hayes." Deck's voice drops half a register. The commander voice. "This is professional. Clean. By the book."

"Always is."

He gives me a look that says he heard what I said but also heard everything I didn't. Then he taps the file closed.

"Guest cabin four. It's the most secure unit on the property.

Sully's already wired it. Review the threat assessment, familiarize yourself with her schedule, and have a full security briefing prepared for her arrival. "

"Copy."

I take the file and head for the door.

"Hayes."

I stop but don't turn around.

"She's wealthy, powerful, and used to controlling every situation she walks into," Deck says. "Don't let her rattle you."

"Nothing rattles me, boss."

I can feel his skepticism on the back of my neck as I walk out.

I spend the next ninety minutes doing exactly what Deck asked.

I review the threat assessment Sully compiled, which is thorough enough to make my teeth ache.

Morrison Pharmaceuticals has been hemorrhaging data for approximately four months.

The internal investigation identified three possible sources, all C-suite adjacent, all with access to the files that were leaked.

Her chief security officer, a solid guy named Warren Park, tried to handle it quietly.

Then came the break-in at her penthouse.

No forced entry. No alarm trigger. Just the note.

Whoever is behind this has money, access, and patience. That's a dangerous combination.

I memorize her schedule, her dietary preferences, her known associates, her ex-husband's information (amicable divorce two years ago, tech executive, currently living in Singapore, no red flags).

I map out the compound's sight lines from cabin four and identify three extraction routes depending on threat direction.