Chapter 3 #2
"Why now?" The question comes out quiet, almost conversational, but I hear the real question underneath. "You didn't care eight years ago. Why show up now with your equipment and your promises to keep us safe?"
My jaw tightens. This conversation was inevitable, but I'm not ready for it. Not ready to explain decisions I made when I was too young and too stupid to understand what I was throwing away.
"I cared too much," I say, and the words taste like truth even though they sound like an excuse.
Rachel laughs, and the sound is bitter enough to strip paint. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard. You cared too much so you left? You cared too much so you disappeared without a real conversation? You cared too much so you wrote a note instead of being honest?"
"I wasn't good for you. Operators like me don't get happy endings. We get killed or burned or turned into monsters by the things we do in the dark." The words come out harder than I intend. "You deserved better than that. Better than me."
"I deserved honesty. I deserved a choice." Her voice rises slightly, years of anger finally finding an outlet. "You decided what was good for me. You decided I couldn't handle your job. You decided everything without ever asking what I wanted."
"You wanted normal. A house and a family and someone who came home every night."
"I wanted you." The words hit like physical blows. "I wanted the man I fell in love with, whatever that looked like. But you didn't trust me enough to let me make that choice."
Before I can respond, my phone hums. Kane's name on the screen. I should ignore it, finish this conversation that's long overdue. But Kane doesn't call unless it's urgent, and urgent in our world means lives on the line.
"I have to take this," I say.
Rachel's laugh is sharp and humorless. "Of course you do."
I answer the phone and turn slightly away, keeping my voice low. "Kane."
"Stryker. We have a problem." Kane's voice is tight with the kind of controlled urgency that means he's found something bad.
"Tommy ran the murder victim's biometrics through our databases.
The man Lucas saw killed wasn't random. His name was David Hernandez.
Former security contractor. Worked black site operations for the Committee three years ago. "
My stomach drops. "Which operation?"
"Protocol Seven. Hernandez was a guard at the facility in Nevada where they were testing chemical weapons on human subjects. He went dark eight months ago."
"They found him."
"Yeah. And they eliminated him using an operative with a distinctive snake-and-dagger tattoo." Kane pauses, and I can hear him typing in the background. "It's Kessler."
Name hits like a fist to the gut. James Kessler. Operative who captured Mercer. Former Delta operator with a personal vendetta against Kane. Committee asset who doesn't deploy for routine cleanup operations.
If Kessler's involved, this isn't just bad. It's catastrophic.
"Christ." My hand tightens on the phone. "They sent Kessler for a Protocol Seven witness?"
"This wasn't random, Stryker. Lucas didn't just witness a murder. He witnessed Kessler severing a Protocol Seven connection. A loose end from one of the Committee's blackest operations." Kane's voice goes flat in the way it does when he's compartmentalizing. "And Lucas can identify him."
Implications stack up fast and brutal. Protocol Seven is the operation that almost got Dylan killed.
Chemical weapons program that targeted innocent civilians.
Conspiracy that goes all the way to the top of the military-industrial complex.
And now a six-year-old kid can put Kessler—one of their most dangerous operatives—at a murder scene that connects directly to it.
"If Lucas testifies, if he picks Kessler out of a lineup, it exposes everything," I say. "Not just Protocol Seven. It ties the Committee's most visible enforcer to their dirtiest operation."
"Exactly. And that's why they're hunting him with everything they have.
Lucas isn't just a witness anymore. He's the key that unlocks the whole conspiracy.
" Kane's voice drops. "Kessler doesn't leave witnesses, Stryker.
You know that. The fact that he killed Hernandez in broad daylight where a kid could see means either he got sloppy—which Kessler never does—or he didn't know Lucas was there.
Either way, the Committee will do anything to silence that kid before he talks.
You need to fortify that position and prepare for the possibility that they're already closer than we think. "
"Understood. What's the timeline for permanent relocation?"
"Working on it. Tommy's setting up new identities now, but it takes time to make them bulletproof. Days, not weeks, but I can't give you an exact timeline yet. Can you hold until we're ready?"
I look at Rachel, standing in her living room with her arms crossed and her jaw set. Look at the photos on the fridge and the drawings on the wall and the life she built from the wreckage I left behind.
"Yeah," I say. "I can hold."
Kane disconnects, and I lower the phone. Rachel is watching me with the kind of attention that misses nothing.
"What was that about?" she asks.
I could lie. Could tell her it's nothing urgent. Could maintain the distance and professional boundaries I promised to keep.
But she deserves the truth. Deserves to know exactly how bad this is.
"The man Lucas saw murdered wasn't a random victim," I say. "He was a guard from a Committee black site operation called Protocol Seven. The operative who killed him is James Kessler."
Her face drains of color, but she doesn't understand yet. Not really.
"Kessler is—" I stop, choosing my words carefully.
"He's former Delta. One of the Committee's most dangerous enforcers.
He captured one of our team members a few months back.
Tortured him for intel. Has a personal vendetta against our team lead.
" I meet her eyes, making sure she understands the full weight of what I'm saying.
"The Committee doesn't send Kessler for routine cleanup jobs, Rachel.
They send him when failure isn't an option. "
"What does that mean for Lucas?"
"It means your son didn't just witness a murder.
He witnessed Kessler eliminating a connection to one of the Committee's blackest operations.
If Lucas testifies, if he identifies Kessler in a lineup, it exposes secrets the Committee has killed dozens of people to protect.
" My jaw tightens. "They won't stop hunting him. They can't afford to let him live."
She goes very still. For a moment, the steel facade cracks and I see the fear underneath. Mother terrified for her son. Survivor realizing the danger is worse than she imagined.
Then the steel slams back into place. "How long until your team can relocate us?"
"They're working on it now. New identities take time to make bulletproof."
"How much time?"
"Days. Not weeks, but I can't give you an exact number yet."
"And until then?"
"Until then, I fortify this house and pray the Committee's search protocols are slower than Tommy thinks they are." I move back to my duffel, pulling out the rest of the security equipment. "I need to install these tonight. Every window, every door, every possible entry point."
Rachel nods, already shifting into survival mode. "Tell me what you need."
We work in silence for the next hour. I mount cameras at strategic angles while Rachel holds the ladder steady, install motion sensors on every window while she tests each one to make sure they're functioning, reinforce the locks on both doors with portable security bars that can withstand significant force.
Professional and efficient.
But when I catch her watching me as I adjust the final camera angle, something shifts in her expression. Not trust, exactly. But maybe the first fragile acknowledgment that we're on the same side again, at least for now.
"This won't stop them if they send a real assault team," I say, testing the camera feed on my phone. "But it'll give us warning. Time to grab Lucas and run."
"Where would we run?"
"Safe house near the border. Kane has it stocked and ready."
"Then why aren't we going there now?" Rachel's voice sharpens with the practicality I remember. "Why wait here for them to find us?"
"Because running now leaves a trail. Bank withdrawals, gas station cameras, hotel check-ins if something goes wrong.
The Committee's watching for exactly that kind of movement.
" I pocket my phone. "The safe house is for emergency extraction only—if they find you before Tommy finishes building bulletproof new identities.
But if we can hold position here while Tommy works, you disappear clean. No bread crumbs. No way to trace you."
"And after the safe house? If we have to run?"
"Then Tommy speeds up the timeline. Finishes the new identities while you're at the safe house, and relocates you from there. Either way, you end up somewhere the Committee can't find you. New identities, new city, new life."
"And you?" The question is soft, almost hesitant. "What happens to you?"
I should tell her I go back to Echo Base. Back to operations and missions and the life I chose over her eight years ago. Should maintain the professional distance I promised.
But standing in her living room, surrounded by evidence of the life she built and the kid who's already decided I'm someone worth looking up to, I can't make myself say the words that mean walking away again.
"I make sure you're safe first," I say instead. "Everything else comes after that."
Her eyes search mine for something I'm not sure I can give her. "You cared too much. That's what you said."
"Yeah."
"Then prove it." Her voice is steady now, challenging. "Stay alive long enough to get us relocated. Protect Lucas. And then we'll talk about what caring too much actually means."
Before I can respond, my phone signals an alert. Motion sensor triggered on the west side of the house. Echo Base will be seeing the same alert on their monitors. My hand moves to the weapon at my hip as I pull up the camera feed.
A neighbor's cat, slinking through Rachel's yard.
False alarm.
But my pulse still hammers. Every muscle stays tight, ready. Every alert from now on could be the real thing. Could be Committee operatives closing in on a target they've already decided needs elimination.
Fear shows despite her best efforts to hide it. Strength she's built from surviving things that should have broken her.
We need time.
Time to build bulletproof identities. Time for Tommy to create a relocation the Committee can't trace.
Time standing between Lucas and the people who want him dead, between Rachel and losing the one thing in her life that still feels like hope, between me and the chance to prove that caring too much doesn't always end in walking away.
Camera feed shows nothing but empty yard and darkness beyond the reach of the porch light.
But somewhere out there, the Committee is hunting. Searching databases and running facial recognition and narrowing the grid with every hour that passes.
And when they find us, timelines won't matter.
Only survival will.