Chapter 20
STRYKER
The operations center settles into controlled calm after Reeve's retreat. Tommy reviews the thermal tracking data while Kane studies movement patterns on the tactical display. Hawthorne stands beside me, both of us still in tactical gear, studying the same information from different angles.
"He's mapping," Hawthorne says. "Building a complete intelligence picture before committing resources. Classic special reconnaissance methodology."
"How long before he narrows our location?" Kane asks.
Tommy pulls up overlays showing Reeve's search grid. "Depends on what sensors he brings next time. He knows something's in this area. Each probe gives him more data. Eventually he'll triangulate our exhaust signatures, power generation, thermal anomalies."
"Timeframe," Kane says.
"Could be days. Could be weeks." Hawthorne glances at the display. "He's patient. Won't move until he's certain."
Which means we're living under siege without walls. Reeve circling, gathering intelligence, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when he does, he won't probe. He'll commit everything.
Kane turns to Hawthorne. "You know him. How does he think?"
"Reeve doesn't fail," Hawthorne says. "If Webb gave him this assignment, he'll complete it or die trying. The Committee pays him too well to accept failure."
"Webb's cost-benefit analysis just changed," Kane says. "Lucas's testimony is documented and secured. Killing the kid now doesn't suppress the evidence."
"Might not matter to Reeve." Hawthorne's expression darkens. "Webb could pull the contract, but professional pride might keep Reeve hunting anyway. He committed to a target. Won't walk away unless ordered."
The tactical problem is clear. We can't hunt Reeve because we don't know where he is. Can't wait for him to find us because that puts Rachel and Lucas at risk. Need a third option that draws him out without compromising Echo Base.
Before I can propose anything, Sarah's console chimes with incoming encrypted transmission. She verifies the signature, then looks at Kane.
"Cross. Priority channel."
Kane activates the secure line. Victoria Cross's voice fills operations, cool and precise.
"Webb's pulling back. Intelligence intercepts show Committee leadership questioning the resource expenditure. You eliminated Kessler, secured the witness testimony, and made Lucas Donovan worthless as a target. Webb lost a high-value operative chasing a strategic objective that no longer exists."
"What's his status?" Kane asks.
"Diminished but not eliminated. The Committee doesn't retire generals for failed operations, they reassign them to less critical theaters. Webb will rebuild, but not in Montana. Not pursuing Rachel Donovan's son."
Cross deals in information, not guarantees.
"And Reeve?" Hawthorne asks.
"That's more complicated." Cross's tone shifts slightly. "Webb hasn't recalled him yet. The contract might still be active, or Reeve might be operating on professional momentum. Either way, he's your problem until someone confirms otherwise."
"Can you confirm?" Kane asks.
"Working on it. Committee communications are harder to intercept after all the blows that have been dealt to the Committee. Webb's more paranoid than his predecessor." A pause. "I'll send updates as I get them. In the meantime, assume Reeve's still hunting."
The transmission ends. Kane looks at the assembled team, tactical calculations already forming.
"Threat assessment," he says. "Immediate danger reduced. Long-term Committee presence remains but focused elsewhere. Reeve is a loose end that needs resolution."
"I can track him," Hawthorne offers. "I know his patterns, his contacts, his preferred operational areas. And I'm offering more than just intel on Reeve."
Kane's attention sharpens. "Explain."
"I'm volunteering to join Echo Ridge. Stop operating alone.
" Hawthorne's voice carries weight. "I've been dark for years.
Presumed dead. Working jobs that didn't matter for people I didn't trust. Morrison's network extended into organizations I used to believe were clean.
Echo Ridge proved they're not. I'd rather operate with a team that answers to itself. "
"If we take you on board, you become one of us," Kane says. "We'll have your back, but if you betray us, we'll end you."
Hawthorne's eyes shift to Sarah for a moment, then back to Kane. "Understood. I wouldn't expect anything less."
"Then tell me how you want to handle Reeve."
"Let me go mobile. Monitor Committee movements, confirm whether Webb pulled the contract or if Reeve's freelancing. I'll work alone on this one—better operational security that way. But I want Echo Ridge backup if things get complicated. And when it's done, I come back here."
Hawthorne glances at me, then back to Kane. "I'm done being a ghost. Time to be part of something that matters."
Kane extends his hand. "Welcome to Echo Ridge. Get your gear ready. You leave within the hour. Sarah will set up secure communication protocols and intelligence feeds. Tommy will coordinate monitoring. You find Reeve, you confirm his status, you report back before engaging."
They shake. Hawthorne nods once and heads toward quarters to prepare for deployment.
The operations center empties gradually. Tommy returns to monitoring. Sarah coordinates logistics, her movements careful and controlled in a way that suggests she's very aware of Hawthorne's presence. Kane disappears into his office to update threat assessments.
I find Rachel still in the corner where she waited with Lucas during Reeve's probe. Lucas is gone now, probably with Khalid and Odin. She looks up when I approach, exhaustion written in every line of her body.
"It's over?" she asks.
"The immediate threat. Committee's pulling back. Webb's reassigning resources." I crouch down to her eye level. "Lucas's testimony worked. He's not valuable enough to justify what it costs to eliminate him."
Relief breaks across her face, followed immediately by suspicion. "But?"
"Reeve might still be out there. Hawthorne's tracking him to confirm status." I reach for her hand. "We're not completely clear, but we're safer than we've been since Tucson."
She processes this with the same practical assessment she's shown since the beginning. Rachel doesn't deal in false comfort or easy answers. She deals in reality, and reality says her son is safer today than yesterday.
"Where's Lucas?" I ask.
"Sleepover in Khalid's room. Odin's with them." A tired smile touches her mouth. "Lucas has been asking for days. Figured tonight was as good as any."
"Good." I stand, pulling her up with me. "Come with me."
She doesn't ask where. Just follows me through corridors toward my quarters. The door closes behind us with a solid click that feels like the last bit of armor coming off.
Rachel turns to face me, and for a moment we just stand there in the dim light. No more running. No more hiding.
"Hawthorne's leaving soon," I say. "Tracking Reeve."
"And you?"
"I stay."
Her eyes hold mine. She understands what I'm choosing. What we're both choosing.
"I need you to know something," I say, closing the distance between us. "The last time I left, I thought I was protecting you by staying away. Thought you'd be safer without me in your life."
"You were wrong."
"Yeah. I was wrong." My hands find her waist, pulling her closer. "I'm not leaving again. Not you. Not Lucas. This is where I belong."
Rachel's hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. "Good. Because I'm done running too."
I kiss her then, slow and deep and deliberate. Not the frantic desperation of previous nights when survival felt uncertain and tomorrow wasn't guaranteed. This is different. This is the beginning of something built to last.
She responds with the same intensity, her body pressing against mine with trust that still amazes me. After everything she's survived, everything Mateo put her through, she trusts me with this. Trusts me with her body, her heart, her son.
I need her to understand what that means.
My hands slide under her shirt, palms flat against warm skin. She shivers at the contact, her breath catching. I take my time, mapping every curve, every line, learning her body the way I learned terrain during reconnaissance. Thorough. Deliberate. Committed to memory.
I strip her shirt over her head, then my own, needing skin against skin. She's beautiful in the low light, all lean muscle and soft curves and strength that runs deeper than physical. Her hands explore my chest, fingertips tracing old scars with careful attention.
"So many," she whispers.
"Occupational hazard."
"They're part of you." She leans in, pressing her lips to a puckered scar near my collarbone. "All of you."
I turn us, backing her toward the bed with controlled urgency. We strip the rest of our clothes with the efficiency of people who've done this before but the reverence of people discovering new ground.
When we're finally bare, I ease her down onto the bed and just look at her for a moment. Rachel Donovan. The woman who survived hell and came out stronger. The mother who protected her son through impossible odds. The partner who chose to stay even knowing what loving an operator means.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, my body aligned with hers in ways that feel inevitable. Right. Necessary. She arches into me, seeking friction, seeking connection, seeking everything I want to give her.
My hand slides between us, finding her wet and ready. She gasps when I touch her, hips lifting into my palm. I work her slowly, thoroughly, learning what makes her breath catch and her fingers dig into my shoulders.
"Colton, please."
"I've got you." I position myself at her entrance, meeting her eyes. "I need you to know how much you mean to me."
"Show me," she whispers.