Chapter 7 #2
"Welcome back, Ghost," Tommy says through the comm as I clear the final checkpoint.
His voice carries neutral calm—someone who knows there's drama incoming but has decided not to acknowledge it directly.
"Kane wants a debrief soon. Sarah's in the command center running analysis on the preliminary data you sent. "
Of course she is. Because Sarah refuses to do halfway measures or emotional avoidance when there's intelligence to process. She'll compartmentalize the personal issues, focus on the threat, and maintain perfect detachment while every word between us carries the weight of years.
I park the truck in the vehicle bay and gather the recording equipment from its hidden compartment.
The physical evidence needs to go directly to Tommy for analysis, facial recognition on the contact, voice pattern matching on both speakers, and enhancement of any background details that might provide additional intelligence.
The walk to the command center takes me through familiar corridors that still feel foreign.
I've only been officially part of Echo Ridge for months now, despite helping with operations before that.
Kane recruited me earlier, but I kept operating on the periphery, providing intelligence and tactical support without formally joining the team.
It was easier to maintain deniability that way. Safer to stay Ghost.
But after the Reeve operation started showing Committee knowledge they shouldn't have, Kane made it clear I needed to commit or step back. We can't have operators floating on the edges when security is compromised. Either I was part of Echo Ridge or I wasn't, and halfway measures get people killed.
So I joined. I moved into quarters, started running operations as part of the team instead of an external asset. And I've spent every moment since trying not to notice how Sarah's carefully rearranged her entire schedule to avoid being in the same room with me for longer than absolutely necessary.
The command center doors are open when I arrive.
Kane's at the main tactical display, reviewing what looks like communication intercepts.
Tommy's at his usual station, multiple screens showing various monitoring feeds and data analysis.
And Sarah's at the signals intelligence console, her back to the door, posture rigid with tension.
She knows I'm here without turning around.
Her reflection shows in the dark glass of the inactive monitor to her left.
Pale. Exhausted. Hair pulled back in a ponytail that's coming loose after hours at the console.
The way she used to look during marathon intelligence sessions back in DC when we were tracking Committee financial networks and she'd refuse to stop until she found the pattern she was looking for.
"Hawthorne." Kane keeps his eyes on the display. "Good timing. We just finished the preliminary analysis on your intercept. Tommy's got facial recognition running on the contact. Should have results within the hour."
I cross to the tactical display, deliberately positioning myself where Sarah can't ignore my presence but I'm not crowding her workspace. The recording has been cleaned up significantly, background noise filtered out, voices enhanced to the point where I can hear every word clearly.
Reeve's voice: "Echo Ridge tempo has increased over the past quarter. Multiple engagements, all successful, minimal casualties. They're getting confident."
The contact: "Patterns we can exploit. Team composition gives us leverage. The signals analyst is the weak point—personal complications that might be exploitable."
My jaw tightens. They're not just tracking our operations. They're analyzing personnel vulnerabilities. Looking for pressure points they can use to compromise effectiveness.
And they've identified Sarah as a potential target.
"They know about our external network," Sarah says without turning around.
Her voice is flat, clinical, carrying none of the warmth it used to have when she was working through a problem and wanted to talk through the logic.
"Someone's been feeding them intelligence.
Not location, but patterns, parameters, team composition.
Enough to let them anticipate our movements. "
"We're working on identifying the leak," Kane says. "Sarah's been analyzing communication logs for the past several hours. Tommy's running forensic analysis on our external contacts. We should have preliminary results by morning."
I catch Kane's eyes and he gives me a look that says we'll talk privately later.
He knows there's more to this than intelligence gathering.
Knows the Committee's interest in Sarah isn't random.
Knows I'm going to have to work directly with her to investigate this leak whether or not she wants me anywhere near her.
Sarah finally turns around, and for a moment our eyes meet across the command center. I see frozen fury in her expression, carefully controlled features, walls so high I can practically see them radiating off her like physical force.
"Hawthorne," she says, voice clipped and precise. "We need to debrief you on the intercept. Get every detail you can remember about the contact's appearance, behavior, any identifying characteristics that might help Tommy's facial recognition."
"Copy that."
"Conference room. Soon. Bring your field notes and any physical evidence you collected." She turns back to her console, dismissing me as effectively as if I'd ceased to exist.
Kane catches my shoulder as I head for the door.
"She's been running on caffeine and anger for hours," he says quietly.
"This investigation is personal for her.
The Committee targeting our external network means they're targeting the connections she's built since joining Echo Ridge.
People she trusts. People who helped her when she was burned and alone. "
Willa had been one of those people—the vet turned medic who'd patched Sarah up when she'd first arrived in Echo Ridge, who'd sat with her through the worst of the nightmares.
Reagan, Dylan's wife and the team's logistics coordinator, who quietly restocks Sarah's quarters with supplies while she works.
Small kindnesses that matter when everything else is falling apart.
"Roger."
"And Hawthorne?" Kane's grip tightens slightly. "Personal history stays separate from this investigation. We need both of you at full capacity to find this leak before it gets someone killed. Can you handle that?"
"Yes."
He studies me for a moment, reading subtext the way he reads tactical situations. Then he nods once and releases my shoulder. "Conference room. Minutes. I'll be there to facilitate if things get personal."
I gather the field notes and equipment. Not much time to prepare myself for working directly with Sarah for the first time since I walked back into her life. Not much time to figure out how to maintain distance while investigating a threat that specifically targets her as a vulnerability.
Not enough time to accept that I'm about to spend hours in close proximity with a woman who has every right to hate me and no reason to trust anything I say.
The conference room is small by design. Soundproofed. There's a table, chairs, and a wall-mounted display for tactical briefings. I arrive first, set up my equipment, and pull up the enhanced images Tommy sent to my tablet.
The contact's face is clearer now. He's middle-aged with unremarkable features—someone who blends into crowds and registers as forgettable.
But there's something familiar about the bone structure, the way he holds himself.
I've seen this man before, somewhere in the extensive files I reviewed when I was tracking Committee networks.
Kane arrives next, settling into the chair at the head of the table. He commands the room without saying a word, watches me set up the equipment with an expression that says he's already calculated a dozen scenarios for how this briefing could go wrong.
Then Sarah walks in and every molecule of oxygen leaves the space.
She takes the chair farthest from mine, positioning herself so she can see the display without having to look at me directly. Her tablet is open, stylus ready, body language broadcasting that this is strictly business and I shouldn't mistake her presence for anything approaching forgiveness.
"Let's start with the timeline," Kane says, breaking the silence. "Hawthorne, walk us through the surveillance from initial contact to final departure."
I pull up the first image on the display. The cabin where Reeve established his base. "Confirmed Reeve's location yesterday morning. He's been using this abandoned hunting cabin as a center point, varying his schedule to avoid patterns but maintaining this location as his primary base."
Sarah makes a notation on her tablet. She keeps her eyes down, acknowledges the information only through the clinical recording of facts.
I continue through the timeline. The surveillance. The meeting. The exchange of intelligence. The details are cataloged with precision that comes from years of field work where missing one small fact can mean the difference between mission success and catastrophic failure.
When I reach the part about the Committee's specific interest in our team composition and Sarah being identified as a vulnerability, her jaw tightens by a fraction. It's enough to tell me the information hit harder than she's willing to show.
"They've been watching us," she says, still refusing to look at me. "Tracking patterns. Building profiles. This isn't opportunistic intelligence gathering. This is systematic analysis with specific goals."
"Agreed," Kane says. "Someone in our external network has been providing regular intelligence updates. This isn't a one-time leak. This is ongoing compromise."