Chapter 16 The Real Enemy
Hunting Ghosts
Three days after Finn left, Deck stopped sleeping.
Not completely.
A few hours here and there.
Twenty minutes on the couch.
An hour in a chair inside the garage office.
Nothing that qualified as real rest.
The problem wasn't nightmares.
For once.
The problem was silence.
The farmhouse remained unbearably quiet.
Every room reminded him of Finn.
Every routine reminded him of Finn.
Every morning he reached automatically for a second coffee mug before remembering there was nobody there to use it.
The realization hurt every single time.
By the fourth day, grief had transformed into something else.
Purpose.
Dangerous purpose.
Because if there was one thing Declan Harlan understood, it was how to focus on a mission.
And right now he had one.
Find the person responsible.
End the threat.
Make sure nobody ever came after Finn again.
The thought remained the center of everything.
Even if Finn never spoke to him again.
Even if the relationship was finished.
The doctor deserved safety.
That part hadn't changed.
The mechanic stood inside the garage office before sunrise.
A half-empty coffee cup sat beside him.
Photographs covered the desk.
Maps.
Names.
Timelines.
The room looked less like a mechanic's office and more like an investigation center.
The sight would've amused Finn.
The memory immediately hurt.
Deck ignored it.
He'd become good at ignoring pain.
Not healthy.
Effective.
The contract folder Marcus had provided remained open in front of him.
For years he'd avoided this world.
Avoided these people.
Avoided every reminder of the man he'd once been.
Now he found himself slipping back into old habits with disturbing ease.
Patterns returned.
Instincts returned.
The ability to connect details most people missed.
The realization unsettled him.
Because this version of himself felt familiar.
Too familiar.
A knock interrupted his concentration.
The office door opened.
Riot stepped inside carrying two coffees.
One immediately landed on the desk.
The older mechanic looked terrible.
Mostly because he'd spent the last week listening to Deck make increasingly terrible decisions.
"Any luck?"
Deck nodded.
Slightly.
The answer immediately got Kane's attention.
The older mechanic sat down.
Serious now.
Focused.
The amusement from previous conversations had vanished days ago.
This situation wasn't funny anymore.
Not after the evidence.
Not after learning someone had deliberately targeted the garage.
Deck slid a photograph across the desk.
The image showed a security camera still.
Blurry.
Incomplete.
Yet clearer than before.
Marcus had managed to enhance portions of the footage.
Not enough for certainty.
Enough for recognition.
Kane studied the image.
Then frowned.
"You know him?"
The mechanic nodded.
A cold feeling settled in his stomach.
Because he did.
Unfortunately.
The realization had arrived late the previous night.
Hours spent reviewing old records.
Old operations.
Old names.
Then suddenly everything connected.
The face.
The timing.
The method.
All of it.
"His name is Adam Voss."
The name meant nothing to Kane.
The reaction confirmed it.
The older mechanic leaned back.
Waiting.
Listening.
Deck stared at the photograph.
At the ghost staring back.
"Former contractor."
The explanation felt insufficient.
The truth proved worse.
The mechanic rubbed tired eyes.
Searching for words.
Finding memories instead.
"Worked logistics."
Another pause.
"He handled transportation routes."
Riot immediately understood.
The realization appeared on his face.
"Convoys."
Deck nodded.
Exactly.
The same convoys.
The same operations.
The same life he'd spent years trying to forget.
The older mechanic's expression darkened.
"What happened?"
The answer took a moment.
Because saying it aloud made it real.
Made the connection undeniable.
Finally, Deck spoke.
"Three months before the ambush, we caught him stealing."
The memory surfaced clearly.
Too clearly.
Angry voices.
Investigations.
Consequences.
The beginning of something ugly.
"He got removed from the contract."
Kane frowned.
"That's it?"
The mechanic laughed softly.
Without humor.
"No."
Of course not.
Nothing was ever that simple.
The older mechanic waited.
Deck continued.
"Voss blamed us."
A pause.
"Blamed me."
The silence felt heavy.
Because suddenly the motive appeared.
Clear.
Simple.
Terrifying.
The mechanic stared at the photograph.
At the face of a man carrying his own ghosts.
His own grudges.
His own madness.
For years, Deck had assumed guilt belonged to him.
Now he wasn't so sure.
The realization felt strange.
Like discovering an old wound had never been yours to carry.
Riot studied the image again.
Then looked up.
"You think he's behind all of this."
Not a question.
A statement.
The mechanic nodded.
Because every piece pointed in the same direction now.
The sabotage.
The surveillance.
The timing.
The attack.
Everything.
The older man swore quietly.
The office fell silent.
Neither spoke for several moments.
Finally Kane broke it.
"What now?"
The question lingered.
Because it was the important one.
The dangerous one.
Deck looked toward the window.
Toward the garage.
Toward normal life continuing outside.
A life he wanted back.
A life that suddenly seemed very far away.
"I finish it."
The answer came immediately.
Certain.
The older mechanic's jaw tightened.
Clearly disapproving.
Clearly expecting exactly that response.
Before either could continue, Deck's phone vibrated.
The screen lit up.
Marcus.
The timing immediately felt wrong.
Very wrong.
The mechanic answered.
"Yeah."
The older man's voice sounded urgent.
Not good.
Never good.
"Where are you?"
The question instantly raised alarms.
"In the office."
Silence.
Then a curse.
The kind professionals used when situations became catastrophic.
Deck sat up straighter.
"What happened?"
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
Another bad sign.
Then came the words that changed everything.
"We found another site."
The mechanic frowned.
Confused.
The older man continued.
Voice grim.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"A storage unit."
The explanation meant nothing.
Initially.
Then Marcus kept talking.
And the blood slowly drained from Deck's face.
Photographs.
Explosives.
Surveillance.
Names.
Addresses.
Planning materials.
The list continued.
Each word worse than the last.
Each revelation more terrifying.
Until finally one truth became unavoidable.
The explosion had never been the main event.
It had been a test.
A beginning.
A warning shot.
The realization settled like ice inside his veins.
Because suddenly the scale changed.
The threat changed.
Everything changed.
"What else was there?"
The question emerged quietly.
Marcus hesitated.
The pause lasted too long.
Then came the answer.
The one Deck would remember forever.
"There were other targets."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The office disappeared.
The garage disappeared.
Only those words remained.
Other targets.
Plural.
Planned.
Prepared.
Waiting.
The mechanic felt something cold twist inside his chest.
Because suddenly he understood.
The explosion hadn't been revenge.
Not entirely.
It had been step one.
Part of something larger.
Something still unfolding.
Marcus's voice sounded distant now.
Like thunder before a storm.
"We found your name."
A pause.
"And Whitaker's."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Worse.
The mechanic already knew.
Even before the final words arrived.
Even before reality shattered completely.
"And Finn Ashford."
The world stopped.
Just for a second.
Long enough.
Long enough for terror to replace grief.
Long enough for love to replace logic.
Long enough for one horrifying realization to settle into place.
Someone wasn't coming for him anymore.
Someone was coming for the people he loved.
And the attack that nearly killed him had only been the beginning.
Targeted
The drive to the clinic felt endless.
Deck couldn't remember leaving the garage.
Couldn't remember grabbing his keys.
Couldn't remember half the turns he'd taken.
One moment he was sitting inside the office listening to Marcus explain the contents of the storage unit.
The next he was flying down a rural highway with his pulse hammering in his ears.
The realization refused to leave him alone.
Finn's name.
Not Riot.
Not the garage.
Not him.
Finn.
The doctor had become part of the equation.
Part of the threat.
Part of the target list.
The knowledge sat like a knife between his ribs.
Every terrible possibility played through his head.
Every worst-case scenario.
Every nightmare.
The mechanic gripped the steering wheel harder.
Trying not to think.
Failing miserably.
Because all he could see was Finn.
Smiling across the breakfast table.
Falling asleep beside him on the couch.
Laughing during movie nights.
Standing in the clinic helping patients.
Living a life that should have been safe.
A life that had absolutely nothing to do with old wars or dead contractors.
And yet somehow Deck had dragged danger straight to his doorstep.
The guilt hit harder than expected.
Hard enough to make breathing difficult.
His phone rang.
Marcus again.
The mechanic answered immediately.
"What?"
"Calm down."
The older man's advice sounded ridiculous.
Deck nearly threw the phone through the windshield.
"Don't tell me to calm down."
Silence.
Then a sigh.
Marcus clearly understood.
"We don't know if he's in immediate danger."
The mechanic laughed.
A short.
Ugly sound.
"His name was on the list."
The truth hung heavily between them.
Because that fact changed everything.
The older man didn't argue.
Couldn't.
Instead, his voice grew serious.
"The surveillance started recently."
That got Deck's attention.
Immediately.
"What?"
"We recovered photographs."
The explanation continued.
"Most are from the last six weeks."