Chapter 29
Hoot woke to the steady beep of the monitor and the warm weight of a hand curled around his. For one disoriented second, he didn’t know where he was. That’s two days in a row now, and he didn’t like that feeling whatsoever.
Then he turned his head to see Lark. She was asleep in the chair beside his bed, her cheek resting against the mattress, her fingers tangled with his. Her hair had fallen across her face, and exhaustion had erased every trace of the bright woman he’d gotten to know.
She looked young. Almost vulnerable. And somehow, she still managed to make something inside his chest ache. He tightened his fingers around hers. Lark stirred but didn’t wake.
The door opened. A nurse stepped inside, glanced at the clock, then at Lark. “I’m afraid visiting hours are—”
“No.” The word came out rougher than he’d intended. Almost a growl. The nurse stopped. Hoot gave her a warning look. “She’s staying.”
The nurse glanced at Lark, then back at him. “Mr. Shibley—”
“She’s under my protection. She isn’t going anywhere. Especially not home alone.”
Something in his voice must have convinced her arguing wasn’t worth the effort. The nurse sighed. “I’ll make an exception.”
“Thank you.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Try to get some sleep.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The nurse left. Hoot looked back at Lark. He’d spent years learning how to sleep anywhere, anytime, with one eye open and his hand near a weapon.
But with her hand in his? He couldn’t sleep, enjoying the feel of it too much. But eventually, the medication set in, and he dropped off to sleep.
By morning, his thoughts had finally caught up with everything that had happened. Seeing Lark surrounded by those men had done something to him. Something primal.
He’d seen plenty of people in danger during his career. He’d walked into firefights knowing exactly what he was risking.
But finding Lark sitting in the mud with a gun pointed at her? That had been different.
His entire body had screamed mine before his brain had caught up. He didn’t like that; he tried to tell himself. Didn’t understand it. But he couldn’t deny it.
Then there were the crates with the PSG symbol. The same organization tied to Calloway. The same organization they’d worked with on the mission where Bullet had died. And now that emblem was on crates hidden on an island in Virginia.
What the hell had been inside them? His gut said weapons? But it could also include classified technology? Or even something worse?
He’d barely begun piecing it together when morning arrived and the doctor entered, waking Lark. After another round of examinations, paperwork, and instructions, Hoot was finally cleared to leave.
Spark was waiting downstairs. Their first stop was Lark’s place.
“You’re packing,” Hoot told her.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’re not staying here.”
“I’m perfectly capable—”
“They know where you live.” He hated seeing the color drain from her face and the fear he saw in her eyes, but that shut her up.
He remembered what she’d told him about the men discussing her.
Watching her. Breaking into her store. “They’ve already been inside your home once.
I’m not taking the chance they’ll do it again. ”
Lark looked at him for a long moment. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“With me,” he said. Spark coughed. Hoot ignored him. “You’re staying at my place until we know it’s safe.”
Lark’s cheeks turned pink. “With you?”
“Yes.”
Spark coughed again. This time Hoot glared at him. “Wait here. We’ll be out shortly.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied with a mock salute.
Hoot could tell his house was nothing like Lark had imagined just by the widening of her eyes when they’d pulled into his driveway.
At least the exterior wasn’t. It was a modest two-story brick home tucked into a quiet neighborhood, far enough from downtown to offer privacy but close enough that he could get to Condor’s Overwatch quickly.
The inside was clean and functional without feeling sterile.
Dark wood floors. Comfortable furniture.
Neutral walls. A few framed photographs on the shelves—his SEAL team, Flint and the guys, his parents.
No clutter. No unnecessary decorations. Everything had a place. “This is...” Lark looked around. “Very you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Organized. Practical. Slightly intimidating.”
He almost smiled. “I’ll take that.”
He showed her the guest room. “Bathroom’s across the hall. Towels are in the closet. Make yourself comfortable.” She nodded. “You should shower.”
“So should you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You got shot.”
“And you were kidnapped.” She folded her arms. He sighed. “Fair.”
He headed toward his own room. The shower was awkward. Keeping his stitches dry while washing around a shoulder wound required the flexibility of a contortionist and the patience of a saint. By the time he finished, he was exhausted.
A message on his phone had him rushing to finish and get to his computer. He logged into Condor’s Overwatch’s secure network. Flint was waiting for him on a video call. Baker appeared on the call shortly afterward.
“Found more,” Baker said.
Hoot’s stomach tightened. “How much more?”
“Enough to make me uncomfortable.”
“That’s your default setting.”
Baker grinned. “I pulled shipping manifests from three shell companies tied to PSG. All of them move cargo through private maritime terminals along the East Coast.”
Flint’s expression hardened. “Cargo?”
“Declared cargo is industrial equipment. The actual weight doesn’t match the manifests.”
Hoot exchanged a look with Flint. “Weapons,” he said.
“Likely. And there’s more.” Baker brought up another file.
“Those periods where Calloway goes dark. That’s where it gets interesting.
The shell companies become active. Payments move through accounts in Europe, Southeast Asia, and the Middle East. Some of the recipients are tied to known weapons brokers. ”
Hoot’s jaw tightened. “And classified data?”
Baker’s expression lost its humor. “I found fragments of encrypted transfers originating from a government contractor. They were routed through one of PSG’s shell companies before disappearing.”
Flint swore quietly. Baker continued. “I also recovered pieces of the damaged vault data from your Afghanistan mission.”
Hoot went still. “Show us.”
A series of corrupted files appeared. “Most of it’s garbage,” Baker said. “But some fragments survived. PSG identifiers. Internal routing codes. Shipment references.”
Hoot stared at the screen. All of it was beginning to fit together. Then Baker said, “And I found one more thing.”
“What?”
“The scientist you were sent to retrieve in that mission has disappeared.”
Hoot’s blood ran cold. “Disappeared how?” Flint asked.
“That’s the problem. There is no how.” Baker brought up another file. “After the mission, the scientist was supposed to be in custody with PSG.”
“But he wasn’t,” Flint guessed.
“Nope. There’s nothing about him after his original capture. No confirmed sighting. No body. No hospital record. No border crossing. Nothing. His identity simply drops off the grid.”
Hoot frowned. “You think PSG did something to him?”
“Possibly,” Baker said. “Or they’re doing something with him. But I can’t prove it either way. There’s no evidence tying them directly to his disappearance.”
“Could he have gone into hiding?”
“Sure. And honestly, that’s one of the possibilities I can’t rule out.
” Baker pulled up another set of records.
“But here’s what bothers me. Someone started scrubbing his digital footprint shortly after your mission.
Not deleting it. Scrubbing it. Selective removal of financial records, communications, travel information.
Whoever did it knew exactly what they were looking for.
Hell, they even wiped his published scientific works. ”
Flint’s expression hardened. “Could have been PSG covering their tracks.”
“Could have been,” Baker agreed. “Or it could have been they needed him for something.”
Hoot felt the familiar prickling between his shoulder blades. “So we don’t know whether he’s dead, captured, or hiding. Or even if he is still detained.”
“Correct.” Baker leaned back. “My guess? Whatever the scientist was working on was so crucial that someone was determined to either eliminate him or ensure his continued labor.”
Flint nodded slowly. “Which means taking down Calloway won’t necessarily end this.”
“No,” Baker said. “It might only cut off one branch.”
Silence settled over the men. One branch. That meant the tree was still standing. And somewhere out there, someone knew what the missing scientist had discovered. Someone might still have the information PSG had been willing to kill for.
And until they found that person—or the scientist himself—the nightmare wasn’t over.
Not even close.
After the call, he was heading toward the kitchen when he heard it. A muffled sound. He stopped and heard it again. Crying. Hoot didn’t think. He turned and walked straight into the guest room.
She was on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled into herself. Her head was buried against her knees. Her shoulders shook. Something inside his chest cracked. “Lark.”
She looked up. Her face was wet with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” He crouched carefully beside her.
She wiped at her face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you.”
“I should be stronger than this.”
“Why? You’ve had one hell of a week.”
Her eyes filled again. “I was so scared.”
“I know.” He opened his good arm. She hesitated for only a second before moving into him. Hoot held her firmly. Carefully. Like he could somehow hold the fear out of her.
She buried her face against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” He stroked her hair. “You survived. We both did.”
Eventually, he helped her onto the bed. She curled onto her side. He started to stand, but her fingers caught his hand. “Don’t go.”
He looked down at her. “Okay.”
“Just... stay for a while?”
His chest tightened. “Yeah.” He eased himself onto the mattress beside her, careful of his shoulder. Lark shifted closer. He wrapped his arm around her.
Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Hoot stared at the ceiling. He’d spent years believing home was a place. Four walls. A bed. A secure perimeter. Something you defended.
But with Lark curled against him, he was beginning to understand that maybe home wasn't a place at all. Maybe it was a person. And judging by how fiercely he wanted to protect the woman sleeping against his chest, he was already in deeper than he’d ever intended to go.