Chapter 25 Jackson
TWENTY-FIVE
Jackson
GHOST IN THE MACHINE
I wake, reaching for her.
My hand hits cool sheets. The space beside me is empty, the pillow indented but cold.
Panic spikes, a sharp jolt of adrenaline that overrides the ache in my side. I push up, ignoring the protest of my stitches, scanning the room for threats.
She’s sitting in the leather chair by the window, legs tucked under her, bathed in the gray morning light of Seattle. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts—it hangs off one shoulder, exposing the scar on her collarbone—and typing furiously on a tablet.
The panic dissolves, replaced by a warmth that settles deep in my chest.
She isn’t gone. She isn’t running. She’s working.
I watch her for a moment. The way her brow furrows. The way she chews on her lower lip when the data gets complicated. She’s beautiful in the chaos, but she’s breathtaking in the quiet.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up.
“Situational awareness.”
She smiles, her eyes still on the screen. “You’re ogling.”
“That too.”
I swing my legs out of bed. The room spins once, then steadies. The pain in my side is a dull throb now, manageable. I stand, testing my weight.
Functional.
“Coffee,” she says, nodding toward the kitchenette. “I made it strong. Black. Just the way you like it, assuming you like drinking battery acid.”
I walk over, pick up the mug, and take a sip. It’s bitter, hot, and perfect.
“You hacked my coffee preferences?”
“I observed. Pattern recognition.” She finally looks up. Her eyes are bright, clear. The shadows under them are fading. “How’s the side?”
“Sore. Bearable.” I lean against the counter, just watching her. “Come here.”
She sets the tablet down and unfolds from the chair. She crosses the room, stepping into my space. I wrap my good arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
“Good morning,” she whispers.
“Morning.”
I kiss her. It’s lazy and slow, tasting of caffeine and shared breath. I could stay here all day. I could lock the door, ignore the war, and spend the next twenty-four hours learning every inch of her skin again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three sharp raps. The rhythm of an intrusion.
Talia pulls back, smoothing the T-shirt. “That sounds like a command.”
“Ignore it.”
“Fuse.” Ghost’s voice comes through the heavy wood. “Open up. We brought breakfast.”
I groan, resting my forehead against Talia’s. “I hate them.”
“They saved our lives.”
“Still hate them.”
I shuffle to the door and disengage the lock.
Halo breezes in past me, holding a box of donuts and a tablet. Ghost follows, carrying a tray of coffees that smell significantly better than what I’m drinking.
“Morning, sunshine,” Halo grins. He stops, looking from me to Talia in the oversized shirt, then back to me. His grin widens to lethal proportions. “Oh. I see. We’re interrupting the honeymoon phase. My bad. Should I come back in twenty minutes?”
“Twenty minutes?” I growl. “Insulting.”
“You’re injured,” Halo counters, setting the donuts on the small table. “I assumed you lacked stamina.”
“I have a gun in the nightstand, Diego. Don’t tempt me.”
Ghost hands a coffee to Talia. “Ignore him. He’s jealous.”
“I am not jealous,” Halo protests, snagging a glazed donut. “I’m efficient. And right now, we have work to do.”
The atmosphere shifts. The teasing evaporates, replaced by the sharp focus of the team. Talia sits in the chair, pulling her legs up. I lean against the wall, guarding her flank out of habit.
“Talk to me,” I say. “What’s the damage?”
“How’s the side?” Ghost asks.
“It holds.”
“Good. Because you’re officially on medical leave. Mandatory.” Ghost’s eyes flick to Talia. “Both of you. You stepped into the fire. You brought back the prize. Now you rest.”
“I’m not good at resting,” I say.
“Learn,” Ghost says. “Talia can teach you.”
Talia smiles, a small, private thing that warms the room. “I have some instructional manuals.”
“Gross,” Halo mutters. “Get a room. Oh, wait; you already did.”
“Out,” I say, pointing to the door. “Everyone out.”
“We’re leaving,” Ghost says, herding the team. “Halo, get that data ready for the drop. Brass, secure the perimeter. Nobody gets within a mile of this building without my say-so.”
They file out. Halo steals a donut on his way. Brass grabs two.
The door closes.
Silence returns. But it’s different now. It’s not the silence of waiting for the next attack. It’s the silence of victory.
Talia slumps back in the chair, letting out a long breath. “We actually did it.”
“You did it,” I say. “I just held the door open for you.”
“You kept me alive.” She walks over to me and wraps her arms around my waist, careful of the bandage. She rests her head on my chest. “We make a good team.”
“The best.”
I run my hand down her back, feeling the warmth of her through the thin cotton of my shirt.
“So,” she murmurs. “Medical leave.”
“Sounds boring.”
“I don’t know.” She looks up, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I’m sure we can find some way to pass the time.”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Do they involve algorithms?”
“They involve variables.” I kiss her forehead. “Motion. Friction. Velocity.”
She laughs. “You’re a nerd.”
“I’m a demolition expert. I know how to bang things.”
“That was terrible.” She groans, burying her face in my chest.
“You laughed.”
“I did.”
I hold her. The rain falls. The city outside is gray and cold, but in here, everything is warm.
We have the data. We have the target. The Admiral is going down, and for the first time in my life, I have something more important than the mission.
I have her.