10. Killian #2
"Point taken," I concede. "But we need to be careful. If they are watching, and now I'm certain they are, any change in routine will alert them that we're aware of them."
"So we just… pretend everything is fine while waiting for your criminal friends to arrive?" There's no judgment in her tone, only a pragmatic assessment of our reality.
"That's exactly what we do. And Ellie?" I step closer. "Gabe isn't an associate. He's the closest thing to family I have. I trust him with my life. And more importantly, with yours."
"You really believe we're in danger, don't you?" Her expression softens.
"I know we are. The Order doesn't waste time on empty threats. If they've targeted you, it's because they've already decided you're a liability they can't afford to leave alive."
She flinches. But I won't coddle her with comforting lies. Not about this. Not when her life hangs in the balance. If she stays complacent, she's dead.
"Because of my father's research?" She thinks aloud. "But that was years ago. What possible threat could I pose now?"
"That's what we need to figure out." My hand tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What have you been researching lately? Anything connected with your father's work? Any old cases? Any connections to organized crime?"
She hesitates, and I see the moment she decides to trust me with the truth.
"I've been re-investigating his death. The timing was too convenient, right when his research was making progress."
"What kind of progress?"
“After he died, I found his research files hidden in his home office, encrypted drives, coded notes. It took me months to access everything.” I can hear her pain after years of hunting her father’s killer.
“He’d identified patterns in apparently unrelated murders spanning five years.
Victims in different cities, different methods, but all connected to witnesses or informants in organized crime cases.
He believed there was a single operative responsible.
A professional so skilled at making murders look like accidents that law enforcement never connected the dots. ”
Oh, fuck.
She’s talking about me.
The man her father was tracking. The one who left no trace except bodies. That was me. I was the first candidate out of the Ghost program. Earning me the nickname Ghost.
And she’s been hunting me. Building on her father’s work. Looking for the man who killed him.
The man currently standing in her kitchen. The man who just fucked her in her office.
This is beyond fucked up.
"Did he have a name for this operative?" My voice remains steady despite the roaring in my ears.
“No. His last journal entry mentioned he was close, that he’d identified a pattern in the operative’s methodology, something unique that would lead to an identity. Two days later, he was dead.”
Fuck. Her father was tracking my kills, building a profile of my work.
That’s why I was assigned Hart. In all my years working for Julian Ross, I'd never questioned him on why I was given certain targets.
But this must be why Ross assigned him to me, to permanently silence the person who was so close to uncovering who I was.
"And you've been looking into the same operative?"
"Yes. I've been collecting data, building on my father's methodology.
There are patterns, Killian. Too many coincidences, too many convenient deaths of key witnesses or threats.
Someone has been systematically removing problems for years, and I think that someone killed my father when he got too close to the truth. "
She's been hunting me all along, though she doesn't realize it. Searching for the man who stole her father from her.
And now that ghost is standing in her kitchen, having just taken her body and soul, carrying the weight of a secret that could destroy everything building between us.
"Ellie," I begin, not sure what I'm going to say, only knowing I can't let her continue down this path. It leads nowhere but pain for both of us.
But I'm saved by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Too early to be Gabe, which means it's an unexpected visitor.
I move to the security panel, Ellie close behind me. The camera shows a black SUV with tinted windows idling outside the gate. No visible driver, no plates.
"Get away from the windows," I order, my voice slipping into the commanding tone I used during operations. "Go to the bathroom in the center of the house; there are no exterior walls. Lock the door and don't come out until I call for you."
"Killian."
"Now, Ellie!" I urge, but I soften my tone enough to show this isn't about control. It's about keeping her alive. "Please."
She nods and disappears into the bathroom. I count to three, making sure she’s secured, then head to my room. I pull a thick hardcover from the second shelf.
Inside the hollowed spine is a five-inch ceramic blade. It doesn't trigger metal detectors. I slipped it past her security system on day one and left it in plain sight, inside The Art of War. Ironically fitting.
It’s useless in a firefight, but I won’t face them empty-handed.
The engine cuts. Silence for fifteen seconds. Eighteen. Twenty.
Then, the driver’s door opens. Six-foot-four of solid muscle unfolds from the SUV. Gabriel Santino. Floppy dark hair with a skin faded around the sides, and his beard doesn’t quite hide the scar running along his jaw, a souvenir from Istanbul. Eyes that miss absolutely fucking nothing.
Made even better time than he had estimated. Typical Gabe.
I let out a relieved breath and move to deactivate the alarm system. By the time I open the front door, he’s already making his way across the driveway.
“You look domestic." His voice rumbles with amusement. “Never thought I’d see Killian Blackthorn playing house. Even if it is court-ordered.”
"What the Fuck Gabe, you're three hours early."
“You sounded rattled on the phone. That only happens when it’s serious.” He steps inside, his eyes scanning everything. “Besides, seven years is too long. Figured I’d make up for lost time before Cell 7 puts a bullet in that thick skull of yours.”
I feel a smile tugging at my lips despite the circumstances. Gabe's bluntness has always been a comfort in chaos. "Thanks for coming, man."
"Like I had a choice." But there's no resentment. Just acceptance. He understands loyalty better than most. "Where is she?"
"Safe. For now." I lead him deeper into the house, where I can speak freely. "The Order's been watching her, threat delivered this afternoon."
Gabriel's expression darkens. "Ross?"
"He's activated Cell 7."
Gabe knows what that means. His hand moves unconsciously to the scar on his jaw, from the last time we got tangled up with Ross's elite team. "Serious shit, then."
"Very" I explain the situation, Ellie's connection to Gregory Hart and the research into Order operations, the text message that confirmed she'd become a target.
Gabriel listens without interruption. I watch him file it away. When I finish, he nods once.
“I’ll sweep for devices first, then we’ll figure out what we’re working with. Jackson coming?”
“Should be here in eight hours. Left Kai a message, but haven’t heard back yet.”
Gabriel grunts. “Eight hours gives us time to prepare. Let’s see what they’ve planted.”
My phone buzzes as Gabriel begins moving toward his equipment. Kai’s name flashes on the screen:
Kai: Heard you need a medic. En route from Atlanta. 10 hours, give or take.
I show the message to Gabriel, who laughs in approval.
"The whole crew then, like old times." I see the satisfaction in his eyes. Our brotherhood, forged in blood, reuniting for perhaps the last time. "Must be some woman."
Before I can respond, I hear Ellie's voice from the hallway. "She is."
We both turn to find her standing in the doorway, chin lifted in that rebellious look that says she’s scared shitless but refuses to hide. I should be pissed. She disobeyed my order to stay in the bathroom. Not that I expected anything different.
Gabriel studies her carefully, taking in the composure she maintains even in crisis. He gets it immediately. Ellie Hart isn’t just beautiful. She’s formidable.
“Dr. Hart.” He offers his hand. “Gabriel Santino. Killian told me enough. I’m here to help.”
“It’s Ellie.” She steps forward without hesitation, extending her hand. Either she doesn’t realize she’s shaking hands with a man who’s killed more people than she’s treated, or she doesn’t care. “Thank you for coming.”
Gabriel’s massive hand swallows hers. His expression changes. Recognition, maybe. Or respect. His eyes flick to mine for a second, a question asked and answered without words. Then he nods once. “Anyone who matters to Killian matters to me.”
"Gabe's going to sweep the house for bugs," I explain to Ellie. "We need to know if they've been listening, watching."
"You think they've been inside my home?" Her expression falters for a second, fear breaking through.
"It's just standard procedure," Gabe says, his tone gentler than I've ever heard him use with a stranger. "If they've targeted you, they've been watching for weeks, possibly months."
The thought of unknown men invading her space, watching her sleep, violating every inch of her privacy. I want to pull their heads from their fucking shoulders.
But Ellie? Ellie surprises me. Her face doesn’t crumple. It hardens. Her fear transforms into rage right before my eyes.
“Bastards!” She spits the word. “Find whatever they’ve planted, and then tell me how we fight back.”
Gabriel retrieves a heavy Pelican case from his bag. Order-issued sweeping tech. The kind of hardware I haven't had access to since my arrest.
Within twenty minutes, he uncovers three micro-transmitters and a pinhole camera tied into the living room smoke detector. The tech is top-tier; it wouldn't ping on any of the analog sweeps I've been doing by hand.
Gabriel drops the last bug into a Faraday pouch. "Nothing in the office. Bedrooms are clean."
Thank fuck they didn’t bug her office!