Chapter 13
The sun bled low across the compound, casting long shadows through the wire. That late-afternoon gold painted the walls and gear racks like everything was glowing from the inside out, but inside the command post, nothing felt warm. The radio cracked and static flared.
“Multiple hostiles engaging from the east. Lead truck’s disabled, repeat—lead truck’s disabled!”
Ghost’s spine locked and his jaw clenched. He stood at the edge of the room, earpiece in, the voices coming through weren’t panicked, but they were tight. Combat-tight.
“Civilians caught in the crossfire. Several down. Need immediate support.”
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. His voice remained even, like it always did, but his attention sharpened to a pinpoint.
He turned to his team. “Gear up.”
The SEALs moved fast, practiced and clean. Kevlar snapped into place. Ammo locked. Boots hit the floor in a rising rhythm that sounded more like thunder than chaos.
Predator frowned as he strapped into his vest. “Wasn’t this the convoy that got rerouted last minute?”
“Yeah,” Rogue said, checking his sidearm. “It was. Colonel Hale signed off on the change.”
Echo glanced up from his tablet. “That doesn’t track with protocol. No reason to reroute a load like that without command’s clearance.”
Ghost let out a short breath. "Since when does Hale follow protocol?"
Rachel stood against the far wall, camera bag already across her body. The team was moving fast around her; checking weapons, securing gear, voices clipped and urgent. Her fingers tightened around the strap.
Ghost didn't look at her as he slung his vest over one shoulder. "You're staying here."
She stepped forward. "This is exactly what I need to document."
"No." Firmer this time.
Rachel's pulse kicked. "There are civilians out there. People dying. If no one's there to show it—"
"This isn't a debate." He kept his eyes forward, checking his rifle. "It's a war zone, not a documentary set."
Across the room, Torch paused mid-check on his gear. Rogue's head turned slightly, tracking the exchange.
Ghost stepped closer, rifle already slung, jaw set. "You're not trained for this."
Rachel opened her mouth to argue but his voice cut through.
"You're not armed. You're a civilian. That makes you a target the second we roll out." His tone was pure command, but there was an edge underneath, something tighter.
She heard it. "I can take care of myself."
He closed the distance between them until only a foot separated them. The team had gone quiet around them, pretending not to listen. "No, you can't." His voice dropped lower. "And I won't have one of my men get shot because they had to pull you out of the line of fire."
The words landed hard. Rachel could've backed down, should have, probably, but instead she held her ground. "You want me to sit here while people die?"
"Yes." His jaw was locked tight. "That's exactly what I want."
"And that's our cue!" Torch called out from across the room. "Let's move, boys."
Chairs scraped. The team grabbed their gear and filed out in seconds, Rogue shooting Ghost a look on his way past that said good luck with that. The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence dropped over the room like a weight.
Ghost and Rachel stood three feet apart, the space between them charged with everything they hadn't said. Everything they'd been dancing around since that bathroom.
Rachel's heart was pounding. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching for her.
"You don't get to control me," she said, voice steady despite her pulse racing. "If that's your plan, you're gonna have to tie me down."
Ghost went very still. His eyes locked on hers, pupils dilating. He took one step forward, then another, closing the distance until she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. His voice came out low and rough. "Careful, Rachel. Keep talking like that and I might take you up on it."
Heat flooded through her. This wasn't a game anymore. The way he was looking at her, like he was two seconds from backing her against the wall and showing her exactly what he meant, made her breath catch.
She should step back. Should defuse this. Instead she lifted her chin. "Maybe I want you to."
Ghost's hand came up, fingers curling around her jaw, tilting her face up toward his. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, rough and deliberate. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
Rachel's lips parted. "Then show me."
For one suspended heartbeat, she thought he was going to kiss her. His head dipped slightly, his breath warm against her mouth. His other hand found her hip, fingers spreading across her waist.
"Ghost!" Torch's voice bellowed from outside. "We're rolling in sixty seconds!"
Ghost’s eyes closed. His forehead dropped to rest against hers for just a second, his breathing ragged, then he stepped back, releasing her.
The heat in his eyes hadn't dimmed, but the soldier was back in control. "Stay here," he said, voice low. "Lock the door and don't open it for anyone but me."
Rachel's chest was heaving. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Ghost grabbed his helmet and rifle, moving toward the door. He paused at the threshold, looking back at her one last time. "We're not done with this conversation."
Then he was gone.
Rachel stood frozen in the empty room, her fingers digging into her camera strap. Her pulse was still hammering from how close he'd been, from the way he'd touched her face, from the promise in his voice.
Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me.
She heard the convoy engines fire up outside. Dust swirled past the window as the trucks started moving out. Through the window, she could see Ghost climbing into the lead vehicle, Torch beside him, the rest of the team loading up with practiced efficiency.
Rachel's jaw set.
She hadn't come here to follow orders. Hadn't come here to sit in a locked room while people died and nobody documented it. This story, these lives, deserved to be seen. Told. Even if that meant breaking the one rule that mattered most.
She moved fast, grabbing her scarf and wrapping it higher around her neck. Her camera went under her vest, secured tight against her ribs.
The last transport in the convoy was still rolling slow, picking up speed as it headed for the gate. Rachel slipped out the side door and ran, keeping low. Her boots hit dirt hard as she closed the distance.
The truck was moving faster now. She had maybe three seconds.
Rachel jumped, fingers catching the metal edge of the tailgate. Her boots scraped against the bumper before finding purchase. She hauled herself up and over, dropping into the bed behind a stack of crates, med kits and spare ammo.
She wedged herself into the shadows between the supplies, heart slamming against her ribs. The vehicle bounced over rough ground, each jolt pushing her deeper into cover.
No one had seen her. No one had stopped her.
Rachel pulled her camera out and checked it by feel in the darkness. Batteries good. Memory card clear. Ready.
If Ghost found her, there would be hell to pay. She knew that. Could still feel his hand on her jaw, could still hear his voice: Careful, Rachel.
But she'd made her choice.
She wasn't done watching and she sure as hell wasn't done with him.