Chapter 33
The Jeep rolled to a stop, tires crunching over gravel. Ocean breeze poured through the open window, carrying salt spray and the sharp-sweet smell of eucalyptus from the landscaping. Rachel didn't move right away. She just stared through the windshield at the house beyond the gate.
If you could call it a house.
The Mediterranean estate sat tucked behind a wall of greenery like something out of Architectural Digest. Terracotta roof tiles caught the late afternoon sun and glowed amber.
White stucco walls, tall palms swaying in the breeze, arched windows throwing back golden light.
It looked nothing like a place Ghost would live. It looked peaceful. Beautiful.
Like the last twenty-four hours hadn't happened.
Torch cut the engine and stretched, his shoulder popping audibly. "Damn. I always forget how nice this place is."
Echo twisted in his seat, eyebrow raised. "Wait, Torch has been here before and I haven't? What the hell? And since when do you live in a Spanish villa with an ocean view, Ghost?"
Ghost pushed open his door without answering, but Rachel caught the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile.
She climbed out slowly, her legs still shaky from the adrenaline crash. This was where he lived. Where he came when missions ended and the world went quiet. It felt surreal standing here in the gravel driveway after running for her life through downtown San Diego hours ago.
Ghost came around the Jeep and his hand found the small of her back. The pressure of his palm anchored her. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get you inside."
Behind them, Torch and Echo were already pulling gear from the back, duffel bags, comms equipment, black rifle cases, giving them space without making it obvious.
Ghost led Rachel through the wrought-iron gate and up the path. Gravel crunched under her feet. The smell of saltwater was everywhere, mixing with jasmine from the bushes lining the walkway. He opened the front door and gestured her inside.
The space opened up around her.
Exposed wooden beams crossed the high ceiling.
Terracotta tile was warm under her feet, probably from the sun beating down on it all day.
A sunken living room stretched ahead with white couches and a stone fireplace that looked hand-built.
Bookshelves lined every wall, actual books, not just decoration.
Late afternoon light poured through the windows, falling in long gold stripes across a black grand piano near the far wall.
And beyond that, glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the bay. The water was calm, almost silver in the fading light. San Diego sat in the distance across the water, hazy and quiet. A private dock extended into the bay below, a small boat tied at the end.
Rachel stopped just inside the door. This wasn't what she'd expected. It felt like a place someone actually lived, not just a crash pad between deployments.
Ghost stepped in behind her, his arms coming around her waist. His chest pressed against her back, solid and radiating heat. His voice was quiet near her ear. "You're safe here."
She leaned back against him, her head resting on his shoulder. The tension she'd been carrying in her spine started to ease.
"My apartment on base is traceable," he said quietly. "Tied to the Navy. Tied to command. Tied to too much." He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, lingering there. "But this? This is off-book. No paper trail. No vulnerabilities."
Another kiss, lower on her neck. Rachel's eyes closed.
"It's beautiful," she said quietly, her fingers lacing with his where they rested against her stomach.
"Don't use it much. Didn't have a reason to. Until now."
Before she could respond, the front door banged open and boots thudded across the threshold.
"Jesus Christ, can you two get a room?" Torch muttered, dropping a duffel by the door with a heavy thunk.
Echo followed, grinning wide. "They're already in his house. Technically every room is their room."
Ghost unwrapped his arms from Rachel and turned, his expression flat. "Lucky I need you idiots right now."
He crossed toward them. "You two better be more useful setting up gear than running your mouths."
Torch's grin widened. "I am setting up. Establishing dominance over my environment."
Echo snorted. "And yet Ghost still scares the piss out of you."
Torch opened his mouth, reconsidered, and grabbed his gear instead.
Rachel shook her head, fighting a smile as the energy in the room shifted.
The team moved through the space like they'd done this before, laptops opened on the coffee table, weapons laid out and field-stripped with practiced efficiency, security feeds flickering to life on a monitor mounted above the fireplace.
Then the rest arrived.
Rachel heard them before she saw them, truck doors slamming outside, boots on gravel, low voices carrying through the open door. They came in one after another, different builds and faces but moving with the same controlled economy of motion.
Reaper came in first, that scar bisecting his left eyebrow catching the light. He tossed a set of keys Ghost's way. "Truck's out front. Right where you left it."
Ghost caught them midair, frowning. "How the hell—"
"I texted Reaper," Echo called from the couch, already logged into something on his laptop. "Figured you'd want it."
Reaper shrugged. "Brick and I swung by your girl's place. Still quiet, but not for long. We grabbed your ride and got out clean."
Brick came in behind him, easily six-four and built like he bench-pressed cars for fun. He dropped his gear beside the couch with a grunt. "You're welcome."
Ghost pocketed the keys without responding.
Reaper smirked. "You weren't worried about the truck."
Rachel felt her mouth curve slightly. "Given the circumstances, I appreciated where his focus was."
Reaper raised both hands, still grinning. "No argument here. Just didn't expect to see our fearless leader this wound up over a woman. It's good for him."
Torch laughed, cracking open a water he pulled from Ghost’s fridge. "He's been strung tight since he got Rachel's voicemail."
"Strung tight is an understatement," Echo muttered. "Man looked like he was about to murder someone with his bare hands."
"Still might," Ghost said flatly.
Then another man walked in, tall and broad-shouldered with that same relaxed-but-ready posture Ghost had. Rachel recognized him immediately, Bear, the PJ Ghost's team had pulled out of Kunar Province the night she'd arrived at the FOB. She'd never actually met him.
Ghost noticed her looking. "Rachel, this is Chase Bennett. Bear. He's the reason we were in Kunar that night."
Bear's expression shifted, something passing over his face. He stepped forward, extending his hand. "So you're the journalist the team has been telling me about.”
Rachel shook his hand. His grip was firm but not crushing. "Hopefully good things."
"Mostly complaints about you being too brave for your own good," Bear said, his mouth quirking slightly, then looked at Ghost. "Good to see you again, brother. Heard you had trouble."
Ghost's shoulders eased slightly. "When'd you get in?"
"Few hours ago. Command finally decided my Georgia days are done. I'm officially assigned to joint ops with NSW Command. With you guys."
Rogue leaned forward from his spot near the kitchen counter. "About damn time they stationed you out here. You get bored of those Georgia boys, Bear?"
Bear chuckled, the sound genuine. "Something like that. Figured the least I could do was keep an eye on the guys who pulled my ass out of that hellhole."
Torch smirked. "Guess we're officially adopting strays now."
"Better a stray than whatever the fuck you are," Brick muttered from the couch.
Torch flipped him off without looking.
Ghost's voice cut through the room. "We've got a bigger problem."
The easy banter died. Postures straightened. Rachel watched the shift happen in real time, these men going from relaxed to operational in the space of a breath.
Ghost laid it out methodically. Her footage. The hit team at her apartment. The embedded supply lines she'd uncovered overseas. Each detail delivered with precision, his voice carrying command authority.
By the time he finished, nobody was moving. Rachel could hear the hum of the laptop fans, the distant sound of waves outside.
Reaper broke the silence. "Alright, Parker. Fill in the blanks. What exactly did you see over there?"
Rachel took a slow breath. Her hands curled at her sides, nails biting into her palms. "They weren't just smuggling weapons. They were selling them. To insurgents. The same ones we were fighting."
Predator let out a low whistle. "Jesus."
"And it wasn't just boots on the ground." Rachel stepped forward. "Officers were involved. Americans. Coordinating drops, rerouting shipments, scrubbing manifests. It was organized. Top to bottom."
Brick's jaw worked, muscle jumping beneath the skin. "And now they're trying to erase the evidence."
Rachel nodded. "Starting with me."
Nobody spoke. Then Predator asked, "Where's the proof?"
Rachel hesitated. Ghost's head snapped toward her.
"Shit. Your bag. We left it."
Rachel shook her head. "We forgot the bag, but I didn't forget the drive."
Ghost frowned. "Then where—?"
Without a word, Rachel reached into her shirt. Her fingers disappeared into her bra, and a second later she held up a small black thumb drive between two fingers.
Brick grunted. "Hell of a hiding spot."
Reaper leaned back against the counter, grinning. "Better than half the lockboxes I've broken into." His eyes dropped, not even trying to be subtle about it.
Ghost moved. One step put him directly in front of Rachel, his body blocking Reaper's line of sight.
Reaper raised both hands, still grinning. "Noted, boss. Message received."
Bear laughed. "Damn. She's got you trained."
Ghost's expression didn't change. "No. I'm just not in the mood to kill one of you tonight."
Rachel held out the drive, unbothered by the whole exchange. "Figured it might come in handy."
Ghost took it carefully, his fingers brushing hers. He looked down at her and his face changed. His expression gentled, but only for her.
He turned and tossed the drive to Echo. "Find out what's on it."
Echo caught it cleanly. "On it."
Laptops opened. Cables connected. The quiet tap of keys filled the space as Echo worked, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Rachel watched them move. These men had come when Ghost called. They were here because they believed her.
The screen lit up with grainy footage. Time-stamped, dust-fogged, washed out by poor lighting and camera equipment that had seen better days. Static crackled through the speakers.
Then voices. American.
Rachel's stomach dropped. She'd watched this footage a dozen times, but seeing it here, with these men, made her hands go cold.
Men in uniform circled crates marked for foreign aid, no insignias visible, no oversight. A sat phone changed hands, then a ledger, then a thick duffel bag hit the ground, unzipped enough to show stacks of cash inside.
A voice cut through the static. American, clipped and cold. "This is the last shipment. The higher-ups are getting nervous."
A pause.
The reply came back thicker, accented. "We need more. You promised more."
Another beat.
The American again, flat and final. "You'll get what we give you. But if we go down, you go down too. We clear?"
Two hands extended into frame. U.S. officers shaking hands with the enemy.
The screen went black.
Rachel could hear her own breathing, too loud now. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Sweat prickled cold along her spine despite the warmth in the room.
The easy banter was gone. What she saw now in their faces made her throat go dry.
Reaper spoke first. "Well, fuck."
Brick stared at the floor, both fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. "That's what we've been fighting for? What our brothers died for?"
Ghost hadn't moved. His eyes were still on the blank screen.
Torch exhaled slowly, the beer in his hand forgotten. "This isn't just bad. This could bring down careers. Commands. Maybe more."
Echo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "This isn't corruption. It's treason."
"It's worse than treason," Rachel said.
They all looked at her. Rachel's pulse hammered in her throat, but she didn't back down.
"This is war for profit. They're selling our weapons, feeding intel, cutting deals with the same people killing our men. It's not one bad actor. It's coordinated. Systematic. And it goes high. Higher than you think."
Rachel could see it in their faces, the realization sinking in.
Predator turned toward Ghost. "What's the play?"
Ghost didn't answer right away. He stared at the blank screen, his jaw working. Rachel could see the muscle jumping beneath the skin.
Then he turned to her. His eyes found hers.