Chapter 36
Rachel woke to sunlight streaming through the glass doors, warm against her face. For a second, she didn’t know where she was, then it came back, Ghost’s bed, his house, last night.
She turned her head. The space beside her was empty, sheets still warm. She could hear water running from the master bathroom, the shower.
She sat up slowly. Her body ached in unfamiliar places, a pleasant soreness that made her flush. She remembered his hands on her skin, the weight of him above her, the way he'd looked at her when he pushed inside her. She pushed her hair back and swung her legs off the bed.
The house was quiet. Peaceful. Morning light filled every room, reflecting off white walls and warm wood. Through the windows she could hear gulls crying in the distance, the faint sound of waves. It felt open. Safe. Nothing like her cramped apartment with its chain lock and peeling paint.
She found her underwear and Logan's T-shirt on the floor and pulled them on, then padded barefoot toward the kitchen. The tile was cool under her feet. She found the coffee maker sitting on the counter. She opened cabinets until she found mugs, then grounds, then filters.
By the time the machine started gurgling, she heard footsteps behind her.
Ghost appeared in the doorway, hair still damp, wearing a clean black T-shirt and gray sweatpants. He looked different in the morning light. Less like the operator who'd pulled her out of danger and more like a man just waking up in his own home.
He looked at her, then at the coffee maker. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." She leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely. "I wasn't sure how you take it."
"Black." He moved closer, stopping just in front of her. His hand came up to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. "You?"
"Cream. No sugar."
He leaned in and kissed her, slow and unhurried. Morning stubble scraped gently against her skin. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers. "You sore?"
Her face warmed. "A little. Good sore."
The corner of his mouth lifted. He reached past her for the mugs, his arm brushing hers. His skin was still warm from the shower, and he smelled like soap and cedar. He didn't pull away immediately, just stood there close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
The coffee finished brewing. He poured two cups, handed her one, then pulled cream from the fridge. She added just enough to lighten it, then took a sip. The warmth spread through her chest.
Ghost watched her over the rim of his mug. "You sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in weeks." She met his eyes. "You?"
"Same."
They stood there for a moment, drinking coffee without talking. Rachel's eyes drifted to the windows, to the view of the bay beyond. The water was calm this morning, reflecting the pale blue sky. "This place is incredible. How long have you had it?"
"Three years. Bought it after a deployment went sideways." He took another sip. "Needed somewhere that was just mine. Somewhere nobody could find me."
Rachel heard what he didn't say. Somewhere safe.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Starving."
He moved to the fridge. Rachel watched him survey the contents.
"I've got eggs. Toast. Not much else."
"That works."
He grabbed the eggs and butter. Rachel found a pan and set it on the stove, turning the burner to medium. The gas caught with a soft whoosh. She dropped a pat of butter into the pan and watched it melt and sizzle, filling the kitchen with its rich smell.
They fell into an easy rhythm, moving around each other naturally. He cracked eggs into a bowl while she swirled the butter to coat the pan. She buttered the toast while he whisked, the fork clinking against the ceramic bowl.
His hand brushed her hip as he reached past her for a spatula. She leaned into the touch without thinking.
He poured the eggs into the pan and the kitchen filled with the sound of them cooking, that soft sizzle and pop. Rachel watched him work the spatula, folding the eggs over themselves until they were fluffy and just set.
When they were done, they ate standing at the counter. No plates, just forks and the pan between them. Ghost's free hand rested on her waist, thumb moving in slow circles through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Rachel took a bite and hummed softly. "These are good."
"Low bar."
She smiled, bumping her shoulder against his. "Still good."
They finished eating in quiet punctuated only by the clink of forks and the distant sound of waves. Ghost set his fork down and turned to face her fully. "You need to stay here. Until this is over."
Rachel set her fork down. "Logan, I don't want to impose. This is... it's a lot."
"It's not imposing." His hand on her waist tightened slightly. "Those people know where you live. They know your routines. They're not going to stop coming for you." His expression was serious. "You're safer here. With me."
She looked up at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. The protectiveness. "I just don't want to be a burden."
"You're not." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hand came up to cup her face. "Rachel, I need to know you're safe. I can't focus on taking these bastards down if I'm worried about you."
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. I'll stay."
"Good." His thumb brushed across her cheek. "That's settled then."
He kissed her forehead, then pulled her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around him, letting herself lean into his strength.
***
By midday, they'd migrated to the dining table with their laptops. Rachel had her files spread across one end, cross-referencing timestamps and officer records. Ghost sat across from her, working through encrypted reports from Echo's overnight data sweep.
The house was quiet except for the tap of keys and the occasional rustle of paper. Sunlight shifted across the table as the hours passed, the angle changing, shadows moving. Rachel reached for her coffee, found it cold, and grimaced.
Ghost noticed. He stood without a word, took her mug, and headed to the kitchen. A minute later, he returned with a fresh cup, steam rising from the surface.
She looked up as he set it down in front of her. "You didn't have to—"
"I know." He returned to his seat, already focused on his screen again.
She took a sip. Perfect. He'd remembered how she took it.
Rachel watched him over the rim of her mug. His expression shifted as he read, brow furrowing at something on screen. His fingers moved across the keys with practiced efficiency. Even sitting still, there was something coiled about him. Alert.
He glanced up and caught her staring. His mouth curved slightly. "Find something interesting?"
She felt her face flush. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"How normal this feels." She gestured between them. "Working like this. Together."
His expression softened. "Yeah. It does."
Rachel's phone buzzed on the table between them. She glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number
Her pulse jumped. She picked it up slowly, thumb hovering over the notification.
Ghost's attention sharpened immediately. "What is it?"
She opened the message:
Unknown Number: WE KNOW YOU’RE STILL IN SAN DIEGO
Her heart kicked against her ribs. Once. Twice. Hard enough that she felt it in her throat. The phone felt too heavy in her hand. She stared at the screen, reading it again. Again. The words didn't change.
"Rachel." Ghost's voice cut through the buzzing in her ears. "What does it say?"
She turned the phone toward him without speaking.
His jaw tightened. He took the phone from her hands, studying the message. "When did this come in?"
"Just now."
He stood, already moving. "Stay here."
She watched him disappear down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against the table but couldn't make them stop.
Her breath was coming too fast, too shallow.
They knew. They knew she was here. Not here specifically, they didn't know about Ghost's house, but close enough. Too close.
Ghost came back, phone pressed to his ear. "Echo. I need a trace on a number. Unknown sender, threatening message." He rattled off her phone number and the timestamp. "Yeah, now would be good."
Rachel's chest felt tight. She focused on breathing. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. But the panic sat there anyway, cold and heavy beneath her sternum.
Ghost ended the call and came back to the table. He crouched beside her chair, one hand covering both of hers where they pressed against the wood. "Hey. Look at me."
She met his eyes.
"They don't know where you are," he said. "San Diego's a big city. They're fishing. Trying to scare you."
"It's working."
His hand squeezed hers. "I know. But you're safe here. This place doesn't exist on paper. There's no way to trace you to it." His thumb brushed across her knuckles. "They can't find you. I won't let them."
Rachel nodded, trying to slow her breathing. "Okay."
"Echo's going to trace the number. We'll see where it leads." He studied her face. "You with me?"
"Yeah. I'm with you."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Good. Because we're not stopping. We're going to bury these bastards."
Rachel let out a shaky breath and nodded. Ghost stood, but his hand stayed on her shoulder. His palm was warm through her shirt, grounding her.
They went back to work. But Rachel couldn’t shake the panic sitting in her chest. They were still hunting her, still out there, and now they were getting closer.
***
That evening, Ghost ordered Thai food. They ate on the couch, boxes spread across the coffee table, some crime procedural playing quietly on the TV.
The smell of basil and lemongrass filled the room.
Rachel curled into the corner of the sofa, feet tucked under her, picking at pad thai with chopsticks.
The noodles were slick with peanut sauce, bits of crushed peanut and cilantro scattered through.