Chapter 2
The Guardian jet taxied to a private hangar, away from the main tarmac. No customs. No questions. Federal recognition had its advantages.
Phantom grabbed his gear and nodded to her. "You got the debrief details?"
She rolled her eyes at him. All the guys were protective of her. She didn’t mind, but only because when it came time for missions, they didn’t question her abilities. "Yep. Twenty-four hours from touchdown at the safe house. I’m good."
He smiled at her. "Get some rest."
"You, too."
They left separately. They always did. They’d been trained to never establish patterns. Never link movements.
Raven walked to the civilian lot where her Honda Civic waited, keys in a magnetic case under the rear wheel well. She did a quick once-over of the vehicle to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with before tossing her duffel in the trunk and driving home.
The place she was currently living was twenty minutes away, a nondescript townhouse in a neighborhood full of nondescript townhouses. Beige siding. Small yard. Two-car garage. The kind of place no one noticed.
She parked inside the garage, locked the door behind her, and disarmed the security system.
The interior was clean, functional, and completely impersonal.
It had all the basics—a couch; a TV, which she never turned on; a small kitchen, which she rarely cooked in; and a bedroom that she’d started sleeping in about four years ago.
Before that, she’d slept on the couch. She'd lived there for five years, and the place still felt temporary.
After dropping her gear on the dining table, she stripped off her travel clothes and stepped into the shower.
The hot water burned, and she let it. She scrubbed her hands, her arms, her face. The mission was over, and Volkov was dead. The data stick was secure in her duffel, and she was ready for the debrief.
When she finally stepped out, she felt clean. Empty, but clean. The way she always felt after a kill.
She pulled on sweatpants and a tank top, poured herself a glass of expensive whiskey, and then collapsed onto the couch.
The silence was almost suffocating. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Rook. Phantom. Specter. Jinx. Demon. Viper. Berserker. Havoc. Her brothers. Not by blood, but by choice.
She could call any of them. They'd answer. They'd talk, joke, and pull her out of a spiral.
She set the phone down. She’d have made the call years ago.
When she’d first started, they’d supported her and kept her from cracking.
But she didn’t need them to fight her ruptured soul anymore.
That seam had finally started to heal. Instead, she stared at the ceiling and let the exhaustion pull her under.
Somewhere in the dark, she dreamed of a man with dark hair and brown eyes, a voice that whispered promises, and a love that had burned itself to ash long ago.
* * *
Twenty-three hours after landing, she drove to the Virginia check-in.
She dressed carefully. Dark slacks, plain blouse, low heels.
Hair pulled into a neat bun. Minimal makeup.
Business casual, the kind of outfit that made people's eyes slide past without registering details.
Not attractive enough to be memorable, not frumpy enough to stand out. Invisible.
The office building looked like every other corporate structure in the business district. It was made of glass, steel, and a bland architecture designed to be forgotten. Which was exactly the point.
She parked two blocks away and walked the rest of the way. The caution was a force of habit. She never arrived directly or established patterns.
The CPA firm on the first floor was real enough. Guardian employed actual accountants who did actual tax returns for actual clients. The cover had to be legitimate, bulletproof. The IRS had audited them twice and found nothing but boring spreadsheets and 1099 forms.
The basement was a different story.
She keyed in through the side entrance, descended the stairs, and felt the air change.
Here, it was climate-controlled to keep computers functioning at optimum efficiency.
She knew the concrete walls were reinforced, and the entire area was soundproofed.
The hum of servers and comms equipment and the glow of monitors were the only constants in the space.
A tech glanced up from his station, nodded. "You're clear for Briefing Room Two."
"Thanks."
She moved down the corridor and past doors marked with innocuous labels. Storage, Maintenance, Archives. Behind them were actually the armory, a medical bay, and a secure document vault. Guardian didn't advertise.
Briefing Room Two was small, windowless, dominated by a conference table and a wall of screens. She dropped into the chair facing the monitors, placed the data stick on the table, and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the screens flickered to life.
Four faces. Four different locations.
Archangel appeared first. He was in his mid-fifties to sixty, sharp suit, the kind of face that belonged in boardrooms. Sharp, stern, and intense.
He was the CEO of Guardian Security and one of the men who’d helped to build Guardian into the organization it was today.
His location was undisclosed, and she’d never felt the need to look or ask where the boss resided.
Fury came next. The older assassin was scarred, and the kind of man who looked like he'd been carved from granite. The Rose's training facility sat somewhere in Arizona, or maybe Nevada, but the video showed nothing useful. Even when she’d trained there, she’d had no idea of the true location.
Segmentation was necessary in this instance.
Anubis joined third. He was older, too, lean, tanned, with the calm intensity of a warrior.
She knew he was at one of the training annexes.
The office space, which was visible in the background, was sparse and utilitarian.
He was also an assassin at one point, but now he managed rotations, kept the assassins on schedules, and handled the logistic support her team needed and had come to depend on.
Lycos appeared last. He was Raven's recruiter. Her handler. The man who'd tracked her down after she’d killed a man. He’d offered her a second chance instead of a prison cell. She’d taken it.
He looked the same as always. Thoughtful, with eyes that saw and knew too much.
The background behind him was neutral and nondescript.
He never disclosed his location. She knew anyway.
He lived in a converted cave in Colorado, off-grid, with his wife and probably a family.
She'd never been there, but Jinx had. The way she saw it, respecting boundaries was part of the job. She’d die with the location held secret.
No one would ever learn it from her. Anyone who knew the location would take that information to the grave. Of that, she was certain.
"Raven." Archangel's voice came through clear and professional. "Glad you're back. Clean exfil?"
"Clean," she acknowledged and picked up the data stick, holding it up to the camera. "Volkov's files. The extraction protocol worked perfectly."
"Drop that on the table for the tech on the way out. I'll have him send the data in." Archangel made a note. "Casualties?"
"One besides the target. A guard."
"Complications?"
"Dogs barked. Guards fired blindly. I was gone before they organized."
Fury leaned forward. "You took out an arms dealer in a fortified compound with twelve guards, six dogs, and layered security. Alone. I want details. You were there to observe and get the lay of the land, not do the mission."
She smiled. "Not true. I was given the mission to do. Just because you don’t work the way I do doesn’t mean I need to slow my roll. Do you want the play-by-play, or can I skip to the part where I slit his throat?"
"Play-by-play."
"Drainage culvert. Bypassed the outer fence. Used anise oil to confuse the dogs. Dropped one guard. Climbed the east wall. Picked the balcony door lock. Found Volkov at his desk. Killed him. Extracted data. Exfiltrated through the window. Ran a couple of miles. Drove away with Phantom."
Fury stared at her. "That's the summary version."
"That's the version that matters."
"You skipped the part where you navigated a motion sensor grid, disabled a window alarm, and cleared three rooms before finding your target." That was from Ring. He came over the speaker phone.
She shrugged. "Details." She didn’t like to give them and wouldn’t unless she was forced.
Anubis laughed. It was a low, quiet sound. "She's never going to give you a full after-action report, Fury. You know that."
The man dropped back in his chair and sighed. "I can hope."
Lycos spoke for the first time, his voice calm, measured. "You completed the mission. That's what counts. How are you feeling?"
It was the question he always asked. Not How did it go, but How are you?
She considered lying. Decided against it. Lycos could read her too well.
"Tired. Ready for downtime."
"You'll get it. Anubis has you on standby for the next forty-eight, then we'll see what comes through."
Anubis shook his head. "Actually, you're on the hook for a mission in Monaco as soon as the paperwork clears."
She raised an eyebrow. "The Council hasn't greenlit it yet?"
"Meeting's soon. But it's a formality. Target's been monitored for months. We're just finalizing the operational window," Archangel said.
"Who's the target?"
Archangel pulled up a file and sent it to the video feed. A face appeared on the screen in front of her. He was middle-aged, European, expensive suit, the kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes.
"Henri Bernard," Archangel said. "Pedophile. Human trafficker. He's been operating for over a decade, moving children through Monaco, Nice, and Marseille. Interpol has him on their radar, but he's connected. Judges, politicians, law enforcement. Untouchable through legal channels."
Raven studied the face. Memorized it. "Natural causes?"