Chapter 9
Griff watched Sarah fight against the crash, trying to stay functional through sheer determination.
Sarah's fingers had finally stopped trembling around the mug, but the exhaustion was winning. Her eyes kept drifting shut before snapping open, as if she was afraid of what would happen if she let her guard down.
"You need sleep," he said.
"Can't. Need to analyze what we know. Create a timeline. The Chechens, Stillwater, whoever's behind this—there's a pattern. There's always a pattern."
"The pattern will still be there in the morning."
"You don't understand." She set the mug down too hard, tea sloshing. "This is what I do. Financial crimes, conspiracy, fraud—I find the threads and pull them until everything unravels. But this... someone knows exactly how I work. They knew I'd found something."
"What did you find?"
"I don't know." The frustration in her voice was palpable. "I flagged some anomalies in defense contracts, some money moving in ways it shouldn't. But nothing that should have triggered..." She gestured vaguely at everything.
"Unless you found something you didn't realize was important."
"Or someone thought I was close to finding something." She pulled her laptop toward her, managed to open it this time. "I need to—"
Griff closed the laptop gently but firmly. "What you need is rest. Your body's been through trauma. Your mind needs time to process."
"I can't just—"
"Yes, you can." He moved the laptop out of reach. "You're no good to anyone if you collapse. Trust me on this."
"Trust you?" A bitter laugh escaped her. "I don't even know you."
"I’m the guy you blasted in the face. The guy who saved you anyway. You know enough.” He gave her a look that could probably penetrate steel.
Yeah. That was fair.
"Griff, as in Griffin?" She tested the name. "Like the mythical creature? Guardian of divine power?"
He shrugged. "My mother had high hopes."
"Did you live up to them?"
He thought of Tank, dead at his desk. Of the months hunting shadows while his team thought he'd lost his mind. Of the men he’d willingly kill to save this woman he'd just met.
"No," he said simply.
Something in his tone must have warned her off further questions. Sarah pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it around herself.
"There are bedrooms," he reminded her. "Your tech dude clearly spared no expense."
"I'm fine here." She curled into the corner of the couch, making herself smaller. "I just... I don't want to be alone in a strange room. Is that pathetic?"
"It's human."
He moved to the security station, checking the monitors Garofalo had installed. Motion sensors showed clear. Thermal imaging picked up some deer about a hundred yards out, nothing else. At least he’d see the enemy coming. They were as safe as they could be, for now.
His sat phone buzzed—not a call, but an automated update from the dark web crawlers he'd set up. He pulled out his tablet, encrypted beyond belief, and checked the alerts.
His blood went cold.
Knight Tactical was being watched. Subtle surveillance, professional grade. The kind you'd only notice if you were looking for it. Ronan's vacation house in Marin. The Knight Tactical hangar. Even the coffee shop Izzy and Cory frequented on their trips to San Francisco.
Someone was keeping tabs on his team, waiting for him to make contact.
"What is it?" Sarah had sat up, reading his body language despite her exhaustion.
"Confirmation that staying dark was the right call." He showed her the screen, the surveillance photos he'd pulled from a dark web intelligence broker. "They're watching my team."
"Stillwater?"
"Or whoever Stillwater's working for." He studied the images. Professional but not perfect. They wanted him to know his team was being watched. A message: come out of hiding and we'll know.
He had to tell his people.
Griff opened the encrypted messaging app, typing quickly:
Ghost: Active surveillance on all KT assets. Professional grade. Check your six.
The response was immediate.
Ronan: Ghost?? Where have you been?
Maya: Are you okay?
Axel: SIX MONTHS, brother.
Ghost: I'm fine. You're being watched. Marin house, hangar, even Izzy's coffee shop.
Izzy: How do you know this?
Ghost: Dark web intel. Someone wants me to know you're being watched.
Ronan: Where are you? We're coming.
Ghost: Negative.
Deke: Don't you dare disappear again.
Ghost: This is my fight. Stay safe. Stay alert.
Ronan: No can do, brother. Your fight is our fight.
Maya: We've been preparing for months. We can handle this.
Ghost: They killed Tank.
That stopped the flood of messages for a moment.
Axel: All the more reason to work together.
Ghost: All the more reason to keep you out of it.
Ronan: Huge negative. This is our fight, too. Don't shut us out again.
Griff stared at the screen, his throat tight. Every instinct screamed to accept their help, to stop carrying this alone. But the surveillance photos glowed from his tablet—his team in crosshairs they didn't even know about until now.
Ghost: I'll check in when I can. Stay vigilant. Trust no one outside KT.
Ronan: Ghost, wait—
He closed the app before he could change his mind.
"So we really are alone," Sarah said quietly.
"For now." He locked the tablet, decision made. "Tomorrow, we'll figure out a way to get you to my team. Tonight, we stay put."
"And you? After you get me somewhere safe?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't tell her he planned to disappear back into the shadows, keep hunting until he found who killed Tank or died trying. She'd already refused to run once tonight.
"Get some sleep," he said instead.
Sarah lay back down, pulling the blanket up. Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Not peaceful sleep—her face still showed tension even unconscious—but at least rest.
Griff settled into the chair where he could watch both her and the door.
His sat phone sat silent on the side table, eighteen missed calls from Ronan alone. Ro probably figured he'd finally snapped completely. He wouldn’t be wrong.
But they were alive. As long as he stayed away, stayed quiet, they'd remain that way.
He pulled out his tablet again, starting his own analysis of the intelligence Sarah had gathered. She was right—there was always a pattern. And somewhere in the data she'd risked her life to protect was the answer to who'd killed Tank.
Outside, Montana wind rattled the windows. Inside, Sarah whimpered in her sleep, caught in some nightmare. Without thinking, Griff reached over and touched her shoulder gently. She settled, unconsciously leaning toward the comfort.
He pulled his hand back.
He couldn't afford attachments. Not now. Not with her. Tomorrow he'd find a way to get her to the team. They’d help her connect the dots. Then he'd disappear again.
But tonight, he'd keep watch. It's what Tank would have done. It's what Griffin Hawkins—the man his mother had hoped he'd become—would do.
The thermal sensors picked up movement. Another deer. But Griff stayed alert. Stayed ready.
Somewhere out there, killers were hunting them. Somewhere, his team was being watched. Somewhere, the conspiracy that had killed Tank was still operating.
But here, in a criminal's luxury bunker with a traumatized FBI accountant, Griff had found something he hadn't felt in months.
Purpose.
Even if it was only for tonight.