6. Chapter 6 （Noah）
Blood drips from the cut above my eye, but I barely feel it. All I can focus on is Olivia's face, the way she's looking at me with concern I don't deserve. Her hand is still raised where I caught her wrist, and I force myself to let go before the warmth of her skin breaks what's left of my control.
"I need to secure the perimeter," I repeat, more to convince myself than her. "Stay here."
"You're hurt." Her voice is soft, dangerous in its gentleness. "At least let me help clean?—"
"I said stay here." The words come out harsher than intended, but I need her safe. Need her behind these reinforced walls while I make sure the threat is really gone.
She crosses her arms, that familiar stubborn set to her jaw that simultaneously infuriates and captivates me. "Or what? You'll lock me in?"
"If I have to."
We stare at each other, neither willing to back down. Blood trickles down my temple, and her eyes track its path with an intensity that makes my skin burn.
"Fine," she says finally. "Ten minutes. Then I'm coming to find you."
It's not a threat – it's a promise. One I know she'll keep because she's Olivia Blackwood, and backing down isn't in her DNA. Just like it wasn't in Jessica's.
The thought hits me like a physical blow. I turn away before she can see whatever emotion is fighting its way across my face. "Ten minutes."
Outside, the mountain air is sharp with gunpowder and pine. I move through the trees methodically, checking the spots where our visitors made their final stands. Three shell casings by the oak tree. Signs of a hasty retreat down the eastern slope. Blood on the rocks that isn't mine.
They were good – professional grade with military training. But they weren't expecting someone who knew their playbook, who had helped write it. Someone who recognized their formation patterns because he'd trained with the same unit.
Randall's personal security team. The same ones who...
I push the memory away, focusing on the evidence in front of me. They didn't leave much – these men know how to cover their tracks. But there's something about their attack pattern that bothers me. It was too direct, too obvious. Almost like...
Like they wanted to be seen.
Like this was a message, not an assassination attempt.
The realization hits just as I hear Olivia's voice behind me: "Time's up."
I spin, gun half-raised before I recognize her. She's still holding the weapon I gave her, but now it's pointed safely at the ground. Her eyes scan the treeline, sharp and assessing.
"I told you to stay inside."
"And I told you ten minutes." She moves closer, and I catch the slight tremor in her hands – the only sign that she's not as calm as she appears. "What did you find?"
I should send her back. Should maintain professional distance. Should remember what happened the last time I let someone get too close to this investigation.
Instead, I hear myself say: "They weren't trying to kill us."
Her eyebrows raise. "The bullets flying past my head suggest otherwise."
"No." I run a hand through my hair, trying to organize my thoughts. "The shots were too wide. These men... they don't miss. Not at that range."
"Then what were they doing?"
I look at her – really look at her. At the determination in her eyes, the way she holds herself ready for anything, the slight lift to her chin that dares the world to try and stop her. And I know I can't keep her in the dark anymore. Can't protect her by keeping her ignorant.
Because that's exactly what I tried to do with Jessica.
"They were sending a message," I say finally. "Letting us know they can find us. That nowhere is safe."
Her hand tightens on the gun. "Who are they, Noah? Really?"
The answer burns in my throat like whiskey, like blood, like regret. But before I can speak, her phone chirps with an incoming message.
The sound echoes through the silent forest like a death knell.
The message notification glows on her screen: Unknown Sender. My instincts scream that this is a trap, but Olivia's already pulling out her phone, her reporter's curiosity overriding caution.
"Don't—" I start, but she's already opened it.
Her face goes pale. The phone shakes in her hand as she turns it toward me, and my blood runs cold at what I see: a photo of Jessica, taken moments before the shooting.
She's walking out of Randall Industries, smiling at something off-camera.
The timestamp shows 3:42 PM. Seventeen minutes before the first shot.
Below the photo, a message:
"Ask your bodyguard why he watched her die."
"Noah?" Olivia's voice wavers. "What is this?"
I can't breathe. Can't think. The image burns into my retinas like a brand – Jessica's smile, the sunlight in her hair, the complete trust in her expression. Trust I betrayed.
"It's not—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. "It's not what you think."
"Then what is it?" She steps closer, and I catch the scent of her shampoo, the same one that lingered on my pillow this morning. "Because right now, I'm thinking there's a lot more to your connection with Randall Industries than you've told me."
She's right. Of course she's right. But the truth... the truth could get her killed just like it killed Jessica.
Another message appears: A video file.
"Don't," I warn, but she's already hitting play.
Security camera footage fills the screen. The Randall Industries lobby, three years ago. I watch myself walk through the frame, escorting Jessica to her final meeting. Watch myself check the perimeter, clear the room, do everything by the book.
Everything except notice the betrayal coming from within.
"Turn it off," I say roughly.
"No." Her voice is steel. "You don't get to hide from this anymore. What happened that day, Noah? What did they make you do?"
"They didn't make me do anything." The words taste like ash. "I chose. I chose wrong."
A third message appears, and this time I'm faster. I grab her phone before she can open it, my hands shaking with barely controlled emotion.
"Noah." She touches my arm, and I flinch. "Whatever happened... whatever choice you made... you can tell me."
I look at her – really look at her. At the compassion in her eyes, the strength in her stance, the way she faces darkness head-on and demands answers. So much like Jessica it makes my chest ache.
But Jessica never knew the whole truth. Never knew what I discovered in those final days, what I was trying to protect her from. Never knew that by trying to save her, I sealed her fate.
I can't make the same mistake with Olivia.
"You want to know what happened?" My voice is barely a whisper. "What I did?"
She nods, her hand still on my arm, anchoring me to the present when memories threaten to drag me under.
"Then I'll tell you. All of it." I meet her eyes, willing her to understand the weight of what I'm about to say. "But once you know, there's no going back. No pretending ignorance. No protection in denial."
"I don't want protection." Her fingers tighten on my arm. "I want the truth."
The third message notification blinks insistently. A warning, a threat, a reminder of all I've lost. Of all I stand to lose again.
But looking at Olivia, feeling the strength of her grip and the unwavering determination in her eyes, I make a different choice than I did three years ago.
I choose truth.
"Jessica wasn't just my protectee." The words feel like glass in my throat. "She was the lead financial investigator for Randall Industries' internal audit team. She found discrepancies – massive ones. Money flowing through shell companies, weapons shipments that didn't match any known contracts."
"Project Oracle," Olivia breathes.
I nod, my eyes fixed on the shadows between the trees. Easier than looking at her. Easier than seeing the moment she realizes what kind of man she's trusted.
"The project was supposed to be cutting-edge defense tech. That's what everyone believed. But Jessica... she dug deeper. Found evidence it was something else. Something worse."
"What was it?"
"Bio-weapons." The word hangs in the cold mountain air. "Designed to look like natural diseases. Untraceable. Undetectable. The perfect weapon for anyone willing to pay the price."
Olivia's hand drops from my arm. I feel its absence like a physical wound.
"She was going to expose them," I continue, the memories flooding back. "Had all the evidence ready. But someone in her team was compromised. They got to her files, corrupted the data. Made it look like she was the one embezzling funds, covering up illegal shipments."
"And you?" Her voice is carefully neutral. "Where did you fit in?"
"I was supposed to protect her. But I also had orders – from Marcus Randall himself – to watch her. Report any suspicious behavior." My hands clench into fists. "I thought... I thought I could play both sides. Keep her safe while gathering intelligence. Stupid. So fucking stupid."
"What happened that day? The day she died?"
The third message chirps again. This time, I open it.
It's another video. The parking garage. Jessica running. Me, following. The muzzle flash.
"I tried to warn her." My voice breaks. "When I realized what they were planning, I tried to get her out. But they were waiting. Had been waiting. The whole thing was a setup – her discovery of the project, the evidence trail, all of it. They needed to make an example."
The video plays on. I watch myself reach her body, watch the blood spread across her white blouse. Watch Marcus Randall step from the shadows, his voice cold as he tells me I've passed the test. Proved my loyalty.
"They made you choose," Olivia whispers. "Her life or yours."
"No." I finally meet her eyes, let her see the full weight of my guilt. "They made me choose between quick and slow. Between watching her die fast from a bullet or slow from whatever they were cooking up in those labs. I chose quick. I chose what I thought was mercy."
"But it wasn't your bullet." She's piecing it together, her reporter's mind cutting through my shame to the truth. "You followed her to warn her, not to kill her."
"Doesn't matter. I was part of it. Part of their system, their lies. I could have done more, should have?—"
Her arms wrap around me, cutting off my words. She's warm and real and alive, and I should push her away but I can't. Can't do anything except hold her as the memories wash over me.
"It wasn't your fault," she whispers against my chest.
"You don't understand." I try to pull back, but she holds on tighter. "They're doing it again. The project, the weapons – it never stopped. And now you're investigating them, getting close to the truth just like she did. They'll kill you too, Olivia. Just to prove they can."
She lifts her head, meeting my gaze with that fierce determination that terrifies and amazes me. "Let them try."
"I can't lose—" I stop, the words sticking in my throat.
"Can't lose what?" Her eyes search mine. "Another protectee? Another journalist getting too close to the truth? Or me, Noah? What are you really afraid of losing?"
The answer burns in my chest, dangerous and undeniable. I should lie. Should push her away. Should remember every reason why getting close to her is a death sentence for us both.
Instead, I kiss her.
Because the truth is, I'm already lost.