Chapter 3 #2
Garrett dropped his hands to his sides. Fisted them. “Agent Dawson, we need to discuss security protocols.”
She didn’t argue, sitting back and nodding. But the next twenty minutes were a negotiation, anyway. She pushed back on every restriction. Garrett held firm on most of them.
“You don’t leave the compound without me,” he said.
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“You’re a target. There’s a difference.”
“I’m in Montana. He’s in D.C.”
“You can’t let your guard down.”
He laid out the rest of the rules. No outside communication except through secure channels. Check-ins every two hours if they weren’t in the same room. A guard would be posted outside her quarters at all times.
He pulled out a tracking unit the size of a nail head. “I need to attach this to your shoe. In fact, I need your entire wardrobe.”
She looked scandalized. “For what?”
“First, to make sure you don’t have any trackers on you, and secondly, to attach ours in case the worst-case scenario happens and you go missing.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He stared at her, stone cold.
Her hands flew up, and she rolled her eyes. “These protocols are excessive and restrictive.”
“Three women are dead. Excessive and restrictive are appropriate.”
“The stalker doesn’t know I’m here.”
Garrett leaned forward. “You sure about that?”
That stopped her. She wasn’t sure—he could see it in her eyes. If there was a breach at the FBI, the killer might know she was here.
The briefest flicker of fear flashed across her face. He felt like a dick.
As he walked to her and gestured for her to give him her shoe, he softened his voice. “Work with Dr. Montgomery on the profile. I’ll coordinate with your SAC on any leads. You want to hunt the Countdown Killer? Fine. But we do it smart.”
Claire studied him for a long moment, slipping her shoe back on when he handed it to her. “You’ve done this before.”
“I’ve protected high-value targets in hostile environments. You’re no different.”
“Flattering.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.” The corner of his mouth almost twitched.
Vivi stood. “Wolf, perhaps you could show Agent Dawson the compound security features and get her some lunch? We can regroup at two.”
Claire nodded. “Sounds good.” She started packing up her computer, then stopped and stretched. Sighed. “Lead the way, Wolf.”
The codename felt like armor. Safe. She couldn’t trace Wolf to Bobby. Couldn’t connect the dots between her new bodyguard’s callsign and an eighteen-year-old kid at his sister’s funeral.
But every time she said it, something in his chest tightened.
The compound tour took them through the building’s three levels.
Garrett showed her the command center with its wall of monitors and secure communications.
The armory, which made her eyebrows rise slightly—impressive even by FBI standards.
The training facility where he’d been running drills since dawn, trying to work off the nervous energy of knowing he’d see her today.
It had also given him time with his team—Lynx, Grizzly, and Hawk—to brief them on the assignment.
“It’s quite impressive,” she observed.
“This team is made up of people who understand how to hunt predators outside the system.
Lynx handles our surveillance and cyber security—if the Countdown Killer tries to track you digitally, he'll know.
Grizzly manages perimeter defense and close protection.
Hawk provides overwatch and long-range reconnaissance.
Between the four of us and Dr. Montgomery's psychological expertise, you're covered from every angle.”
“Vigilantes.”
“Operators who get results when bureaucracy gets in the way.” He glanced at her. “You became an FBI agent to catch killers. Sometimes the system isn’t fast enough.”
“The system has rules for a reason.”
“The system is supposed to protect the innocent. Sometimes it protects the guilty.” He stopped walking and turned to face her.
“Everyone here has been burned. Each operator—even the doctor—is motivated to stop predators from hurting the innocent. You can call us whatever you want, but if you heard our stories, you’d understand. ”
Her jaw tightened. Point made.
They ended up outside, overlooking the mountains. The September day was cool and clear. The vast Montana landscape spread out before them, mighty and indifferent.
“It’s beautiful here,” Claire said quietly.
“Different from D.C.”
“Everything’s different from D.C.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I should be there. Working my case.”
“You are working it. Just from here.”
“While other agents do the actual investigating.”
Garrett studied her profile. The frustration. The helplessness. He knew that feeling. Had lived it for eighteen months, drinking himself into numbness in Montana because he couldn’t fix what he’d broken in Colombia.
“Your job is to stay alive long enough to see him caught,” he said.
“That’s what my SAC said.”
“Smart man.”
She looked at him then. Those blue eyes that saw too much. “Why do you care?”
Because I promised your best friend I’d take care of you. Because I failed once and won’t fail again. Because you’re CJ and I’m Bobby and fifteen years hasn’t changed that.
“It’s my job,” he said.
“Feels like more than that. Like you have one of those stories that gives you the motivation to help me.”
It was so much more than that. But he couldn’t tell her. Wouldn’t. It would change their dynamic too much.
“Let’s get you some food, Agent Dawson.”
“Claire.” Her voice was softer. “You can call me Claire.”
The name felt wrong in his mouth. She was CJ. Would always be CJ to him.
“Claire,” he said.
She smiled slightly. “Thank you for the tour. And for...” She gestured vaguely. “All of this.”
He held the door to return inside.
“So what’s my call sign?”
He stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me?”
She smiled a cunning, devious little smile. “My call sign. I know I have one. Lynx wouldn’t tell me. Said I had to ask you.”
Shit. “My unit will address you as Agent Dawson.”
“To my face, yes,” she said, still smiling. “Come on. We’re professionals here. What embarrassing call sign did you give me?”
This was going to go all kinds of wrong. The gleam in her eyes told him she wouldn’t quit until she’d weaseled it out of him or one of the others. Knowing Vivi, she’d probably tell her. “Paperclip.”
Claire’s jaw dropped open. “Come again.”
He mashed his lips together. Took a fortifying mental breath. “Your call sign is Paperclip.”
The smile morphed into a look of disgust. “Paperclip,” she echoed, realization dawning. “Because you think of me as a desk jockey?”
Yep, his life was about to become a living hell over a stupid name. “The victims all look like you. You’re the hinge—the paperclip—that brings the case together.”
She paced away, came back. He knew she was gearing up for more, but she surprised him when she said, “The stalker sent me a bracelet.” Her voice was quiet now.
Vulnerable. “Silver. Delicate. My best friend had one just like it when we were girls. She was taken, killed. The man took me, too, but I survived.”
Garrett’s chest constricted. Lily’s bracelet. The one we buried with her.
“She was murdered fifteen years ago,” Claire continued, not realizing he already knew. “It’s why I do this work. Catching men like the Countdown Killer.”
He should say something. Anything. But his throat was tight. “I’m sorry,” he managed.
Claire’s eyes were distant, lost in memories. “That’s why he’s chosen me, because I’m some sort of unfinished business. The one who got away.”
Garrett took a step toward her. Couldn’t help it. “You fought back and lived. That took strength. Now, you suffer from survivor’s guilt and a need for vengeance.”
She looked at him, surprise in her expression. “You sound like the doctor.”
He shrugged. “She’s rubbed off on me. What can I say?”
“Do you suffer from survivor’s guilt and a need for vengeance, too?”
She had no idea. “I lost someone.” The words came out before he could stop them. “A long time ago.”
He didn’t elaborate. Couldn’t. Every word was a minefield.
“I get it—this is why you’re here. The story that turned you into…” She gestured at him. “Wolf.”
They stood there in the cool Montana air, two people connected by grief they couldn’t share. Survivors of violence that had shaped everything they’d become.
Claire’s voice was barely a whisper. “Her name was Lily.”
The name hit him like a fist to the chest. He nodded. Didn’t trust his voice.
After a moment, she turned back for the door. “I think I’ll skip lunch.”
“Yeah.”
He watched her walk away, this woman who’d been a girl at his sister’s grave. Who’d become an FBI agent to hunt the kind of monster who’d killed Lily. Who had no idea Bobby Anderson was standing right here, watching her like he could keep her safe through sheer force of will.
I’m here, Lil. I’m protecting her like I should have protected you.
The rest of the day passed in controlled chaos.
Claire worked with Vivi on the Trident methodology, diving deep into behavioral markers and neurological patterns.
Garrett coordinated with the FBI, including SAC Reeves, on security updates and case developments.
He reviewed the compound’s defensive positions, reviewed files on additional operators for future assignments, and tried not to think about Claire three rooms away.
Failed on that last count.
Dinner was in the compound mess. Claire and Vivi sat at one table, Garrett and his team at another. All three of his teammates were sharp, had good ideas, and were as focused as he was on keeping the compound and Claire safe.
After dinner, Garrett escorted Claire to her room.
“I know you think I’m difficult,” she said as they reached her door.
“I think you’re scared and trying not to show it.”
She stiffened. “I’m not—”
“You should be.” He softened his voice. “He’s killed three women. You’re next on his list. Being scared doesn’t make you weak. It makes you smart.”
Claire studied him and nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate what you’re doing, although we’re going to discuss changing my call sign tomorrow.”
There was that small smile again. He should walk away. Maintain distance. But her eyes held him there.
Lynx showed up for guard duty.
Garrett cleared his throat. “Get some rest, Claire.”
“Goodnight, Wolf.”
He nodded and walked away before he said something he couldn’t take back.
His quarters were Spartan. Bed, desk, bathroom. He’d unpacked his go-bag but hadn’t bothered to make the space personal. Wasn’t planning to stay long-term. Just until Claire was safe.
Then what? Back to drinking in The Last Stand? Back to hiding?
He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
I saw her. I talked to her. She doesn’t know who I am.
Relief and grief warred in his chest.
His secure phone buzzed. FBI. “Wolf,” he answered.
“Commander, it’s SAC Reeves. We have a development.”
Garrett sat up straighter. “What kind of development?”
“A potential suspect. We arrested him tonight in D.C. on unrelated charges—possession with intent to distribute. White male, late thirties, fits the profile. He lives in Agent Dawson’s apartment building. There are photos of her in his place.”
Garrett’s heart pounded. “Is it him?”
“Too early to tell. We’re bringing him in for questioning. Running his background, checking his movements against the timeline.” Reeves paused. “If it’s him, Agent Dawson can come home, but I haven’t shared this with her yet. I don’t want to get her hopes up until I have solid proof.”
Home. Away from here. Away from me.
That’s what Garrett should want—her safe. The threat eliminated.
But his chest was tight.
“Something feels off, though,” Reeves continued. “It’s too easy. This predator has been meticulous. He wouldn’t leave photos lying around where we could find them.”
“Could be a mistake. They make them.”
“Maybe.” But Reeves didn’t sound convinced. “Keep Agent Dawson secured. I’ll update you as soon as I can after the interview.”
The line went dead.
Garrett sat in the darkness, processing.
If it was the stalker, Claire left and went back to D.C. Back to her life.
If it wasn’t, she stayed in danger, but with him.
He should pray it was the stalker. Should want this over. But part of him—the part that was still Bobby, that had never stopped being Bobby—wanted her to stay.
What the hell is wrong with me?
His phone buzzed again. Text message.
Claire: Can’t sleep. You awake?
Garrett stared at the screen.
He shouldn’t respond. Should maintain professional distance. She was a protectee. He was her operator. Nothing more.
His thumb moved before his brain caught up. Yeah. What do you need?
Three dots. She was typing.
Garrett waited, torn between the kid who’d failed his sister and the man who’d learned to hunt monsters. Between Bobby’s promise and Wolf’s mission. Between keeping Claire safe and keeping her at a distance.
Her message came through: Tell me about being a SEAL. What was it like?
She wanted to understand him. To know who he was behind the callsign.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.