Chapter 8 Threat Assessment
Threat Assessment
Zach scrubbed the footage back another thirty seconds, analyzing every pixel.
Empty walkway.
Empty stairs.
Empty lawn.
No thermal bloom. No light fluctuation. No motion triggers. No compression artifacts that might hide a frame skip. No evidence of a looped feed. Not even a glitch in the feed.
He paused the frame. 0243.
That was the last clean pass. No movement. No shadows. No distortion. Just wind shifting the palms and the steady wash of security lighting across the landscape.
He dragged the timeline forward. Same stretch. Same angle. Still Nothing.
He switched feeds—pulled up the overlapping camera from the east side of staff housing. Another from the main path.
All clear.
At 0243, the entire sector had been empty.
Emma found the note at 0615. Nearly three and a half hours of unaccounted time. Which meant sometime after that verified frame—after the last patrol cleared the sector—someone walked unseen straight to her door.
And left a threat. Without appearing on a single camera.
Zach’s jaw tightened. He cycled through twelve feeds, checking each overlap, each angle, each blind spot.
No figure.
No shadow.
Nothing out of place.
Whoever had done it hadn’t avoided the cameras by luck. They’d known where they were. Not guessed. Not tested. Known. They’d moved through the system like it wasn't there.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as that thought settled.
Not random. Planned.
The security office was quiet except for the subdued hum of servers and the occasional click of hard drives cycling. The air smelled of ozone and overheated plastic. The monitor was out on dinner break, so he was alone.
Multiple screens glowed in front of him, each displaying a different quadrant of the resort. And not one camera had seen a thing. Professional. Deliberate. Careful. Not a prank. Not even close.
Zach stood and paced, replaying the conversation with Emma in his mind. Not because he wanted to—because he needed to assess it.
She’d refused relocation. Refused increased patrols. Refused to treat the threat as credible.
I’m not hiding. Her voice had been calm. Measured. Not defensive. Not emotional. Determined.
He exhaled slowly. Most people panicked when threatened. They spiraled, over-corrected, made mistakes. Or they deferred to him, his judgement.
Emma had done neither.
She’d evaluated the situation—assessed him—and decided he was wrong. Not emotionally. Not impulsively. Deliberately.
Most people didn’t have the nerve. Or the intelligence.
She had.
Problem was, she was unaware of the level of threat she was dealing with. A muscle jumped in his jaw. That part was on him. He hadn’t told her everything—the extent of what happened—with Kate, with Lena. The targeting. The sabotage. The way it didn’t stop once it started. The way it escalated.
That Marcus Sinclair wanted to destroy them, and everyone around them.
That wasn’t information to be shared. It was need-to-know.
The door opened behind him. Zach didn’t greet him. He’d already identified the footstep pattern—and the lack of urgency.
“You’re wearing a groove in the floor,” Nick said, eyes following the invisible path Zach paced between desk and walls.
Zach grunted.
Nick closed the door before crossing the room and leaning against the desk, glancing at the monitors. His posture was relaxed, arms folded across his chest. He wore a faded gray t-shirt and jeans—off-duty, but never off. They never were.
“Still nothing?” Nick asked.
“The fucker knows what he’s doing.”
Nick studied the screens for a moment, a frown creasing his brow. “Blind spots?”
“Eleven,” Zach pulled up a schematic overlay. Red zones criss-crossed the map—areas without full camera coverage. “Most are back areas. Service corridors. Back entrances. Places guests don’t go.” He tapped one zone. “Places no one’s supposed to need eyes on.”
“And staff do.”
“Yeah. Thing is, we don’t run our security protocols that way. We cover every inch. So why these gaps?” Zach shook his head. “The plans called for full coverage. I’ll have to follow up with David and the vendor as to what happened.”
Nick tilted his head, absorbing the implications. “So, it’s someone familiar with the property.”
“Or someone who’s been watching long enough to map a path through the blind spots.”
“You think it’s Marcus?”
Zach considered that. It had been his first thought. Marcus had the resources, the motive, and the patience. But this felt smaller. More personal. Or he had another semi-competent sub-contractor that got off on scaring women.
“Don’t know yet,” Zach rubbed his hands over his jaw. “It’s a logical assumption—he’s been quiet for months now—but I don’t want to focus on what could be a wrong direction.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “If it is him, this isn't a warning. It's an opening move.”
Silence settled for a minute, then Nick asked, “How’d Emma take it?”
Zach’s expression didn’t change. He made sure of it. “She thinks it’s nothing.”
“And you don’t.”
“Someone strolled up to her fucking door in the middle of the night.” His heart rate increased at the thought, a sharp spike he couldn’t quite suppress.
“You told her that?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Zach’s fingers drummed once against the armrest. “She refused relocation.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “You want to move her?” His voice sounded curious.
“Yes.”
“She refused.”
“Yes.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Nick’s mouth, his tone amused. “Huh.”
Zach glared at him, eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Nothing.” Nick’s tone was innocent. Too innocent. Dripping with amusement.
Zach turned back to the monitors. He pulled up another feed—this one showing the staff parking area. Empty except for a few scattered construction vehicles. There wasn’t anything else on the island other than golf carts.
“She doesn’t understand the risk,” Zach growled. “She thinks this is a prank. A disgruntled applicant or someone trying to scare her.”
“Could be.”
“It’s not.”
“You sound sure.”
“I am.” Zach gestured at the screen. “This was planned. Timed. Executed perfectly. That’s not a goddamned prank.”
Nick didn’t argue, but watched Zach with that calm, assessing look he got when he was reading a situation. “You seem deeply invested in Emma’s safety,” no longer amused, but thoughtful.
Zach ignored him.
Nick pushed off the desk and moved to the second monitor, studying the resort layout. “You usually delegate this type of threat assessment.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
Zach didn’t answer immediately. His eyes tracked across the screens, checking motion sensors, door logs, perimeter alerts. Everything was green. Everything was clear.
Except it wasn’t.
“She’s high profile,” Zach said. “Director-level, C-suite. Access to personnel files, hiring decisions, background checks. If she’s being targeted, it’s not random.”
That’s not the real reason. Zach ignored the inner voice. Shut it down before it could talk back more.
“So, assign Cole to shadow her. Or run it through Matt’s team.”
“I will.”
“But you’re handling it personally.” Amusement again.
Zach’s jaw tightened. “For now.”
Nick smiled. Actually smiled. “You like her.”
Zach tensed.
“You argue with her.” Nick’s smile widened. “You don’t argue with anyone else. You just make them do what you want.”
Zach turned in his chair, fixing Nick with a flat stare. “She’s refusing reasonable security protocols. That’s a problem.”
“Uh-huh. I believe you.”
“Then stop looking at me like that and fuck off.”
Nick raised both hands in mock surrender, but the amusement didn’t leave his face. He leaned back against the desk again, crossing his arms.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Nick’s expression shifted. The humor faded, replaced by something more intense. More thoughtful. “You’ve spent most of your life protecting other people.”
Zach said nothing. Nick wasn’t finished, and he wouldn’t quit until he’d said his piece.
“Me. David. Your unit. Recently, Kate and Lena. The resort.” Nick hesitated. “It’s okay to want something for yourself. Someone.” The words were soft. Not preachy. Just observant.
Zach stared at the monitors. Green status lights blinked across all sectors. “That’s not what this is.”
Nick quirked an eyebrow.
“She’s a security concern.” The comment echoed hollow in his own ears.
“Of course she is.” Nick’s tone was neutral.
Zach shot him another icy glare. Unfortunately, Nick was immune.
Nick smiled and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the door frame. “For what it’s worth? She pushed back when you told her what to do. Most people don’t do that.”
“I noticed.”
“She’s not afraid of you. And you’re still thinking about her.”
“I’m thinking about the threat.”
“Sure you are,” Nick pulled the door open. “Get some sleep, Zach. You’ve been staring at those screens for four hours.”
“I’m fine.”
Nick shook his head, still smiling. “You really are terrible at lying to yourself.”
He left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Zach sat alone in the muted hum of the office. The monitors cycled in steady rotation—perimeter, lobby, staff entrance, beach, marina. Clean feeds. Stable systems. Everything as it should be. Everything under control.
He needed to move on. He had work to do. Overnight duty roster. Background verifications. Vendor access lists.
Routine. Manageable.
Instead, he pulled up the staff housing sector feed. Camera two. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t justify it.
Emma’s bungalow filled the screen. Lights on inside. A shadow moved past the window—quick, indistinct. The kitchen, based on the layout. He’d memorized that earlier. Entry points. Sightlines. Time to intercept.
He shouldn’t have. It wasn’t protocol. He hadn’t done the same for any other cottage. He’d added the second camera that afternoon. Logged it as a standard upgrade. Better coverage. Cleaner angles. Necessary. That was the word he’d used.
It sounded clean. Logical. It wasn’t true.
He watched the feed for a moment longer, but the shadow was gone. He slumped back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. This was a mistake. Not the camera. The rest of it.
The focus. The attention. The way his thoughts circled back to her—her office, her voice, the calm certainty when she’d told him no.
I’m not hiding.
His hand stilled against his jaw. She hadn’t been afraid. That was the problem. Fear kept people alive. Fear made them careful. She wasn’t careless. She was something worse: confident.
He dropped his hand, eyes tracking back to the monitor without conscious decision. Still nothing. Still quiet.
“Security concern,” he said aloud. The words landed flat. Unconvincing.
He blew out a breath and reached for the keyboard. Pulled up the duty roster. Forced his attention onto names, schedules, rotations.
Work. Focus. Control. That was what mattered.
Minutes passed. Five. Ten.
Zach didn’t look at the housing feed. Didn’t need to. Didn’t want to.
When he glanced up again, the staff housing camera was back on the main screen.
He stilled. He didn’t remember switching it. Didn’t remember pulling it back up. The muscle in his jaw twitched. For a long moment, he just watched. The bungalow remained quiet. No movement. No shadows. No sign of anything out of place.
Safe.
For now.
He leaned back in his chair. Didn’t look away.
Didn’t bother lying to himself about why. He already knew.