Chapter 13 #2
Blake took it, all of it—the fury, the grief, the shaking hands. Then he caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled her in until there was no space left between them. His breath was rough against her temple.
“I didn’t plan on dying,” he murmured. “Not with you still out there.”
Her knees buckled. He held her up. His heartbeat thundered against her cheek—proof. She pressed a hand to his chest as if to make sure it stayed beating. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said, fierce and breathless, her words trembling against his collarbone.
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it,” he whispered, and somehow that crooked, half-dead humor made her want to laugh and scream.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes burned, her throat raw. The photograph was still crumpled in her hand, damp with rain and sweat.
“They tried to convince me you betrayed me. I couldn’t make myself believe it. Not really. Not for more than a heartbeat.” She shoved it against his chest. “The picture’s fake. Dan wasn’t with you. They built this, framed you, to make me believe you were dirty.”
Blake’s gaze dropped to the photo. The lamplight found the salt on his lashes and the split along his lip. He took it, thumb brushing over the image with a reverence that felt too fragile for a war like theirs.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
Blake quirked a brow. “Why didn’t you believe them? I mean, you did say you didn’t trust me because I don’t play by the rules.”
She let out an exasperated chuckle. “Because you are many things: impossible, irrational and irresistibly irritating.”
“I knew you thought I was irresistible.”
She shoved him away. “You…you.”
“Care about me. I knew if I kept working at it, I’d win you over.”
“Like all the other women,” she groaned out and rolled her eyes.
He tucked her into him, fierce, protective, wanting. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever made an effort for, the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
He kissed her. Soft, sensitive, devastating.
It wasn’t a reunion; it was a confession, everything they’d never said written into the press of lips and breath and the tremor that ran through her when his hand cupped the back of her neck.
She leaned into it, into him, letting the storm in her chest break open just once.
Then he exhaled against her skin, and the world started bleeding back in along with the truth that the danger hadn’t passed. His hand lingered on her jaw, but duty clawed its way between them like it always had.
“They’ve been laundering evidence,” he said quietly, voice rough from exhaustion. “Planting stories so neat they could bury the truth inside them.”
Vivian’s pulse was still wild, but her voice steadied. “Who did this?”
He met her eyes. The exhaustion fell away, leaving only defiance. “Not who,” he said. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Vivian drew a shaky breath. “Why? What’s the play?”
He stepped back, just enough to meet her eyes, and the shift in his body told her he was sliding back into soldier mode.
“Thirteen’s deep cover. He’s inside the missionary contractor network Laurel Tide hired.
They’ve been recruiting ex-military under the guise of humanitarian ops—stabilization fronts, crisis zones, disaster relief. Only half the missions ever existed.”
Her stomach tightened. “And the other half?”
“Smuggling routes. Weapon laundering. Child extraction.” He swallowed, jaw locking. “Thirteen’s people pulled me out of the water. He’s been deep undercover with the missionary contractors Laurel Tide hired—feeding intel from the inside to Maddox.”
Vivian’s pulse spiked. “He saved you?”
He hesitated, eyes flicking to hers. “There was never a leak in the FBI, Viv. That was the story they fed us—to smoke out the missionary contractors. They were the top priority all along, not Laurel Tide. We were bait. A small group of higher-ups found us expendable and now want us to disappear. Maddox was pulled into the op and has been working to figure out a way to keep you safe.”
Vivian’s stomach turned. “They used us.”
He nodded once. “And when they’re done, they planned to clean the board.”
She looked away, jaw tight. “Thirteen’s daughter—she’s safe. I made sure of it. I wasn’t going to let another child pay for what we didn’t see coming.”
Blake’s expression softened, pride threading through the exhaustion. “You saved her.”
Vivian met his eyes, voice low. “We save who we can. Now we burn the rest down.”
Blake nodded once, grim. “Thirteen has intel and a move he wants to make. Claims he has names—real proof of a covert operation that will burn the FBI and show how they worked with Laurel Tide instead of against them.”
“We can use that.” Vivian paced, biting her nail, a plan forming in her mind. Not great, but possible. But a lot of things would have to fall into place to make it work.
“But if Laurel Tide figures out he’s compromised, they’ll erase him and, if they discover who Mara is?” Blake went still. “Certain people in the agency would use a child to keep him quiet, and Laurel Tide would happily eliminate both of them to remove the problem.”
Vivian’s breath snagged. The child’s small hand in hers, the thin blanket, the hollow patience in the girl’s eyes—everything clicked into place like a gun chamber finding its round.
Blake’s tone softened until it was nearly a confession.
“He told us the truth at the hospital elevator—he’s trying to save her the only way he can.
Mara’s mother managed to get a message to Thirteen; she was killed before he could get them both out, but she managed to send a message before she died.
” When Laurel Tide brought in the missionary contractors, he took advantage of the situation by positioning himself to work directly with the militia. ”
Vivian shook her head. “I won’t accept that there is no way out of this. Set a meeting with Thirteen. I have an idea. But you won’t like it.”
Blake raised a brow at her. “Why not?”
“Because it’ll cost us everything.”
The road to the lighthouse crawled along the edge of the cliffs, a vein of cracked asphalt cutting through fog and scrub.
The wind off the sea came in sharp, salted gusts that rattled the vehicle’s frame.
Every so often, the beam from the lighthouse swept the road ahead—a skeletal hand reaching through the mist—and then vanished again, leaving only darkness.
Blake’s grip tightened on the wheel. Each rotation of the wipers matched the slow, deliberate pulse of his heartbeat. He’d been underwater long enough after the fall to feel death’s fingers on his throat, but now it was this—the silence beside Vivian—that suffocated him.
She hadn’t spoken since they left the safehouse.
Didn’t need to. The air between them was loaded with the kind of understanding you didn’t earn easily, one built through blood and near misses.
Every time he glanced over, the dim light from the dashboard caught on her cheekbones and the sharp line of her mouth.
Her eyes stayed forward, fixed on the horizon as if the world might crumble if she looked away.
He wanted to tell her how hard it had been to leave her on that ship, to jump knowing she might think he’d died.
The decision had ripped something out of him.
But he’d done it anyway. Because if it came down to her or him, there’d never been a question.
He’d drown a thousand times over before he let them touch her.
Now she was alive, sitting within arm’s reach, and he couldn’t even say her name without feeling the edge of it in his chest.
The car Thirteen’s men had given him jolted as the tires hit gravel. The lighthouse rose ahead, tall and ominous.
Vivian’s voice broke the silence, low and certain. “We’re early.”
“Good,” he said. “I hate walking into someone else’s schedule.”
He killed the headlights and coasted behind a row of derelict fuel tanks. The engine ticked softly as it cooled, drowned out by the hiss of wind and waves. He opened his door, the cold slamming into him, sharp enough to bite bone.
Vivian was already out, her movements efficient, silent. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and scanned the cliffs with the same focus he’d seen her use dissecting intel, the world reduced to angles and shadows. She wasn’t afraid. That was what scared him most.
Blake checked his weapon from their stash at his place, slid a fresh magazine into place, and motioned for her to follow. They stayed low, moving between rocks slick with sea spray. The air carried the copper tang of salt and rust, the odor of burned fuel.
Halfway to the lighthouse, he stopped. Movement—small, quick—near the entrance. Three figures, maybe four, cutting through the fog with the stealth of people who’d done this too many times before.
He crouched behind a drift of stone and lifted his binoculars. The silhouettes were too disciplined for freelancers. The way they communicated—hand signals, not shouts—told him everything. Agency-trained or contractor elite.
Vivian shifted beside him. “We go around back.”
He shook his head. “They’re flanking both sides. This isn’t a meet. It’s a setup.”
She looked at him, eyes narrowing. “You think Thirteen sold us out?”
He wanted to say no. That trust still meant something. But he’d seen too many good men twisted by fear, by leverage, by the illusion that one small betrayal could save someone they loved. “I would if they discovered Mara’s relationship to him, and it’s his way out of all this.”
Viv’s hair whipped loose in the wind, eyes glinting like broken glass. She didn’t look away. “Then we make it our setup,” she said.
He almost smiled.
They moved again, circling the base of the lighthouse. The ground was slick, the stone steps treacherous. The door at the bottom hung half open, a faint glow spilling through the gap. Blake raised a hand, signaling stop. Vivian ignored it, creeping closer.
“Viv,” he hissed.
She didn’t respond. Typical.
He followed, gun raised, every muscle tight. The interior smelled of oil and damp concrete. The walls were slick with condensation, and somewhere high above, the faint echo of footsteps.
Then a voice.
“You came.”
It was calm, almost resigned. Blake swung toward the sound. Thirteen stepped from the shadows beneath the stairwell—hood down, clothes soaked through.
Blake didn’t lower his weapon. “You picked a hell of a place for a reunion.”
Vivian moved to Blake’s flank, rifle steady. “You said this was a meet.”
“It was. Until it wasn’t,” Thirteen grumbled. “Bureau found a lead to this place. Old lead, but that brought Laurel here, too.”
He gestured toward the narrow window slit. Outside, the fog was alive with motion—shadows moving fast and low.
Blake caught the gleam of gunmetal, the pulse of red lights in the mist. “Ambush,” he muttered.
Thirteen nodded. “They have her.”
Viv’s breath hitched. “Mara?”
Thirteen’s jaw worked once before he spoke. “Laurel Tide intercepted the medical transport after your escape. They don’t know who she is—only that Vivian wanted her safe. They think she’s a bargaining chip of some sort.”
Vivian swore under her breath. “We’ll get her back.”
Thirteen shook his head. “You don’t understand. If they realize she’s connected to me, they’ll use her to keep me in line, or worse. I kept the truth buried for a reason.”
“Where is she?” Vivan asked, her tone resolute, already telling Blake she’d rescue Mara no matter what.
“I don’t know.”
Vivian pulled out the burner phone and texted something to someone. She’d been sending messages since he’d given it to her back at the cabin.
The wind howled through the open door. Distant engines revved. Blake’s instincts screamed—they were boxed in. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “They’ll pin us between the ridge and the sea.”
“Then we take higher ground,” Vivian said, already moving toward the stairs.
Thirteen caught her arm. “No. They’ll expect that. After Jensen’s takedown up there, and then you showing up, they installed a beacon upstairs—motion sensor linked to a dead man’s switch. You trigger it, the whole place goes up.”
“Jensen?” Viv asked.
Thirteen nodded. “The bullet that killed him. It’s why I had to retrieve it. If you turned that into the bureau, they’d have come down before I could get Mara out.”
Blake’s stomach turned to lead. “How long have we got?”
“Minutes. Maybe less.”
The ground trembled as a shot cracked outside, echoing up the cliff. The first round hit the wall near the door, spraying concrete dust.
Blake shoved Thirteen toward the inner stairwell. “Move!”
They sprinted upward as gunfire erupted outside. Shadows swept past the windows—Laurel Tide’s hired guns, black-clad and precise. Another shot punched through the doorway, grazing the railing beside Vivian’s hand. She didn’t flinch.
At the next landing, Blake shoved Thirteen behind a generator and leaned out to return fire. Two rounds dropped, one into the sandbags, one into the fog. He didn’t wait to see if they hit.
Thirteen crouched beside him, breathing hard. “They’re not here to capture. They’re here to kill, and if they see us together, then we’re all dead.”
“Then we don’t give them clean shots, and we keep you out of sight for now.
” Blake reloaded, his movements automatic, his mind burning through options.
He could feel Vivian on the other side of the room—her focus a steady, silent weight.
They’d fought enough together to move like two halves of the same instinct.
Another explosion shook the ground—closer this time. The door below slammed open. Voices—sharp, commanding. Laurel Tide.
“Upstairs!” one shouted.
“Go,” Blake told Thirteen. “Find any exit that isn’t wired.”
Thirteen hesitated. “And you?”
Blake glanced at Vivian. “Viv has a plan.”
“It better be a good one.” He pulled a sealed folder from his jacket pocket and handed it to Blake.
“This is all I have for your operation,” Thirteen said, pressing the folder into Blake’s hand.
“Use it to save my daughter and yourselves. I heard chatter that they took Mara to the Windward Lady. I don’t know what game they’re playing, but don’t worry about me.
Just get Mara out of there. I’m like a cockroach.
Life keeps trying to stomp me out, but they can’t kill me. ”
“Thanks. Now go join Laurel on the hunt for us. Play your part so we can play ours,” Vivian said.
He offered a curt nod. “There’s an access shaft below—leads to the service tunnels under the cliffs. It opens near the marina. You’ll go on foot from there.”
Thirteen ducked into a dark alcove.
Blake grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the staircase. “They’re breaching. You take left. I’ll cover the stairwell.”
“Blake—”
He stopped her with a look. “No speeches. Just stay alive.”
She gave a short nod. “You too. And no more stunts—we live and die together.”