Page 74

I dropped a map and a printout of the fake plate Oliver had traced on the table, then flicked the projector on.

“Target was spotted last week at a gas station near Highway 74,” I said. “Same guy Jude saw at the pier. Same car. Oliver’s confirmed the shell company that rented the vehicle was a known CIA front, shut down three years ago.”

“Which means someone’s reactivating old ghosts,” River muttered, arms crossed.

“Or someone’s using them,” Gage added.

“Either way,” I said, “he’s not just passing through. He’s here for Jude. She saw a tattoo on his forearm. Coordinates from a Syrian ghost site. One she operated in. Off-books. Real black.”

Sean let out a low whistle. “You’re saying this guy was on the same op?”

“She doesn’t know. But she was the mission once. And if he’s back…” I swallowed hard. “He could be here to finish what someone else started.”

Oliver leaned forward. “What’s her status?”

“Grounded,” I said tightly. “I’ve got her with River until this is over.”

River didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. He’d already posted two eyes on the house and was running surveillance like we had a foreign dignitary under protection.

“She gave me a list of former contacts,” I added. “Names, locations, dead drops. Anyone tied to that site. If we can find a link, we find a motive. And maybe we find the bastard’s weakness.”

Gage stood and began pulling gear from a locker against the wall. “You want him brought in or taken out?”

“Brought in,” I said. “If possible.”

“Define possible,” Sean muttered.

“If he so much as looks at her again, all bets are off.”

They didn’t question it.

Didn’t push.

They knew.

This wasn’t just about stopping a threat.

It was about protectingmy future.

“We’ll split up,” River said. “Gage and I will check the rental agency, see if they’ve got more camera angles. Sean and Oliver—you track credit card trails. Anything that ties this guy to a location. Cyclone, you stay close but low. If this guy knows you’re here, he may bolt.”

I nodded once. “But if he comes near her—”

River cut in. “We bury him.”

And just like that, the Golden Team was in motion.

The hunt had begun.

40

Jude

Istood at the kitchen sink, staring out the window, pretending to care about the raindrops crawling down the glass.

But really, I was counting the seconds.

Listening for footsteps.