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Kemper’s voice rolled on, calm, like he was lecturing kids. “You’ve made enemies, gentlemen. Powerful ones. Men who don’t like their secrets aired. Men who’d rather see a church burn than let you keep digging.”
“Speak plain,” I snapped, patience gone, stepping forward. “Who’s pulling the strings?”
He smiled, slow, like he’d been waiting for it. “If, say,there was an outfit called Department 77—and I’m not saying there is—wouldn’t there be a way out of this mess? A deal, maybe? You stop sniffing, they stop biting?”
I opened my mouth, ready to tear into him, but the CIA guy cut in, voice sharp, like he was done with the theater.
“Enough,” he said, standing, clipboard tucked tight. “Whatever this feud is, it stops. Now. You’re tearing up American soil like it’s your playground, and I’m not here to clean up your blood. Escalate further, and I’ll make sure heads of state hear about it. Buttons get pushed. Nobody wins.”
Kemper tilted his head, still cool. “I’ll relay the message.”
Ryker leaned forward, voice low. “We understand.”
I didn’t say shit—just watched, wired tight, the weight of Hallie Mae’s trust pressing hard on my chest.
My earpiece crackled—Elias’s voice, urgent but low. “Helo inbound, northwest, two minutes out.”
I glanced at the CIA guy, who was already checking his watch, like he’d heard it, too. “That’s my ride,” he said, bored again, and headed for the yacht’s helipad, clipboard swinging like he didn’t have a care.
Kemper stood, brushing his suit, and we followed him to the open deck, the chopper’s hum growing louder, a black speck against the fading sky.
The helo came in low, blades chopping the air, and I saw it—a barrel poked out the open door.
Instinct kicked in.
I grabbed Kemper, yanked him hard behind a bulkhead, Ryker and Atlas diving after us as two shots cracked—sharp, precise, splitting the night.
The helo didn’t land—just climbed, fast,disappearing into the dark as the CIA guy hit the deck, choking, blood bubbling from his throat, clipboard clattering useless beside him.
I crouched, weapon drawn, scanning the sky—nothing but stars now, the chopper gone like it’d never been.
Kemper was pale, eyes wide, horror cracking his cool mask for the first time.
“Time to talk,” I growled, grabbing his collar, pulling him close. “Everything you know about Department 77. Now.”
23
HALLIE MAE
It was dark. The kind of dark that felt alive—thick and humming, like the whole night knew something was coming.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed in Noah’s suite at Dominion Hall, the hum of the AC the only sound, my hands clenched in my lap. Noah had insisted I stay here for the time being—“Just until this part is over,” he’d said, brushing his lips over my forehead before slipping out earlier that evening.
I hadn’t even met most of the people who lived here—the men who moved like shadows in the hall, all muscle and military silence. They nodded when they passed me, respectful but distant, like they weren’t quite sure what to make of the preacher’s daughter sleeping in their brother’s bed.
And then there were the women—the fiancées. Isabel, sharp-eyed and stunning, who moved through the place like she belonged to Ryker and the steel walls in equal measure. Claire, serious, always reading something when I glimpsed her in the common room, her handbrushing Marcus’s like they were tethered by something invisible. And Anna, quiet but watchful, with the kind of grace that made it obvious why Atlas looked at her like she was the first good thing he'd ever seen.
Even the staff made me pause—housekeeping, security, cooks—men and women who were clearly trained, clearly loyal, but treated like family. There were no uniforms or yes sirs, no one barking orders. Just people who had found a strange kind of home here inside the storm. That part helped. The way they smiled at me like I belonged, even when I didn’t feel like I did.
I felt out of place. But I stayed. Because Noah asked me to. Because it meant something to him that I be where he could protect me.
I hadn’t expected him back tonight.
But then the door opened. And there he was.
Shadows clung to him—his jaw tight, black shirt still rumpled from whatever meeting he’d just left, his eyes burning like something already gone to war.
I stood, heart lurching. “Noah?”