Page 6 of Echoes and Oaths (Guardian Security Dynasty #4)

J inx and Raven lay motionless on the rugged mountainside, their bodies pressed into the earth, blending with the scrub and shadow. The sun had long since passed its peak, casting the jungle in dusky gold and deepening shadows across the valley below.

It had taken them over a week of crawling through the dense terrain to find the military encampment rumored to house the man known only as El Fantasma , The Ghost.

At least, that was the intel Guardian had provided. But something about it felt … wrong.

The camp didn’t resemble any cartel compound Jinx had ever seen.

It lacked the usual chaos and swagger. No shirtless men were lounging in hammocks, no blaring music, no signs of idle hands or indulgence.

Instead, the structures were sharp-edged and efficient, their construction military-grade.

Tents were arranged in perfect grid formation, and their positions were clearly calculated to minimize exposure.

Camouflage nets covered the entire area to maximize protection should an airstrike occur.

A perimeter was clearly defined, patrolled, and reinforced. No drunken guards stumbling on their watch. No mess. No weakness.

Through the high-powered binoculars, Jinx scanned the compound again, gaze lingering on details others might have missed. A long-range parabolic mic picked up scraps of conversation, streaming in low over their shared earpieces.

“It’s not just a camp,” Jinx muttered, voice low and tight. “It’s a base. This wasn’t thrown together. It was planned.”

Raven lay beside him, her chin resting on her forearm, eyes sharp as they tracked movement below. “It’s got a comms center, a proper chow hall, latrines, showers … hell, there’s even a perimeter watch rotation. That’s not cartel. That’s paramilitary. Maybe ex-military.”

“Yeah,” Jinx agreed grimly. “But that doesn’t mean the Ghost isn’t here.”

For three days, they’d watched. Studied and mapped the routines and rhythms of the base.

The man Guardian intel pointed to as El Fantasma .

He was a brash officer in his late forties with a heavily scarred face, a nose like a hawk’s beak, and a distinct limp.

He carried himself like a man in charge.

Loud. Commanding. Swaggering through the camp like a rooster in a henhouse.

But something didn’t sit right.

“Something’s off,” Jinx said, narrowing his eyes as the man in question strutted across the compound.

Raven nodded. “I believe the Ghost is one of the men down there … but I don’t think Guardian has the right one.”

Jinx tilted his head in agreement. “We’re going to have to watch a hell of a lot longer to figure out the dynamics. Something’s not adding up.”

He adjusted the scope, tracking the scarred man’s movements.

Too flamboyant. Too visible. An assassin, especially one as feared and elusive as El Fantasma , didn’t want attention.

He existed in the shadows, invisible until the moment his target dropped.

Every kill linked to the Ghost had been tight, clean, and untraceable .

This man strutted like a politician. He wasn’t a ghost. He was a peacock.

“Assassins don’t broadcast themselves,” Jinx muttered. “And if this guy is the Ghost, then we’ve got the wrong file on the right man.”

“Or the right file on the wrong man,” Raven said as she set down the parabolic mic, rubbing her eyes. “No way a man with that limp and that face disappears into a crowd. And yet the Ghost? No one’s seen him. That level of anonymity without our kind of tech? That takes skill.”

“He needs to blend,” Jinx agreed. “Disappear into a crowd, change appearance, walk into a place and out again without anyone remembering his face.”

“This guy’s too obvious,” Raven said, voice flat. “The nose alone is memorable enough for a thousand IDs.”

They both stared in silence for a moment, the forest whispering around them. Leaves rustling, insects buzzing in the thick, humid air.

“We need to restock,” Raven finally said, pushing up to her knees and stretching her back.

Jinx nodded. “You didn’t have to come with me,” he said as they backed away from the ridge line, careful not to dislodge any rocks that might give away their position .

Raven dusted off her woodland camouflage BDUs and snorted. “And what would I do? Sit in that little cabin all by myself?”

“You could’ve rested. Waited for the next mission.”

“Oh, please,” she muttered, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “You know I don’t get field assignments like this often. Just let me play a little.”

“Play?” Jinx raised an eyebrow, smirking as he grabbed his own pack and followed her down the slope.

Raven grinned over her shoulder, her ponytail swaying with each step. “Okay, maybe not play . How about camping ? I haven’t done this since we went through training together.”

“And you miss that?” Jinx gave a low, incredulous laugh. “Woman, you’re insane.”

“I am not insane,” she shot back, eyes twinkling. “You know this. We were all tested.”

Jinx chuckled as they descended the steep trail into the lower jungle, their boots crunching over roots and loose stone.

Sunlight slanted through the canopy, dappling their path in shifting gold and shadow. Birds called in the distance, and far below, the river glinted like a snake winding through the trees .

Raven moved like a predator. She was silent, sure, deadly.

So was he.

Together, they vanished into the wilderness, two ghosts hunting another.

“I think that guy’s a front,” Raven said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Jinx didn’t respond right away, his body mid-motion as he leaped from one rocky shelf to another along the mountainside. Gravel and loose stones scattered beneath his boots, tumbling into the deep ravine below with soft clatters.

He landed hard, crouched, then looked up and gave a curt nod.

“I agree,” he said, his voice low. “But he’s there. Somewhere.”

His gut had never failed him, not when it counted. And everything in him told him the Ghost was right under their noses, hiding in plain sight.

Only … not as the man Guardian thought.

The Ghost hadn’t just infiltrated the cartel’s structure, he had rebuilt it. What they were watching wasn’t a drug operation. It was a military unit. Disciplined. Coordinated. Trained. Dangerous.

It was more than any cartel stronghold Jinx had ever seen. It was something else .

And whatever the Ghost was waiting for, it was big.

“Ortega is a weak man,” Jinx muttered as they descended the mountainside, picking their way through dense brush and slick stone paths.

Raven paused behind him, her boots crunching against a patch of dry earth. “How so?”

Jinx kept walking, his pace steady. Raven followed. “His eyes,” Jinx said. “There’s fear. Visible fear. I don’t know how he’s convinced people to follow him. I never would.”

Raven was quiet for several moments, letting the sounds of nature stretch between them. She listened to the birds chirping, leaves rustling, the occasional crack of a distant branch.

“Some people buy allegiance,” she said at last. “Could Ortega be one of those?”

“Maybe. But if he controls a cartel like this, there must be something else. Some angle we aren’t seeing.”

By the time they’d reached the narrow dirt road leading them to their vehicle, the midday heat had thickened, wrapping around them like a wet blanket. Raven fell into step beside him, sweat shining on her temples .

“So … why is the Ghost waiting?” she asked, pulling her canteen and taking a quick drink.

Jinx didn’t answer immediately.

“He’s looking for a weakness,” he said finally. “A way in. Or maybe he’s waiting for Ortega to show himself.”

Raven arched a brow. “What do you mean, show himself?”

“I told you, he’s afraid. Men like that don’t leave their fortresses unless they’re forced to. If he’s holed up in Montoya’s old stronghold … it’s nearly impossible to breach.”

Raven blinked. “You think that’s where he is?”

“If I were him, that’s where I’d be.” Jinx stopped and turned to face her, his eyes serious. “No matter how trained that Ghost’s camp is, it wouldn’t stand a chance against that fortress unless Ortega comes out.”

Raven blew out a breath. “So, what would draw him out?”

Jinx shook his head. “I don’t know. Not yet.”

They reached the hidden turnoff where their old Land Cruiser was camouflaged beneath palm fronds and netting. Once inside, they both sank into the dusty seats with audible sighs. Raven pulled off her cap and ran a hand through her damp hair .

“So. Showers. Food. Sleep. Then we hit Ortega’s camp?”

“ Hit? ” Jinx glanced over as he shifted into gear, backing the vehicle out of its hiding place.

Raven smirked. “Okay. Observe. ” She drew out the word like it was a joke. “We observe Ortega’s camp.”

“Yeah,” Jinx said, eyes on the road ahead. “We need to know what he’s up to. And why the Ghost isn’t making a move.”

She leaned her head back against the window. “Seems to me like the situation’s just as messed up as the one you left almost three years ago.”

Jinx grunted.

“Speaking of which …” Raven turned her head slightly. “Are you ever gonna tell me about her?”

He exhaled through his nose. “No.”

Raven didn’t push, and he was grateful. Because he couldn’t. His memories of Eira were sacred. Too raw, too tender to voice.

How could he explain how her presence had settled the chaos in his mind? The way her laugh had made his chest ache? How her skin had felt against his, warm and soft like silk?

How did you explain peace to someone who’d never tasted it ?

Her voice. Her smile. The way she moved through the world…

healed it, cared for it, understood it. The way she’d seen him, not as a killer but as a man.

A man worth loving. He couldn’t tell anyone about that.

Not Raven. Not Guardian. Not anyone. Because what he’d had with Eira …

wasn’t a memory. It was a part of him. A sacred part. And it belonged to him alone.