Page 25 of Ghost (Cerberus Personal Security #1)

EIGHTEEN

Willow

Forest straightens, offering me a smile that softens the sharp angles of his face. “Mrs. Reynolds. Welcome.”

“Just Willow, please.” I rise, feeling oddly formal in my borrowed clothes. “Thank you for everything your team has done.”

“Mason Blackwood asked for help.” He shrugs those massive shoulders like the weight of the world barely registers. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“You know Mason well?”

“Yeah.” Forest’s smile tilts, half-respect, half-history. “Guardian HRS subcontracts with his company when we need elite-level personal protection support, or when we need to help people disappear.”

I blink. “His company?”

Forest nods. “Cerberus Personal Security Systems. Blackwood built it from the ground up. Field work, tactical logistics, high-risk extractions—he’s one of the few we trust to run solo ops if things get ugly. ”

He glances at the laptop where my evidence is displayed. “Mitzy getting you set up with backups?”

“Yes, she’s been incredibly helpful.”

“Good. Once everything’s secured, I’d like you to join us for dinner. There are some people you should meet—the core team who’ll be helping with your situation.”

“I’d like that.” The prospect of a normal meal, of conversation not dominated by immediate survival concerns, appeals more than I expected.

After Forest leaves, Mitzy finishes creating the backups, confirming that the evidence is now stored on multiple secure servers, encrypted with protocols even the NSA would struggle to crack.

“There,” she says with satisfaction. “Now, even if Reynolds somehow manages to find and destroy every physical copy, the data still exists. He can’t bury this.”

The realization hits me with unexpected force—Steffan can no longer make the evidence disappear. For the first time in years, I hold genuine power over my own fate.

“Thank you,” I say, the words inadequate for what this means.

Mitzy nods understanding. “Dinner’s in thirty minutes. Great room. You remember the way?”

“I do. Thanks.”

After she leaves, I spend a few minutes gathering myself. Bear watches from the bed, his dark eyes following my movements as I pace the room, trying to process everything that’s happened in the past forty-eight hours.

Two days ago—three?—I was fleeing through a Montana blizzard, certain I would die. Now I’m in a secure mountain fortress with a team of professionals dedicated to my safety and bringing Steffan to justice.

And somewhere between Montana and Idaho, Mason is making his way to me, keeping the promise he made as we parted.

I’ll be right behind you.

Bear jumps down from the bed, padding to my side and pressing against my leg as if sensing my thoughts. I scratch behind his ears, finding comfort in this simple connection.

“Let’s go to dinner,” I tell him.

Dinner is held in a room adjacent to the Great Room.

A large dining table is set for seven, although it could easily seat twice that number.

A fire crackles in the stone fireplace, and the delicious aroma of real home-cooked food fills the air.

Forest stands near the fireplace, deep in conversation with someone I haven’t met yet.

He turns as Bear and I enter, beckoning us over. “Willow, come meet the rest of the team.”

The man beside Forest is tall, although Forest stands head and shoulders over him. His frame is leaner, but still packed with muscles. There’s a solidness to him, evident in the watchful intensity of his gaze as it sweeps over me, assessing.

“CJ,” he introduces himself simply, offering a calloused hand. “Head of Field Operations and the Guardian teams.”

Skye joins us, followed by Mitzy. Martinez and Jackson are barely a step behind. Dinner conversation flows surprisingly easy, touching on everything from Cooper’s successful surgery to the security measures in place around the mountain.

“Any updates from Mason and Ryan?” I ask during a lull in conversation.

Forest’s expression turns serious. “Last communication puts them about twelve hours out. They had to take an alternate route after encountering resistance.”

My heart stutters. “Resistance? They’re okay? ”

“Ghost and Brass?” Jackson scoffs. “Takes more than a few mercenaries to slow them down.”

The meal continues, but my thoughts remain fixed on Mason and Ryan, somewhere in the wilderness, making their way to us. I push food around my plate, no longer hungry despite the excellent cooking.

“You should rest,” Skye suggests gently, noticing my distraction. “Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

I nod, grateful for the escape. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

Bear follows me back to the suite, his steady presence a comfort as I prepare for bed. Despite my exhaustion, sleep proves elusive. I lie awake in the unfamiliar room, listening to Bear’s soft snores from his position at the foot of the bed.

My mind replays everything—the storm, finding Mason, the night in his arms, the firefight, the extraction, the journey here. So much has happened in so little time that it feels impossible to process everything.

Somewhere beyond these walls, Mason is keeping his promise, fighting his way back to me. I cling to that thought as exhaustion finally claims me, dragging me into dreamless sleep.

Morning comes with soft light filtering through the windows and Bear’s cold nose pressing against my cheek. I blink awake to find him staring at me, tail thumping against the mattress.

“Morning to you too,” I murmur, reaching up to scratch his ears.

A knock at the door sends Bear bounding across the room, his entire posture alert but not alarmed. When I open it, Skye stands there with a tray of food.

“Breakfast,” she explains. “And news. Mason and Ryan made contact thirty minutes ago. They’ll be here within the hour.”

“They’re okay?” Relief floods through me, so intense it makes my knees weak.

“Tired, dirty, and according to Mason, ‘severely caffeine-deprived,’ but otherwise unharmed.” She sets the tray on the coffee table. “Thought you might want to eat and get ready before they arrive.”

“Thanks.”

“And I’ll take Bear out, if that’s okay with you. Big guy needs to run and stretch those legs.”

“Sure.” I shower and dress with renewed energy, anticipation building with each passing minute.

After my shower, I head to the Great Room to wait.

I pace the length of the room, nerves buzzing under my skin like static. The fire crackles in the hearth, its warmth doing little to calm the restless energy twisting inside me.

Bear lies near the window, massive body stretched out, chin resting on his paws. Suddenly, he lifts his head.

Every muscle in his frame goes taut. His ears snap forward. He sniffs the air once—twice—and then he’s on his feet, tail swishing in tight, eager arcs.

“Bear?” I take a step toward him, but he’s already trotting to the door, nails clicking on the wood floor. Not tense. Not on guard.

Excited.

He lets out a short, happy bark, his tail now wagging hard enough to thump against the entryway wall.

And then I know. I feel it before it happens.

I’m already halfway to the front door by the time the handle turns.

It swings open to reveal Ryan first, dusty, scraped up, but upright. He’s already unlatching his gear as he steps inside, his rifle slung loose over one shoulder.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says with a tired grin. “Someone’s been waiting for you. ”

Bear barrels past him with a joyful woof, launching himself toward the doorway.

Then Mason steps into view.

Filthy. Bruised. Alive.

His broad shoulders fill the doorway like he was built for it. His jacket is torn. There’s dried blood at his collar, soot on his face, snow melting in his hair. He looks like hell.

But he’s never looked more handsome to me.

Bear reaches him first, nearly knocking him back on his heels in his exuberance. Mason drops to one knee, arms open to catch the full brunt of two hundred pounds of ecstatic Newfoundland.

“Hey, buddy,” Mason murmurs, ruffling Bear’s thick fur, laughter rough in his throat. “Missed you too.”

The moment Mason opens the door wide enough, Chaos slips past his side.

Bear meets him mid-run. The two dogs collide with grunts and excited yips, paws batting, tails whipping like propellers.

Chaos leaps up, licking Bear’s jowls, and Bear answers with a playful snarl before nudging Chaos with a massive paw.

It’s pure joy—chaotic and animal and full of the kind of reunion that needs no words.

Then Chaos turns to me.

He charges forward with a full-body wiggle, tongue lolling, and skids to a stop just short of knocking me over. He nuzzles my side, tail wagging furiously as he presses his head against my thigh, whining in that high, happy way that says he’s missed me.

I drop to my knees, threading my fingers into his warm fur. “Hi, boy,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I missed you too.”

He licks my cheek once, snuffling like he’s cataloging every inch of me.

I glance up, and Mason is there. The room disappears. Ryan, the fire, the cold wind curling in from the open door—none of it exists.

Only Mason. Only us.

I throw myself into his arms, and he catches me with a grunt, hauling me against his chest like he might never let go.

His arms wrap around me like armor, like tethering, like he needs to feel that I’m real just as much as I need to feel him.

I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the wild, masculine scent of him—smoke, snow, pine, and something purely Mason. My fingers fist into the back of his jacket, refusing to let go.

“You smell terrible,” I mumble into his ear.

He huffs a laugh into my hair.

I pull back just enough to look at him, to take in the days of stubble, the exhaustion etched into his face, the bruising along his temple.

His gaze sharpens at that—something primal lighting behind his eyes.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, breath catching, face buried in the curve of his neck. “You’re really okay.”

“Yeah.” His voice is rougher than I remember, lower. “Told you I’d be right behind you.”

He pulls back just enough to frame my face between his hands. His touch is reverent, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones. Emotion flickers across his face—relief, heat, hunger—and then he kisses me.

Not soft. Not sweet.

It’s ferocious. Hot. Possessive.

It’s a kiss that says I survived for you.

I melt into it, into him. I taste smoke and adrenaline and Mason, and I give in to the press of his body, the heat of his hand sliding into my hair.

His other arm locks around my waist, holding me so tight I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

Tension simmers just beneath his skin. Restraint barely holding him together.

His tongue slides against mine, and I moan, my legs going weak beneath the onslaught of need and memory and overwhelming relief.

My fingers curling in his jacket. There’s nothing careful in the way he takes me in that moment—only claiming, only certainty.

Somewhere across the Great Room, someone whistles, followed by a familiar voice shouting, “Get a room, Ghost!”

When Mason finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard.

“Miss me?” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a gasp when his hand skims under the hem of my shirt to rest on bare skin.

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” I whisper, my voice raw.

“You’ll always see me again,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine, breath ragged. “I’ll always come for you, Willow. Always.”

Behind us, Bear lets out an impatient huff, nudging Mason’s thigh as if to say, Alright, alright, now pet me again.

Mason chuckles and glances down, scratching the big dog’s ears. “Jealous bastard.” His mouth brushes mine again—softer this time, full of promise. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”

“Good.” I kiss him this time, short and hard.

From behind us, Bear gives a louder grunt, clearly annoyed to have been displaced. I laugh, pressing my face to Mason’s chest as he leans down to give the giant dog a consoling scratch.

Mason straightens, scanning the room with a slow, predatory smile. “I think someone mentioned a room?” His steel-gray eyes drop to mine, heat flaring behind them. “I like that idea.”

Before I can react, he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me clean off the ground. I yelp, laughing as he hauls me up and over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all.

“Mason!”

He smacks my ass lightly. “No talking.” Then he turns, striding toward the hallway while Bear trots happily behind us, tail wagging like we’re all playing the best game ever.

“Anyone disturbs us,” Mason calls over his shoulder, “they die.”

Laughter breaks out behind us, but I barely hear it—because Mason’s hand slides higher up the back of my thigh as he carries me away, and my heart is already racing for what comes next.