Page 33 of Ghost (Cerberus Personal Security #1)

TWENTY-FOUR

Willow

Steffan whirls, keeping the gun trained on me while facing this new threat. His eyes widen with recognition, then narrow with calculation.

“The mountain man himself,” he says. “How gallant.”

“Drop the weapon. Last warning.”

Steffan laughs, a hollow sound devoid of humor. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? With my wife so close? I don’t think so.”

“He doesn’t have to shoot you.” I push up to my knees, then to my feet. “I’ve already beaten you.”

Steffan sneers, glancing between us. “You call this beaten? I’m the one holding the gun, sweetheart.”

“Are you?” I smile.

His expression falters as he registers what I’ve done—during my fall and recovery, I’ve positioned myself by the concealed panic button beneath the side table. My finger hovers just above it.

“One push, and this room fills with highly trained operatives,” I tell him. “You’re surrounded. Your security team has been neutralized. It’s over. ”

Doubt flickers across his face. Then the familiar mask of control returns. “You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

His finger tightens on the trigger. Mason tenses, ready to fire.

I push the button.

Silence.

Steffan’s smirk returns. “As I thought. A bluff?—”

The doors on either side of the room burst open. Ryan and Martinez enter from one, Cooper from the other, all with weapons trained on Steffan.

“Federal Judge Steffan Reynolds,” Ryan announces formally, “you’re being detained for questioning regarding charges of corruption, arms trafficking, and conspiracy.”

The color drains from Steffan’s face as he realizes how completely he’s been outmaneuvered. The gun wavers in his hand.

“Don’t,” Mason warns. “That would be a very poor decision.”

For one terrible moment, I think Steffan will choose violence over surrender. His finger twitches on the trigger. Mason steps in front of me, shielding me with his body.

Then, with a sound of disgust, Steffan lets the gun clatter to the floor.

“Hands behind your head,” Ryan orders. “On your knees.”

Steffan complies, his eyes never leaving mine. “This isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is.” I step past Mason to face my husband—my abuser—one last time. “It is.”

Ryan moves to secure him with zip ties but freezes at a sudden burst of radio chatter. Mason’s hand goes to his earpiece, his expression darkening.

“What?” I ask.

“Multiple vehicles approaching,” Mason says grimly. “Fast. Professional. ”

“Reynolds’s backup?” Cooper asks, weapon still trained on Steffan.

Mason shakes his head. “Something else.”

From outside comes the staccato rattle of automatic weapons fire, different from the controlled bursts of earlier engagement. More intense. More deadly.

Steffan’s expression shifts to one of confusion, then dawning hope. “Ah,” he breathes. “Right on time.”

“Who?” I demand.

Before he can answer, Mason’s radio crackles with a new voice—one I haven’t heard before. Tightly controlled but urgent.

“Ghost, this is Charlie One. We have multiple hostile teams approaching from the north and east. Professional operators. Heavy weapons. We’re engaging but outnumbered.”

Ethan. Charlie Team. The contingency I wasn’t supposed to know about has now been activated.

Mason’s response is immediate. “Acknowledged. Secure the prisoner. Prepare for immediate extraction.”

Steffan laughs, the sound chilling in its confidence. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be your prisoner for long.”

My blood runs cold as understanding dawns. “Kostic,” I breathe. “You called Drazen Kostic.”

“Not exactly.” Steffan’s smile is triumphant. “But Drazen and I have—mutual interests. He doesn’t like loose ends.”

Mason grips my arm, eyes intense. “We need to move. Now.”

The distant gunfire intensifies. Through the window, I catch glimpses of muzzle flashes in the gathering dusk. Charlie Team is engaging the new threat.

“Cooper, secure Reynolds,” Mason orders. “Ryan, Martinez, prepare for extraction protocol theta .”

Cooper moves to zip-tie Steffan, but the judge twists suddenly, driving his elbow into Cooper’s recent wound. Cooper grunts in pain, momentarily stunned. Steffan lunges for his discarded pistol.

Everything happens in rapid sequence. Ryan shouts a warning. Mason pushes me behind him. Steffan brings the gun up.

Before he can fire, a cold voice cuts through the tension.

“Judge Reynolds. What an unfortunate situation.”

Steffan freezes, his head snapping toward the doorway. His expression transforms instantly—rage giving way to unmistakable relief.

A tall, lean man in an immaculate suit stands in the threshold, flanked by four heavily armed men in tactical gear. His angular features could be carved from marble; his eyes, like chips of ice, survey the scene.

“Drazen,” Steffan breathes, lowering his weapon slightly. “Thank God. Perfect timing.”

The arms dealer steps into the room, his movements precise and economical. Not a wrinkle on his tailored suit despite the violence happening outside.

“It appears you’ve encountered—difficulties.” Kostic’s accent is barely perceptible, his English polished and deliberate.

Steffan laughs—a sound of genuine relief. “You could say that.” He gestures toward us with his gun. “These people have stolen my property and sensitive information. They need to be eliminated.”

Mason tenses beside me, shifting imperceptibly to better shield me. The air in the room thickens, charged with deadly potential.

Kostic steps closer, examining each of us in turn. His gaze lingers on me with unsettling intensity.

“Your wife,” he observes. “The one who escaped.”

“Yes,” Steffan’s voice hardens. “She’s taken documents that could compromise our operations.”

“I see.” Kostic circles the room slowly, like a predator assessing prey. “And the information she took—it contains details of our arrangement?”

“Potentially.” Steffan straightens, clearly emboldened by Kostic’s arrival. “Which is why this needs to be handled permanently.” His eyes find mine, cold with triumph. “No loose ends.”

“No loose ends,” Kostic repeats thoughtfully. “We agree on that principle.”

Mason’s hand finds mine, squeezing once—a signal to be ready to move. Ryan and Martinez have repositioned slightly, prepared for whatever comes next.

Steffan steps forward, gesturing with the gun. “I’ll handle my wife. Your men can deal with the others.”

“That won’t be necessary, Judge Reynolds.” Kostic’s voice remains perfectly calm.

“What?” Steffan frowns, confusion flickering across his features.

“I said that won’t be necessary.” Kostic moves to stand between us, facing Steffan. “The situation has changed.”

Steffan’s smile falters. “What are you talking about? Get me out of here. We’ll eliminate them together.”

“I’m afraid our arrangement has become a liability.” Kostic straightens the cuff of his immaculate shirt. “Your obsession with retrieving your wife has become—problematic for my organization.”

The blood drains from Steffan’s face as understanding dawns. “Drazen, wait?—”

“I dislike complications, Judge Reynolds,” Kostic says, as if he’s discussing the weather. “Your personal vendetta has created unnecessary exposure.”

Steffan raises his gun, panic replacing confidence. “You need me. My position, my contacts?—”

“Are replaceable.” Kostic’s hand moves in one fluid motion.

The deafening crack of a shot fills the room .

Steffan staggers backward, stunned disbelief etched on his face as he looks down at the hole in his chest. His expression cycles through shock, betrayal, and finally, terrible understanding. His eyes find mine one last time before he crumples to the floor.

“Drazen,” I whisper, frozen in place as the arms dealer lowers his weapon, smoke still wisping from the barrel.

In death, Steffan looks smaller somehow. Less threatening. Just a man on a hardwood floor, blood pooling beneath him, all his power gone in an instant.

Kostic studies me dispassionately, then nods once to Mason. “Mr. Blackwood. Your reputation precedes you.”

Mason shifts slightly, keeping his body between me and this new threat. “I’d say this is a surprise, but that would be a lie.”

“Indeed.” The arms dealer steps further into the room, his men flanking him with weapons at the ready. “Our mutual problem has been resolved.”

My husband’s body lies on the hardwood floor between us. I should feel something—horror, grief, satisfaction. Instead, I feel only a strange numbness.

“Why?” I ask. “He was your business partner.”

Kostic’s lips curve in the barest approximation of a smile. “Judge Reynolds became a liability. His obsession with retrieving you and the evidence you carry compromises our operations.”

“So you eliminated the threat,” Mason says flatly.

“Business,” Kostic shrugs elegantly. “Nothing personal.”

Outside, the gunfire diminishes, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by an occasional, distant shot.

“Your men—” I say.

“Unfortunate misunderstanding. Professional operators responding to perceived threats.” Kostic gestures, and his men lower their weapons. “I’ll order my forces to disengage immediately.”

Mason’s radio crackles. “Ghost, this is Charlie One. Hostiles are pulling back. Repeat, hostiles are withdrawing. We have two wounded, none critical.”

Relief floods through me. Ethan and his team are alive.

Kostic continues smoothly. “I have no quarrel with Guardian HRS or Cerberus. My business is with Reynolds alone.” His cold gaze fixes on me. “And now, with you.”

My spine stiffens. “With me?”

“Yes.” Kostic turns his full attention to me. “The rather extensive documentation of operations involving me and your late husband.”

My mouth goes dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please.” Kostic looks genuinely disappointed. “Let’s not insult each other’s intelligence. The flash drive. The offshore accounts. The meetings in Belgrade and Zurich.”

I say nothing, mind racing. If Kostic knows about the evidence, knows he’s implicated...

“The files you gathered,” he continues, “are they comprehensive?”

An unexpected question. I hesitate, uncertain where this is leading.