Page 24

Allie

Drakon—or rather, Drake’s—suit is sharp enough to slice through steel, and his gaze.

.

.

God, his eyes are like ice picks chipping away at my resolve.

He has the kind of stare that could turn a person to stone.

He sits, relaxed, leaning back on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over his knee.

In contrast, the man who is in full US Military regalia sits upright, spine ramrod straight.

“May I call you Allie?” Drakon asks, the syllables rolling off his tongue with an accent that’s equal parts danger and dark chocolate.

I open my mouth to answer him, but he doesn’t allow me.

He simply steamrolls over my answer, no matter what it is.

“Allie, how lovely that we finally meet.”

“Do I know you?” I manage to squeak, my voice sounding more mouse than maven.

I tighten my grip on Biscuit, who decides now is the perfect moment to give a brave little growl.

Good boy, bad timing.

Soleil’s gaze drops to Biscuit, her brows dipping between her eyes.

“You don’t usually bring Biscuit with you,” she says.

“Oh…we were just on a walk and I was popping in to, um, discuss the article.”

“Indeed,” Drakon replies, the corner of his mouth tilting up in what could’ve been a smile on a less terrifying man.

“How charming. I do love dogs. May I?”

Drakon stands up so smoothly it’s as if gravity is just another law he can bend to his will.

As he reaches out to pet Biscuit, I suck in a breath, taking a step back so we’re out of reach.

“Oh, Biscuit isn’t always a fan of strange men.”

“Strange men?” he chuckles, a sound that makes my skin prickle.

“You are amusing, Allie. I’m hardly a stranger, I think.”

“How do you figure?” I feign innocence, though I’m pretty sure it looked more like a deer caught in particularly stylish headlights.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“Of course,” Drakon says.

“I just mean that it came across my desk that we have a mutual person we both know. You’re writing a story about Thatcher Bryant and I came to discuss this with your editor. Thatcher Bryant,” he continues, “is not the hero you think he is.”

I raise an eyebrow, doing my best to appear unbothered, though my heart is tap-dancing against my ribs.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I know he’s very charming. It’s how he managed to stay under the radar as long as he has. But trust me, Thatcher is a very dangerous man.”

“ He’s a very dangerous man?” I scoff, trying to muster some bravado.

“Yes,” the other man stands as well, offering me his hand .

Wary, I take it.

“And you are?”

“Admiral Brady,” he says.

“I was Thatcher Bryant’s commanding officer. And we have reason to believe you might be in grave danger.”

“Me?” I can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes me.

“Because of Thatcher?”

“Allie,” Soleil says, her voice breaking with genuine concern.

“You need to hear them out.” She slides a document across her desk toward me.

“It’s all here,” Drakon says.

“Thatcher Bryant murdered my brother in cold blood.”

“The mission was not to kill,” Admiral Brady says.

“The mission was to capture and question. Bryant went rogue and murdered Mr. Mikhailo’s brother.”

“He claims he retired from his military career, does he not?” Drakon asks me.

I don’t answer, my eyes skimming over the words on the page.

“The truth is, Allie, he was forced into an honorable discharge.”

“Honorable discharge,” I mutter under my breath, reading through the paperwork he provided.

My eyes flicker over the paper, skepticism and a strange chill battling for dominance within me.

There it is, in black and white—Thatcher’s name beside words like court-martial and murder .

But something doesn’t sit right.

“If this is all true, then why not dis honorably discharge him?”

“Because—” Drakon starts, but I hold up my hand to stop him.

“Not you. I want to hear it from Admiral Brady.”

“Off the record,” Admiral Brady starts, “so that the special forces team could cover up his botched mission. Then, during the trial, his wife passed away and it was easier to honorably discharge him so that he could support his newborn baby. I’ll admit it wasn’t my finest hour. But I care about Thatcher. I was worried for him.”

“Convincing,” I admit, though every instinct tells me it’s as fake as a three-dollar bill.

“But I’ve seen Thatcher in action. He’s the most controlled person I’ve ever known.”

“Is he?” Drakon asks.

“There were reports of an assault in a restaurant the other night.”

I shake my head.

“No…that was different. That man was—” I’m getting flustered.

Emotional.

I take a deep breath and start over.

“Thatcher Bryant has got the whole ‘knight in tarnished armor’ thing down pat. When he does act impulsively, it’s still under chivalry.”

“Even knights can fall, dear Allie,” Drakon replies, a shadow crossing his features.

“And even smart, charming journalists can be...misled.”

I cock my head to the side, considering his words while my brain is actually doing the hundred-meter sprint trying to figure a way out of this.

If it were only Drakon here making these claims, I wouldn’t believe a word.

But with a four-star admiral standing in front of us with confidential paperwork, it’s certainly harder to refute.

“And is it normal for a highly decorated admiral to be having back-door meetings with Russian terrorists?”

Drakon chuckles at this.

“I am not a terrorist.”

“No? What would you call yourself, then?”

He holds out his hands.

“A businessman.”

I stand there, my heart doing a tango in my chest as Drakon’s words buzz around my head like pesky flies.

The room feels smaller all of a sudden, the air thick with tension and unspoken suspicions.

I glance at Soleil, her face a mask of grim certainty.

She’s buying what they’re selling—hook, line, and sinker.

“If this is true,” I start, tapping my finger to the paperwork, “then we should be able to verify it, along with both of you, right?” Then, I turn once more to look at Drakon.

“And I’d be curious how Thatcher’s wife’s mysterious death fits into all this...” My voice trails off into the heavy silence.

These are serious accusations, and despite Thatcher’s tough-as-nails exterior, I can’t reconcile them with the man who’s shown me nothing but loyalty—and okay, a few smirks that could melt butter on a cold day.

“An unfortunate accident,” Drakon says.

“Bullshit,” I whisper.

“Allie,” Soleil snaps, but I don’t let her finish.

“We lost a Russian man in that accident, too,” Drakon says, not phased by my outburst.

“A Russian man who was going to make dealing in drugs and guns a lot harder for you…isn’t that right?” Drakon’s mouth merely twitches.

“How did you two even learn about my article? Nothing’s been published yet. What could have possibly led you here to Soleil’s news desk?”

“Why… you did, of course, Ms. Larsen.” His smile sends a shiver down my spine.

“Enough googling and your fact checkers reaching out and asking questions about Thatcher Bryant. Well, my Russian team and I had alreaady zeroed in on the fact that Bryant was somewhere in South Carolina and we had mostly secured that it was either here in Charleston or in?—”

My brain snags on my search the other night for Russian-owned businesses in South Carolina and how there are only two bakeries.

One here and one in…

“Columbia, South Carolina,” I say, finishing his sentence.

“That’s right,” Drakon says, then points a finger at me, tapping it briefly to the tip of his nose.

“You really are a good little investigative journalist, aren’t you?”

“Not good enough,” I mutter under my breath .

His eyes narrow on me as he whispers, “I suppose not.”

“Mr. Bryant has been off the grid for some time,” Admiral Brady says.

“We in the military were not specifically looking for him until Mr. Mikhailo called us. But if he’s on some sort of revenge mission, you have to let us know. If he’s suffering delusions or PTSD, we have programs for retired personnel that can help. This is why we need you to bring us to his offices.”

I narrow my eyes at the admiral “The entirety of the US military is at your fingertips…and you need my help in bringing you to the office of a small matchmaking company in Charleston, South Carolina?”

This isn’t adding up.

Admiral Brady gives me a small smile.

“As I’m sure you know, Thatcher Bryant is very secretive. And damn good at what he does. We can and will find his headquarters on our own. But it would be a lot faster if we had your cooperation.”

I straighten my shoulders and look Admiral Brady directly in the eyes.

“As far as I know, he’s just a single dad running a matchmaking business.” I slowly turn my gaze to Drakon.

“No revenge plot or PTSD to speak of. So…are we done here? If Thatcher has already been tried and honorably discharged for his part in your brother’s death and there are no other crimes, then everyone should be free to go. Right?”

I glance nervously at Soleil, hoping she’ll back me up here.

But her face is an impassive mask as she taps a pen impatiently on her desk.

Soleil’s stern expression softens as she regards me with concern.

“Allie, I know you feel loyal to Thatcher, but these are serious allegations. If there is a revenge plot that you do know about, you can be tried as an accomplice or worse. Not to mention, had we published your article as is, without these new findings, we could have put the paper in a really perilous situation.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand to stop me, turning to Drakon.

“However, Allie is also correct that, if to her knowledge, there is no treason, revenge plot, or PTSD, then there doesn’t seem to be any additional services needed by either of you.”

I let out a small breath of relief and clutch Biscuit a little tighter, as if he can lend me some of his boundless courage.

His warm fur presses into my chest.

At least Soleil’s willing to exercise some caution with this.

It doesn’t make me feel any safer, though.

Drakon still likely knows where I live and I heard his goons discussing taking lives.

And hands.

There’s only one person I trust…

and it’s the other person they’re after.

“Unfortunately, Allie, this means we likely have to kill the story,” Soleil adds.

“At least for now. We can always regroup later after I verify Admiral Brady and these documents.”

I nod.

“I understand.”

She gives a nod to Drakon and the admiral.

“Making accusations through the press would be reckless on either side of the coin here. I’ll have proper authorities review the facts first if we decide to proceed.”

“Of course, of course,” Drakon says smoothly.

Too smoothly.

“I only came here because I want justice for my countryman. How to handle it is, of course, the decision of Admiral Brady and the US justice system.” His voice drips with false sincerity.

“I wouldn’t dream of sullying your newspaper’s good name with unsubstantiated rumors.”

He fixes me with an icy stare as he adds, “Sometimes the truth can be...inconvenient. But it always comes to light eventually.”

A chill runs down my spine at the unspoken threat in his words.

Admiral Brady clears his throat and turns toward the door.

“Ms. Larsen, can I give you a ride somewhere? You mentioned you walked your dog here.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I answer quickly.

“Very well,” the admiral says, holding the door open for me and Drake.

I clutch Biscuit a little tighter, realizing that both of these men are waiting to walk me out with them.

I swallow, my throat feeling tight, and press a quick kiss to the top of Biscuit’s soft head.

“Actually, I need to meet with my editor. Alone.”

Soleil hesitates for only a fraction of a second before nodding.

“Of course. We’ll talk privately. Admiral Brady, Mr. Mikhailo, thank you for your time.”

Drakon and the admiral exchange a glance, but they don’t argue.

Drakon simply inclines his head, stepping aside as Admiral Brady gives me one last scrutinizing look before following him out the door.

The second the door clicks shut behind them, Soleil turns to me.

“Are you okay?”

I shake my head, my mind still spinning.

“You don’t find them… I don’t know…creepy?”

She blinks, momentarily confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they show up here out of the blue as I’m digging into this strange case with Thatcher. They don’t really talk about what they want…other than asking me to bring them to Thatcher. It’s all a little…odd, wouldn’t you say?” A lot odd .

Soleil chews her bottom lip in thought.

“It’s awfully convenient for them. I have some friends in the military. I’ll make some calls, okay?”

I nod.

“In the meantime, I need to get out of here.”

Soleil nods.

“Go. And be careful. If you see anything suspicious, you call me, you hear?”

“I will,” I promise, tightening my grip on Biscuit as I head for the back exit of the office.

My heart is a hammer against my ribs as I step into the alleyway, scanning my surroundings before breaking into a brisk walk, leaving my car parked at the newspaper.

I take the long way home, my paranoia mounting with every step.

I weave through crowds, duck into a busy café for a few minutes, then change directions twice before slipping into a department store.

I buy a cheap hoodie, throw it on, and pull the hood up, hoping it will make me blend in better.

But the feeling that I’m being followed doesn’t go away.

Finally, I catch a glimpse of them in the reflection of a store window—Drakon and Admiral Brady, not even being subtle about it.

They’re tailing me, keeping a steady distance, but never letting me out of their sight.

Panic claws at my chest.

I can’t go home.

I can’t lead them straight to my apartment.

And I definitely can’t lead them to Thatcher.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I push through a side door, emerging onto a quieter street.

I move faster, ducking between parked cars, slipping through alleyways, ignoring the stitch forming in my side.

Then I see it—an open maintenance door leading into a construction site.

I don’t think.

I just act.

I dart inside, weaving through scaffolding and stacks of drywall, the smell of sawdust thick in the air.

Footsteps echo behind me.

They followed me in.

I hold Biscuit close, whispering, “Shh, baby,” as I duck behind a stack of wooden pallets.

My breaths come fast and shallow as I press myself against the cold concrete wall.

The footsteps slow.

Drakon’s voice, smooth and controlled, carries through the cavernous space.

“Come now, Ms. Larsen. Surely you don’t think you can outrun us forever?”

A door creaks open somewhere behind them.

An opportunity.

I don’t hesitate.

I bolt, sprinting through the dimly lit site and bursting out the back exit.

I don’t stop running, not until I hit the main road, until the sound of pursuit is gone, until my legs nearly give out beneath me.

I force myself to keep walking, blending into the moving bodies of the street, my breath hitching as I glance back.

No sign of them.

I lost them.

For now.

But I know one thing for sure—this isn’t over.

And the only person who can give me the answers I need is the same man they’re hunting.