Page 5

Holden

S he’s late.

I spot her the second she steps through the doors, cheeks flushed, hair slipping from her ponytail. Even in her controlled disheveled state, she walks with that infuriating confidence that manages to irritate and intrigue me in equal measure.

She’s only been here a few days, and she’s already slipping.

Inside the debriefing room, I catch sight of Agent Corbin’s gaze fixed on her with a kind of look that makes my blood simmer. It’s not subtle, and it’s not professional.

I shift my focus back to her, watching as she scans the room, spots the empty seat next to Park, and makes her way there.

Park doesn’t react, but I catch the way his eyes harden into a glare when Corbin says something to her. Interesting .

Park doesn’t seem like the type to give a damn about petty junior agent bullshit drama, but I’ve studied him well enough over the past few days to see it. He doesn’t seem like the type to tolerate bullies.

Neither do I but I’ll continue to watch the situation and step in if she needs me to.

Something tells me she can handle it on her own. Still, I don’t like the way Corbin looks at her.

The door clicks shut behind her, and I force myself to tune back into Harris. His words should have my full attention, but they don’t.

“She isn’t ready,” I murmur under my breath. And neither is Park, if I’m being honest.

This wasn’t what I expected when Harris requested I train a former asset’s daughter.

The same asset who got me into this mess. Leave it to Leo O'Malley to fuck with me from the grave. The old bastard was as good as they came, but if it wasn’t for him and his urge to play martyr, I’d still be taking active missions, not training rookies who didn’t know their ass from their head.

And now, I’m stuck with his daughter. Who has that same fiery look in her eyes as he did.

I bet he’s up there laughing his ass off.

Harris doesn’t even glance at me. “That wasn’t a question, Agent Grant. I chose them for a reason, and you’re going to prepare them.” His sharp tone leaves no room for argument.

The corner of my mouth twitches in irritation. “With all due respect—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, his voice cold. “You know why you’re here, and you know what you owe me. This isn’t up for debate. Don’t make me come collect.”

With that, Harris leaves, his point made. Threat clear.

But I still don’t fucking like it.

The door closes behind me, and the room falls silent as I step deeper into the room. I can feel her presence, a tug I can’t explain, and it sets my teeth on edge.

Harris leads the debrief and I let my focus drift back to Williams. She’s seated next to Park, her posture ramrod straight, eyes fixed ahead like she’s trying to disappear into the background.

Not a chance.

Corbin shifts in his seat again, his gaze sliding back to her. I feel the irritation build, deep and hot. It’s not about her. It’s about what I don’t tolerate in this room, or anywhere else.

Harris wraps up his spiel, and the agents begin to filter out. I don’t wait for the others to leave before I move. I’m across the room in seconds, intercepting Williams just as she reaches the door.

She freezes, her eyes flashing with something I can’t quite read—alarm, irritation, maybe both. I expect a retort, but she doesn’t argue. She just falls into step beside me as we head down the hall.

The walk to my office is tense, her silence louder than it should be. I glance at her briefly, noting the tight line of her jaw and the stiffness in her shoulders. Something’s off. It’s not Corbin. It’s something else.

When we reach my office, I push the door open and gesture for her to enter. She steps inside, and I follow, shutting the door behind us.

“Agent Williams.” I lean back against my desk, arms crossed. My tone is steady but edged. “Let me be direct. Being late during your probationary period? Not exactly the impression you want to make. I hope your skills aren’t as lackluster as your punctuality.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think she’s going to snap back. I almost want her to. Her father would have. But instead, she deflates, the tension in her frame easing just enough to feel like a loss.

“It won’t happen again,” she says, her voice even.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” I reply, my tone colder than I intended. “This job doesn’t leave room for mistakes or excuses.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she nods. “Understood, sir.”

I should leave it at that and let her sit with the reprimand. But the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Harris sees something in you. I hope, for your sake, he’s not wrong.”

She nods again, her expression unreadable. It grates on me, the way she doesn’t fight back. I expected fire. Defiance. Something. But all I’m met with is this infuriating calm.

“Is that all, sir?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“Yes,” I say, though it’s not.

“Thank you, sir.”

She turns, her steps measured, but the slam of the door behind her betrays the storm she’s holding in.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair as I sit down. There’s a weight in my chest that won’t settle, an itch I can’t scratch. It’s not just her lateness, not just her silence.

It’s her.

And it’s the ghost of her father, haunting me at every turn. Leo’s face flashes in my mind, unbidden. His grin. His fire. His absolute certainty, even when he was wrong.

Williams isn’t him. I know that.

But part of me can’t help wondering if I’ll see her end up the same way.

***

That night, sleep doesn’t come easy. It never does.

It’s like her presence detonated my own mental bomb. One that takes me back to memories I thought I escaped. That I outran. So I shouldn’t be surprised that when I finally drift off for the night, the past drags me back.

The warehouse is cold, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones and stays there. I remember the flicker of a broken light overhead, the distant hum of machinery, and the stale stench of oil in the air.

Leo is beside me, his expression calm in a way that never sat right with me. It’s the kind of calm that only comes when someone’s already made their decision. Accepted their fate.

“We don’t have time,” Leo says, his voice barely a whisper over the comms. His eyes are locked on the bomb in front of us, wires twisted in a tangle that would make any demolition expert curse. “We either cut it, or those agents in the backroom don’t make it out alive.”

“We wait for Harris,” I reply, my voice low and steady. “That’s the plan. We don’t move until the extraction team gives the all clear.”

Leo shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “Grant, by the time Harris gets here, it’s over. You know that.”

I do know that. The timer on the bomb is ticking down, every second dragging us closer to the inevitable. But protocol exists for a reason. You don’t act alone. You don’t improvise when lives are on the line.

“I can disarm it,” Leo says, crouching beside the bomb. “I’ve seen this setup before. It’s basic. I know what I’m doing.”

“Leo.” My tone sharpens, my hand clamping down on his shoulder. “You make one wrong move, and we don’t walk out of here. Let Harris do his job.”

“And let them die while we stand here twiddling our thumbs?” Leo snaps, his voice cutting through the tension. “No way in hell.”

I grip his arm tighter, forcing him to meet my gaze. “This isn’t your call.”

For a moment, he hesitates, his jaw clenching. But then his expression shifts, hardening into something resolute.

“I have this,” he says softly, shrugging off my grip.

Before I can stop him, he moves. His knife flashes in the dim light, cutting through one of the wires in a single motion. The timer stops.

Relief surges through me for half a second, until I hear it.

A click.

My blood runs cold.

“Leo,” I start, but it’s too late. The secondary trigger activates, a hidden mechanism designed to detonate when tampered with.

“Run,” Leo says, his voice calm again. Too calm.

“Leo, don’t—”

“I said run!” he shouts, pushing me back with a force that sends me stumbling.

The explosion tears through the air before I can even process what’s happening. The heat, the sound, it’s everywhere, consuming everything.

When I come to, I’m outside the warehouse, Harris’s team dragging me to my feet. The world is spinning, but I don’t have to ask. I already know.

Leo didn’t make it.

The flashback blurs, rewinding to minutes before the explosion.

We’re crouched in the shadows, waiting for Harris’s signal. Leo’s breathing is steady, but there’s something in his eyes, something I don’t recognize until later.

“Grant,” he says, his tone quieter than usual. “There’s something I need you to promise me.”

I glance at him, frowning. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“Just listen,” he insists, his voice firm. “If something happens to me, I need you to look after her.”

Her? I narrow my eyes. “Who’s her?”

Leo’s lips twitch, almost like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “My daughter.”

The weight of his words takes a moment to sink in. I didn’t know much about Leo’s personal life because he kept it separate from the job. But the way he says daughter makes something tighten in my chest.

“You’re not dying today,” I say gruffly, trying to push the thought away.

“Maybe not,” he replies, his voice soft. “But just in case... promise me, Grant. You’re one of the few people I trust.”

I hesitate, my instincts screaming at me to shut this down. But something in his gaze won’t let me refuse.

“Fine,” I mutter. “But it won’t matter. We’re both walking out of here.”

Leo doesn’t respond. He just nods, his expression unreadable.

I wake with a start, the memory lingering like a phantom.

The seriousness of Leo’s request settled quietly in the back of my mind until the day Arden Williams’s name came across my desk. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Just another name.

But when I saw her, the fire in her eyes, and I knew.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was her.

Leo’s daughter, standing in front of me with his determination in her eyes and his recklessness in her blood.

I scrub a hand down my face, the lingering haze of the dream making it harder to think clearly.

I told myself I could handle this. That I’d keep that stupid promise I had no business making without letting it interfere with the job. But I didn’t count on her getting under my skin like this. Not this soon.

She’s not her father. Yet every time I see her, I feel the same weight in my chest, the same fear that history will repeat itself.

And I won’t let that happen.

Not again.