Page 54 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

A woman sits on our couch like she owns the place, legs crossed, examining her nails with the kind of bored patience that speaks to absolute confidence.

Dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Sharp features that would be beautiful if they weren’t so calculating. Clothes that scream expensive and practical—a leather jacket, dark jeans, boots made for running or fighting.

She looks up when we appear, lips curving in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Well, well,” she says, accent thick with Eastern Europe—Russian maybe, or Ukrainian. “Looks like the sex was every bit as good as it sounded. Very energetic. Very—thorough. Multiple times…She is a lucky woman.”

Rage explodes through my system like white phosphorus. I’m moving, hand reaching for the weapon that isn’t there, body shifting into attack mode automatically.

This woman—stranger, intruder, threat—has been listening to us make love. Has been sitting in our house while we were vulnerable and naked and completely unaware of her presence.

“Gabe, stop.” Ally’s hand clamps around my arm, fingers digging into my muscles with surprising strength.

“Who the fuck are you?” I snarl, not taking my eyes off the intruder. “How did you get in here?”

“Locks are really more of a suggestion when you know what you’re doing.” The woman examines her nails again, completely unconcerned by the violence radiating off me. “And as for who I am… Well, that’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it. Fast.”

“Wait.” Ally steps forward, head tilted like she’s trying to place something. “Your voice… Your accent… I know you.”

The woman’s smile widens, becomes genuinely amused. “Do you now?”

“You.” Ally’s eyes widen with recognition. “You’re the one who freed us from the cells. Who removed our collars.”

“What?” I whip my head toward Ally, confusion cutting through rage. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“In Malfor’s compound. The night of the rescue…” Ally’s voice carries growing certainty. “A woman came to us. She came. Disabled the surveillance, opened our cells, and removed the shock collars. She’s the reason we were able to fight back when you found us.”

“You never mentioned this in debrief,” I say.

“We barely had any debriefs. Between Hank dying and…” Ally’s voice catches slightly. “There wasn’t time to cover everything.”

The woman—Ally’s mysterious savior—rises from the couch with the kind of grace that speaks to extensive training. Military or intelligence, definitely dangerous.

“Touching reunion aside,” she says, “I’m not here for reminiscing. I have information you need.”

“What kind of information?” I ask.

“The kind that tells you exactly where to find the bastard who killed your lover.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Malfor. She’s talking about Malfor.

“Where?” Ally’s voice comes out sharp as a blade.

“That depends. Are you interested in revenge, or are you planning to sit here playing house while he regroups and comes for you again?”

“We’re interested,” I say before Ally can respond. “Very fucking interested.”

“Good.” The woman reaches into her jacket—slowly, aware that I’m still coiled to strike—and produces a small device that looks like a modified phone. “Because I’ve been tracking him for three years, and I know where he’s going to be.”

She sets the device on the coffee table, screen displaying what looks like satellite imagery. A compound. Remote. Heavily fortified.

“Kazakhstan was just a pit stop,” she continues. “His real base of operations is here. Off the coast of Montenegro. Private island, minimal security because he thinks no one knows about it.”

“How do you know?” Ally asks.

“Because I’ve made it my life’s work to know everything about Alexei Malfor.” Something dark and dangerous flickers across the woman’s features. “He killed someone I cared about. Someone who mattered. Now I’m going to return the favor.”

She picks up the device, slides it back into her jacket.

“He’ll be there for the next seventy-two hours. After that, he disappears again, and it could be months before another opportunity presents itself.”

“Why tell us?” I study her face, looking for deception or a hidden agenda. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing. Everything.” She moves toward the front door with the same grace she’s shown since we found her. “Let’s just say that some debts can only be paid in blood and I need a weapon I can count on. That’s you, if you hadn’t figured it out yet.”

“Wait.” Ally hurries after her. “What’s your name? How do we contact you?”

The woman pauses at the door, looks back with something that might be amusement or might be pity.

“You don’t. You decide whether you want justice or not. If you do, you know where to find him.”

“That’s it? You just drop this bomb and walk away?”

“That’s it.” She opens the door, steps into morning sunlight that turns her dark hair to bronze. “Oh, and Gabriel?”

I tense, surprised she knows my name.

“Next time you want to fuck your woman senseless, might want to check for uninvited guests first. You’re really quite loud.

” Her eyes glitter with amusement. “Though I have to say, I’m impressed by your restraint.

That playroom of yours has some truly delicious toys, and yet you chose the bedroom. How—romantic.”

My blood turns to ice. She’s been in our playroom. The private space where Ally submits to me, where I keep the tools that drive her to the edge of sanity and back. The room that’s more sacred to us than any church.

“You were in?—”

“Everywhere.” She cuts me off with casual indifference. “Lovely collection, by the way. That Saint Andrew’s cross is a work of art. And the rope workstation? Very professional setup. Really, you should have made better use of it this morning.”

The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving us staring at empty space where life-changing information just waltzed in and out again.

“Did that really just happen?” Ally asks.

“Yeah.” I run my hands through my hair, trying to process what we’ve just learned. “That really just happened.”

Malfor. Alive. Hiding on some island compound, thinking he’s safe from retribution.

The rage that’s been simmering in my chest since Hank died crystallizes into something sharp and focused. Purpose. Direction. A target for all the helpless fury that’s been eating me alive.

“We’re going after him,” I say.

“Gabe—”

“No discussion. We’re going after the bastard who killed Hank.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Yeah. We are.”

Because some debts can only be paid in blood. And Malfor’s debt is overdue.