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

EIGHT

The Betrayer

GABE

Rage has a temperature.

Most people think it’s only hot, explosive, wild, and uncontrolled. But that’s amateur hour. The pros know rage comes in flavors. Hot, cold, and everything between.

Right now, mine is nuclear—the kind that irradiates from the inside out. The kind that burns so hot it circles back to ice. The kind that lets you think clearly while plotting murder.

I stand against the wall of Guardian HQ’s command center, watching Mitzy prep the video feed. Her fingers fly across the keyboard as she mutters commands to her tech team. The room is charged with a particular kind of tension—the dangerous quiet before something irreversible happens.

Telling a father his daughter is missing is one thing.

Telling Robert Collins that his head of security betrayed him and took his only child? That’s igniting a thermonuclear device.

And I’d know. I’ve set off enough of them.

“Connection establishing,” Mitzy announces, her voice tight. “Secure uplink in three, two?—”

The central display flickers, then stabilizes.

Robert Collins materializes on screen, his silver hair immaculate, his posture rigid even at this hour.

He’s in his home office—that austere space of polished mahogany and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

A half-empty tumbler of whiskey sits by his right hand.

His eyes instantly scan the room, cataloging faces. When he reaches mine, the first flicker of awareness ignites—that slight narrowing of the eyes, the infinitesimal tightening around his mouth. He doesn’t know yet, but he feels it.

The wrongness.

“This is unexpected.” Collins’s voice is measured and controlled.

Around me, the team goes still. Blake shifts his weight, a subtle tell of tension. Walt’s breathing changes rhythm, barely perceptible. Rigel crosses his arms, muscles bunching under his shirt. Carter’s face is stone, jaw locked so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.

Hank stands beside me, a glacier to my volcano. His stillness is absolute—the kind that makes predators invisible before they strike.

Forest steps forward, facing the screen directly. No preamble. No softening blow.

“Harrison has betrayed you,” he says, each word precise as a blade strike. “He’s taken Ally.”

The words land like artillery shells. One. Two.

Boom !

I watch it hit—the electromagnetic pulse before the blast. Collins doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. His face empties of all expression, a whiteout, his mind unable to process the words.

One second stretches to three.

Then—

“That’s not possible.” Each syllable is carefully controlled. Denial, not out of stupidity, but self-preservation. “Harrison has been with us for twenty years. He wouldn’t?—”

“He did,” Forest cuts in, unmoved. “We have him on camera leading a tactical team into Guardian HQ. They took Ally and five other women. It was a premeditated, coordinated attack.”

Collins’s face transforms—age etching itself into every line as the reality hits. Ten years older in ten seconds. His hand moves toward his phone.

“I’ll call him. There must be?—”

“He won’t answer.” Forest’s voice remains measured. “His communication devices went dark immediately after the extraction. We’ve been monitoring all channels.”

Collins tries anyway, fingers jabbing at his desk console. We watch him dial once, twice. The muscle in his jaw twitches with each unanswered ring.

I catalog every micro-expression—the flare of his nostrils, the whitening of his knuckles, the rapid blink pattern signaling cognitive overload. This isn’t just a billionaire losing an asset. This is a father realizing his daughter is gone, taken by someone he trusted.

“Mr. Collins,” Hank says, his voice like steel. “We need everything you have on Harrison. Any changes in behavior. Any unexplained absences. Financial issues. Pressure points. Anything unusual in the past six months.”

Collins doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze goes distant, processing. Then, like watching a transformation in real time, something shifts.

The shock recedes.

The confusion hardens.

The grief calcifies into something dangerous.

I’ve seen this before—on battlefields, in hostage situations. The moment when emotion transforms into lethal purpose.

Robert Collins, grieving father, disappears.

In his place sits the man who built a tech empire from nothing. The strategic genius who crushed competitors and reshaped global markets. The ruthless tactician who doesn’t just play the game—he rewrites the rules.

“Whatever you need,” he says, voice dropped an octave, resonating with absolute certainty. “Whatever it costs. Bring her back.”

His eyes lock with mine for a beat too long—recognition passing between predators of different species but similar appetites.

“We will,” I respond, the promise a blood oath.

Forest nods to Mitzy, who brings up a secondary display. “We need full access to your security systems. All footage of Harrison for the past three months. Communications logs. Building access records. Everything.”

Collins doesn’t hesitate. “Authorization codes incoming. You’ll have unrestricted access to all systems.”

Mitzy’s tablet pings with the transfer. She nods once, already diving into the new data stream.

“Tell us about Harrison,” Ethan presses, stepping forward. “Anything that could explain this.”

Collins runs a hand through his silver hair—the first truly human gesture since the news hit.

“Harrison has been our head of security for twenty years. Before that, he was with the State Department’s diplomatic security service.

Before that, the military. Impeccable record.

Rigorous vetting. I trusted him with my daughter’s life. With my life.”

The betrayal cuts deeper when it comes from someone positioned to protect. I know this firsthand. So does everyone in this room.

“Family?” Hank asks, voice clinically detached.

“Divorced over a decade ago. Two adult children—son and daughter. Both estranged, from what I understand. He never spoke much about his personal life.”

“Financial status?” I ask, mind already mapping potential vulnerabilities. Men break for two reasons—money or loved ones.

“Comfortable. Not extravagant. We pay well, and he’s been smart with investments.” Collins frowns, thoughts visibly accelerating. “But there have been—changes. Subtle things.”

Rigel leans forward slightly. “What kind of changes?”

“He’s been more distant. Preoccupied.” Collins’s eyes narrow in thought. “Missed a security briefing last month—first time ever. Claimed it was a dental emergency. And he’s been unusually interested in Ally’s research. Asked detailed questions about her quantum work after Kazakhstan.”

That clicks something into place for me—a detonator finding its charge. Harrison asking about Ally’s research. About the work Malfor wanted.

“Accessing records,” Mitzy interrupts, eyes fixed on her tablet. “I’m seeing multiple unauthorized entries into the Collins family secure server over the past month. File access timestamps during off-hours.”

“What files?” Forest asks.

“Ally’s research notes. Her academic records. And—” Mitzy’s fingers pause over the screen, “—personal medical files from after the Kazakhstan incident.”

I exchange a glance with Hank. There it is. The connection we needed.

“He was looking for something specific,” I say, the pieces aligning in my head with the precision of a well-designed explosive. “Malfor wanted Ally for her quantum research in Kazakhstan. Now Harrison is accessing those same files.”

“It’s not about ransom,” Hank concludes, his voice cold enough to freeze nitrogen. “It’s about whatever Ally knows. Whatever she can do.”

“Security footage,” Mitzy announces, pulling up video on the main screen. “Collins residence, past month. Multiple instances of Harrison making calls from secluded areas. Outside normal security channels.”

The footage shows Harrison in various locations around the Collins’s estate—garden pathways, empty corridors, the perimeter fence line. Always alone. Always checking his surroundings before engaging his phone.

“Look at the body language,” I note, pointing to his stance in the most recent clip. “Weight shifted forward. Shoulders tense. He’s stressed, but trying to project confidence. That’s not a man making normal calls.”

“Can we recover the communications?” Forest asks.

Mitzy shakes her head. “Not from this. He was using a personal device, not security-issued equipment. Smart. Kept it completely separate from monitored channels.”

“Mr. Collins,” Hank asks, eyes never leaving the footage, “did Harrison have any connection to fusion research? Energy technologies? Quantum physics? Anything that might link him to Malfor’s interests?”

Collins’s brow furrows. “Not that I’m aware of. His background was strictly security and protection. He’s detail-oriented, methodical, but not scientific.”

I study the man on screen—Harrison’s careful movements, his vigilance, his precision. There’s something practiced in his caution. The kind of behavior that comes from extended planning, not sudden opportunity.

“This wasn’t an impulsive betrayal,” I say, more thinking aloud than addressing the room. “He’s been setting this up for months. Maybe longer.”

“But why?” Collins demands, frustration finally breaking through his controlled exterior. “Why would he do this? After everything—after years of loyalty—why turn now?”

“It’s either money or coercion,” I reply, eyes still tracking Harrison’s movements in the footage. “Men like Harrison don’t flip without reason. If it’s not financial, then he’s being controlled.”

“Could be family,” Ethan suggests. “Even estranged children can be leveraged.”

The memory of Sophia hits me—her desperation when she confessed how Malfor used her son Luke to force her betrayal. How she sabotaged Guardian systems, leaked information, compromised security—all to keep her child alive.

Rebel did something similar. Disappeared after being rescued, only to be found working on the wrong side of a human trafficking ring. All in a desperate attempt to find her sister’s child, Zephyr.

It happens.

“We need everything on Harrison’s family.” I turn to Mitzy. “Every detail. Current locations. Communications. Financial transfers. If someone’s got hooks in them, we’ll find it.”

“I’m on it,” she responds, fingers already flying. “Running deep background now.”

Collins watches this exchange, his expression hardening with each revelation.

“I want to be clear,” he says, voice dropping to that dangerous register that made him a business legend.

“I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care about collateral damage.

I want my daughter back. And I want Harrison to pay. ”

“Mr. Collins,” Forest replies, matching his tone, “I assure you—Harrison will face consequences, but our priority is recovering the women. All of them.”

Collins nods once, sharp and decisive. “My resources are at your disposal. Aircraft. Security teams. Satellite access. Name it, it’s yours.”

“We’ll need your complete security logs,” Hank says. “Everything Harrison touched. Every location he accessed. Every system he interfaced with. The pattern will tell us where he’s vulnerable.”

“And where he took Ally,” I add.

As Collins issues commands to his staff off-screen, I let my mind work the problem from other angles. Harrison knows Guardian HQ’s security protocols. He knows Collins’s resources. He knows Ally’s routines, preferences, and vulnerabilities.

Which means he’s planned for our response. For this exact moment.

I close my eyes briefly, letting the technical details cascade through my consciousness. Drone specifications. Flight paths. Oceanic currents. Vessel traffic. Satellite blind spots.

Harrison is good. But I’m better.

He might understand security systems, but I understand destruction. The precise application of force. The exact pressure needed to break things—or people.

When I open my eyes, I catch Hank watching me. That glacier-cold assessment that says he’s thinking exactly what I am.

Harrison made one critical mistake.

He took what’s ours.

And there is nowhere on this earth—or under its oceans—that will protect him from what’s coming.