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TWO

Blaze

I burn my pent-up aggression, pummeling a punching bag in the gym, when my phone rings. Sweat stings my eyes, and my muscles burn with exertion. The rhythmic thud of fists against leather drowns out the world, leaving only the pounding of my heart and the whisper of ghosts I can’t quite silence.

The phone’s shrill cry shatters my focus. I pause, chest heaving, and wipe the sweat from my brow before answering.

“Blaze,” I answer, my voice clipped and to the point. The name sits uneasily, a reminder of a past I can’t escape.

“It’s Jennifer.” My team leader’s voice mirrors my own—all business. “Get to the briefing room, STAT. We’ve got a situation—a high-profile kidnapping. The client is Marcus Holbrook.”

Ice replaces the fire in my veins. Marcus Holbrook, billionaire and investment banker extraordinaire. Even in our world of wealth and power, that name carries weight.

I don’t bother with questions. There’s no time. I grab my gear, the familiar weight settling against my skin like armor.

The halls of Guardian HRS blur as I stride through them. Tension hangs thick in the air, a living thing with claws and teeth. Other operators nod grimly as I pass, their eyes holding respect and something darker.

Whatever this is, it’s big.

I push open the door to the briefing room, and my eyes immediately land on a familiar face. Holbrook paces the room like a caged animal. His usual smooth confidence is gone, replaced by raw, palpable fear.

Hostage situations are our bread and butter, but the stakes skyrocket when it’s a high-profile target.

More eyes watching.

More pressure.

More ways for things to go sideways.

CJ, our resident people person, is already speaking with our newest client. His voice, usually light and easy, carries an edge of urgency.

“Mr. Holbrook, walk us through it again.”

“Again?” Holbrook runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, leaving it standing on end. His face is etched with worry, years added in mere hours. “She was on her way home from a charity event. Never made it home. I wouldn’t be here if I knew more. She’s gone. My little girl is gone.”

His voice cracks on the last words, and I see past the tailored suit and polished veneer. He’s just a father, terrified for his child.

CJ nods with sympathy, then turns to Jennifer. “Any word from local PD on the abduction site?”

Jennifer steps forward, her expression grave. The fluorescent lights illuminate her flawless ebony skin, casting a soft glow on her tightly coiled ringlets. Her beauty is striking, but the intensity in her dark eyes is what commands attention.

“Police reports just came in.” Her voice is rich, melodious, yet authoritative. “The abduction happened on 5th and Madison. They’re canvassing for witnesses and security footage now.”

CJ turns back to Holbrook. “Mr. Holbrook, has there been any contact from the kidnappers? Any demands?”

Jennifer interjects, her brow furrowing slightly. “Nothing yet. It’s been radio silence since the abduction. We’re monitoring all channels, but so far, they’re ghosts.”

Holbrook’s shoulders slump further, desperation bleeding into every word. “You have to find her. I can’t… I can’t lose my little girl.”

The room falls silent, the weight of his plea hanging heavy in the air. I catch Jennifer’s eye, noting the determination that hardens her gaze. We both know the clock is ticking and every second counts.

“We’ve been monitoring the situation since it broke,” Mitzy speaks up. “The kidnappers have been ghosts so far. No demands, no contact. We’re contacting local businesses, hoping someone caught something on camera.”

Something about this doesn’t sit right. A brazen daylight abduction, no immediate demands…? It’s too clean, too practiced. My gut churns with unease.

“Mitzy,” I call out to our tech wizard. “Do you have anything at that location? Any video? Something?” It would be nice to see the actual kidnapping. There’s much to learn there.

“Pulling up what I can as we speak.” Mitzy’s fingers fly over her keyboard, screens flickering with data faster than I can process. “Got a hit on a traffic cam. Uploading now.”

The main screen fills with grainy security footage. A nondescript, dark van idles at a stoplight, two men in the front with faces obscured by masks.

“There,” Mitzy points. “Watch the van.”

The light changes and the van pulls away, moving slower than the surrounding traffic. It crawls along the curb, clearly searching for something—or someone.

Suddenly, the van slows to a roll. A young woman enters the frame, walking briskly down the sidewalk, her blonde hair catching the afternoon sun.

“That’s my daughter.” Holbrook lurches forward, face draining of color. “Oh God, Aria…”

Aria Holbrook looks every inch the socialite in designer clothes, completely oblivious to the danger approaching. Her head is down, and she’s looking at her phone.

The van’s side door slides open with startling speed.

On-screen, Aria finally notices the danger. Her head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise and then fear. She tries to run, but it’s too late. The men are on her in seconds.

Holbrook’s hands clench into fists, his knuckles white. A low, animal sound escapes his throat.

Two men, their faces hidden by ski masks, leap out. They move with practiced efficiency, a choreographed dance of violence.

One grabs her arms while the other clamps a hand over her mouth, stifling her screams. They lift her off her feet, her designer heels kicking uselessly in the air.

“No, no, no,” Holbrook mutters, his voice a broken whisper. He reaches out, fingers brushing the screen as if he could somehow reach through and save her.

But then—movement. Another figure rushes into the frame. A young woman, clothes ragged and hair wild, throws herself at the kidnappers, trying to pull Aria to safety. For a moment, it looks like she might succeed. She pulls Aria partway free, her face a mask of determination.

The victory is short-lived. One of the kidnappers produces a syringe, jabbing it into Aria’s neck. The blonde goes limp instantly. The other attacker turns on the would-be rescuer, and there’s a sickening crack as something—a fist or weapon—connects with her skull.

Both women are tossed into the van like ragdolls. The door slams shut, and the vehicle peels away from the curb, merging smoothly into traffic, leaving only an empty sidewalk and shocked bystanders behind.

The entire abduction takes less than thirty seconds.

Silence falls over the room, heavy and oppressive. The footage loops, forcing us to watch the nightmare unfold again.

My eyes narrow, focusing on the second woman. “Mitzy, back it up and freeze it on the other woman. Who’s that?”

“Why are you worried about some street rat?” Holbrook’s head snaps up, eyes blazing with fear and anger. “I hired you to rescue my daughter, not waste time on—” He stops abruptly, the words hanging in the air like shrapnel.

The room stills. Holbrook’s face crumples, realizing what he said. He bends his head, shoulders sagging under the weight of shame.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “That was… God, I didn’t mean…” He runs his hand down his face, mortified. “I’m not myself. I would never wish that on anyone. Forgive me.”

I acknowledge his apology without words. Fear makes monsters of us all sometimes.

“Unknown female,” Mitzy says, fingers already tapping away. “Running facial recognition now.”

“She wasn’t the target,” I mutter, mind racing. “Got herself in trouble trying to save Aria.”

Mitzy, ever professional, zooms in on the image without comment. The frozen frame shows a girl, maybe in her early twenties. Pretty, in a haunted sort of way. Her eyes are wide with the injustice of Aria’s kidnapping.

My gaze lingers on the frozen image of the woman. Something about her tugs at me—the set of her jaw, the fierce determination in her eyes. In a world where most people would turn away, she threw herself into danger to help a stranger.

Warmth spreads in my chest, unexpected and almost foreign. Admiration, I realize. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that for anyone.

“Look at her go.” My voice comes out softer than intended, filled with awe and more than a little bit of respect. “No hesitation, no thought for her own safety. Just pure instinct to protect.”

I clear my throat, trying to regain my professional detachment, but I can’t shake the feeling that this woman, whoever she is, is extraordinary. The kind of person who reminds you that there’s still good in the world, even in the darkest moments.

The room grows quiet, and I feel the intensity of my team’s gazes. It’s not like me to get personally invested.

Mac leans forward, his massive frame making the chair creak in protest. “Gotta admire the balls on her. Everyone else on that street just stood there, but she jumped in without hesitation.”

Jennifer nods, a hint of admiration in her eyes. “True grit. Let’s hope it doesn’t get her killed.”

Mitzy’s computer chimes, drawing our attention. “Got a hit on our mystery woman. Ember Winters, age 22. Foster care system until she ran away at twelve. No fixed address.”

Mac leans in, squinting at the screen. “Hold up, Mitz. Pan back to the sidewalk. Looks like she was selling something.”

Mitzy’s fingers fly across the keyboard and the image shifts. The camera zooms in on the sidewalk where Ember had been standing. Scattered across the concrete are what look like small, colorful objects.

“Are those—candles?” Jenny asks, disbelief coloring her voice.

“Looks like.” Mitzy nods, her eyes scanning the new information popping up on her screen. “A former foster kid making a living on the street selling candles.”

The incongruity of it almost makes me laugh: a homeless candlemaker taking on armed kidnappers. Sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Mac mutters, shaking his head in admiration. “Girl’s got more than guts. She’s got hustle.”

A newfound respect for Ember Winters grows with each revelation. A foster kid, making it on her own, building a business from nothing—and still willing to risk it all to help a stranger.

“We need to find her,” I say, my voice firm. “Not just for what she might know about the kidnappers, but for her safety. Whoever abducted Aria Holbrook won’t leave loose ends lying about.”

Ember Winters just became a key player in our mission.

“What else do you have on her?” I sense there’s more.

Mitzy’s expression darkens. “Multiple arrests for petty theft and trespassing, all charges eventually dropped. And—a sealed juvenile record.”

“What are we waiting for?” Holbrook, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, explodes. “You have the van; you know who took her. We need to get my daughter now.”

I turn to him, meeting his frantic gaze. Every instinct screams to move, to act, but rushing in blind is an excellent way to get people killed.

Before I can respond, CJ steps forward, his voice calm and reassuring. “Mr. Holbrook, I understand your frustration, but please, let me explain our process.” He places a gentle hand on Holbrook’s shoulder, guiding him to a chair. “We’re not sitting idle. Every moment we spend gathering intel increases Aria’s chances of a safe return. Right now, we have teams tracking the van’s route, analyzing the kidnappers’ methods, and building a profile of their organization. We’re laying the groundwork for a successful rescue.”

Holbrook’s shoulders sag, the fight draining out of him. “But… My little girl…”

“Is tough, like her old man,” CJ says with a small smile. “And we’re going to bring her home. But we need to do this right. Rushing in without a plan could put Aria in even more danger.”

I’m impressed by CJ’s ability to diffuse the situation. But there’s more Holbrook needs to understand. I step forward, my voice firm but not unkind.

“Mr. Holbrook, every kidnapping case is a puzzle. Right now, we’re gathering the pieces.” I gesture to the screens around us. “That van, the facial recognition, even the candlemaker—they’re all pieces. Rush in too soon, and we risk missing crucial information that could be the difference between success and failure.”

I meet his eyes, letting him see the determination in mine. “We’re not just rescuers. We’re hunters. And right now, we’re laying the trap that will bring your daughter home safely.”

Holbrook looks between CJ and me, conflict clear on his face. Finally, he nods, a tiny gesture of acceptance.

“Okay,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Okay. Just—please. Find her.”

Mitzy backs CJ up, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Tracking the van’s movements takes time, sir. But I’ve followed colder trails before. We’ll have a location soon.”

“For now,” CJ adds, his calm presence a balm to the room’s tension, “you need to let us do what we do best. We’re the Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists for a reason.”

Holbrook deflates, shoulders sagging. “I can’t lose her,” he whispers, voice cracking. “She’s all I have left.”

Silence descends upon the room, the gravity of his words sinking in. I think of my sister, of the hole her absence left in my life. Some losses you never truly recover from.

CJ steps forward, phone in hand. “Just got word from ops. The jet’s spun up and waiting on the tarmac. Further instructions will be sent en route.”

“That’s our signal.” Jennifer’s voice cuts through the heavy silence, soft but firm. “Alright, team. You know the drill. Mitzy, you and your crew keep digging on that van and our mystery girl. We need everything you can get us.” She turns to the rest of us, her dark eyes intense. “Delta team, kit up. We’re wheels up in thirty.”

I feel a surge of adrenaline. From our base in Northern California to New York City—this is going to be one hell of a rescue.

“Kit out your gear for urban ops. Pack for at least 72 hours. We don’t know how long this will take, and I want us prepared for anything.” She looks each of us in the eye, her gaze lingering on mine. “This is what we train for, people. Let’s bring them home.”

The room erupts into controlled chaos as we move to action.

The halls of Guardian HRS blur as I stride toward the Delta team’s bullpen, my mind already churning through scenarios. A high-profile victim. Professional kidnappers. An unknown witness with a hero complex and a rap sheet.

The door hisses open, and cool air washes over me. Racks of weapons line the walls, each one a tool with a specific purpose. I move on autopilot, selecting my gear with practiced efficiency.

Kevlar vest, snug against my chest. The weight is familiar and comforting. Thigh holster checked and double-checked. Spare magazines, each one a potential lifeline. Comm unit, the reassuring chatter of the team already filling my ear.

I can’t help but think of Ember Winters. She’s out there, scared and alone. No family. Nobody to care for her.

We’re coming, Ember, I silently promise. Just hold on. You’re not alone.

“Heads up!” Mac’s voice booms from across Delta team’s bullpen. “First ransom demand came in. Night Pack is claiming credit.”

The Night Pack. A name whispered in shadows, feared even by other criminals. If they’re involved, this just got a whole lot more complicated.

We’re missing something big.

My fingers brush the worn St. Michael medallion at my throat. The patron saint of warriors and protectors. A gift from my sister, before….

I push the thought away, locking it back in its box. There’s no room for ghosts on a mission. Focus on the now.

As I strap on my boots, a memory surfaces unbidden. Another mission, another rescue. The smell of gunpowder and blood, the weight of a child in my arms. We saved her, but the cost….

I shake my head, banishing the thought. This isn’t then. This is now.

I exit Delta’s bullpen, fully geared up and ready. The familiar weight of my weapons grounds me, a reminder of who I am and what I do.

As I move through the halls, other operators nod in respect. They know the drill. When Delta team moves, it means something big is going down.

I reach the garage, where the rest of the team is already assembled. Jennifer stands at the head of the group, her posture radiating authority.

“Listen up,” she says, voice carrying easily over the low hum of engines. “We’ve got two hostages, unknown number of tangos, and a potential Night Pack connection. This is not a smash-and-grab. We go in smart; we go in careful.”

She turns to me, eyes hard. “Blaze, you’re on point for infiltration. Mac, you’re his second. The rest of you know your roles. Questions?”

Silence. We’ve trained for this and drilled it a thousand times. Now, it’s time to put it into practice.

“Alright,” Jennifer says, a hint of pride in her voice. “Mount up.”

As we pile into the vehicles and head to the airstrip, the familiar rush of adrenaline surges through me.

The engines roar to life, and we peel out of the garage.

It’s time to hunt.

God help anyone who gets in our way.