“You’re gonna want to get up here,” Noah said the moment he was on the line. His voice was calm, but Eli caught the tension beneath it. “We’ve got visitors.”
“Who?” Eli asked.
“The girls’ grandfather just showed up at headquarters. And he’s not alone.”
Eli straightened. Delaney looked over sharply, already reading his expression.
“The founder of the Hale Institute is with him,” Noah added. “And Cyrus Hale is demanding to speak to both of you.”
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Chapter Seven
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The wind had picked up by the time Delaney and Eli crossed the gravel path toward the main headquarters building. Gray clouds hung low over the hills, mirroring the unease tightening in her chest. She kept pace beside Eli, her shoulder just brushing his as they moved with purpose.
Inside the glass-walled entry, the warmth hit immediately, along with the sound of low voices. Noah stood near the front reception area, his stance unreadable but alert. Beside him were two men Delaney recognized instantly from their files.
Lawrence Melborne stood with his arms loosely crossed, a man in his late sixties with snow-white hair, a commanding posture, and sharp, assessing eyes that didn’t miss much. He looked like a retired senator or someone used to issuing orders and having them followed without question.
But it was the other man who drew Delaney’s attention.
Cyrus Hale.
Late fifties, tall and lean with just a hint of remaining youth clinging to his features. He wore a slim-fitting black coat, charcoal slacks, and a dark collared shirt opened at the neck. A silver chain glinted under the fabric. His hair was tousled like he’d styled it with his hands, and the lines around his mouth suggested he smiled often, though Delaney doubted there was anything warm behind it. He had the air of an aging rock star clinging to charisma and mystery, with eyes that didn’t quite match the charm he projected.
“So,” Hale said, his voice rich and slightly amused. “These are the two trying to drag my institute’s name through the mud.”
Delaney didn’t flinch. She stood straighter, the weight of her badge and training locking her spine into place.
“We’re the ones trying to keep a teenage girl from disappearing,” she said. “If that ruins your image, maybe it says more about the place you run.”
Hale’s smile curved, thin and humorless. “Fiery one, huh?”
Noah’s gaze flicked to Eli and Delaney. He gave the smallest of nods, a silent signal that the real conversation was about to begin.
Delaney followed Noah, Eli, Lawrence Melborne, and Cyrus Hale down a short hallway to the heart of Crossfire Ops. The door slid open on silent tracks, revealing a conference room washed in soft daylight from floor-to-ceiling windows.
The table was a single slab of polished walnut, its surface large enough to seat ten without crowding. Slim leather chairs surrounded it, each one perfectly aligned. At the far end of the room, a wide video wall glowed black until Noah tapped a control panel and it flickered to life. Three camera feeds and a map of the Hill Country filled the screens.
A chrome-and-glass credenza held pitchers of water, coffee urns, and neatly stacked mugs. On one wall, a whiteboard already bore scribbled notes in multiple colors—coordinates, names, timelines—evidence of the urgency running through this place.
Delaney paused just inside the doorway, taking it all in. This room was where strategy became action. Where data on a screen turned into missions in the field. And right now all eyes would be on her and Eli as they faced down a grandfather and the man who ran the very institute they’d come to expose.
Noah tapped the control panel and the video wall switched to a single image. Olivia’s bruised face filled the screen. Dark purple swelling beneath one eye, a thin cut above her brow, her lips cracked and trembling. Her hair was tangled, and her eyes stared out raw with fear.
Delaney felt a jolt of anger at the sight. She knew Noah meant to unnerve the two men standing opposite them. It was clear from the tightening at Cyrus Hale’s jaw and the wayLawrence Melborne’s shoulders stiffened.
Lawrence scowled and jabbed a finger at the screen. “This is of her own making,” he barked. “She was in a safe place where she could get the help she needed and she ran away.”
Delaney pressed her lips together, refusing to let him see how his words stung. Hale sighed and shook his head.
“Olivia is such a troubled girl,” Hale said, his voiceseeminglysympathetic. That sympathy tone quickly changed, though. “Still, she’s a bit of a drama queen, always seeking attention.”
Noah raised his hand, palm open, and motioned for everyone to take a seat. As the group settled around the table, he turned back to the screen.
“Olivia has provided an interesting account of what went on at the institute,” Noah said.
