This is a job. She's an asset. Nothing more.
I close the dossier, meet Gray's gaze. He knows me too well, sees the flicker, but doesn't comment.
"Rules?" I ask, voice steady.
Gray leans forward. "Same as always. Extract, protect, neutralize the threat. You keep boundaries. That's what keeps you sharp. That's what keeps her alive."
I nod. "Understood."
Laura watches the exchange, then leans in. "Mr. Jenkins, Aaron, I need to know a little about you. Megan is not only one of my reporters, but she’s also one of my best friends. Why you? What makes you the right man for this?"
I glance at Gray. He nods to go ahead.
I exhale, lean back. "Former Special Forces. Eight years active, four deployments. Sniper, close protection, extraction specialist. Left after a bad op. Came here because Gray offered a place where I could use what I know without the politics. I don't doattachments. I don't do complications. I do the job, keep people breathing, walk away clean."
Laura's eyes narrow slightly. "No family? No one waiting back home?"
"No."
She nods, satisfied. "Good. Megan's life depends on someone who won't get distracted. She's brilliant, but a little too reckless. She needs someone who can match her fire without getting burned."
I feel that jolt again. Fire. Yeah. The photo screams it.
Gray stands. "You gear up. Intercept at Lookout Point. Get her here before midnight. No stops. No contact. We'll run a full assessment once she's secure."
I stand too. "Copy."
Laura rises, offers her hand one last time. "Keep her safe, Mr. Jenkins.”
"I will."
I leave the office, dossier under my arm, and head straight to the armory.
The sun's almost gone now, sky bruised purple. I gear up methodically. A Glock 19 on my hip, two spare mags, zip ties in my pocket, knife sheathed at my boot. Burner phone, no trace.
The truck is fueled and waiting. I climb in, start the engine, and feel the low diesel rumble settle into my chest.
Lookout Point is forty minutes out if I push it.
I pull the photo from the dossier one last time, lay it on the passenger seat.
Megan Hill.
Those green eyes stare up at me, challenging, pulling.
I tell myself it's just a face. Just an asset. Just a job. But my pulse doesn't believe me.
The gate rolls open, and I drive into the dusk.
Chapter two
Megan
I’m already at Lookout Point, and the waiting is killing me.
11:41
The moon is a thin silver crescent tonight, casting just enough light to turn the lake below into a dark, rippling mirror. My Jeep is parked nose-out on the dirt turnaround, engine off, headlights dark. I’ve been here for fifteen minutes, my heart pounding like a war drum, the small digital recorder in my jacket pocket humming with anticipation, the cash envelope clutched in my hand like a lifeline. The wind whispers through the cedars, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, and something sharper underneath.
