“Neither is this.” I step closer, close enough to see the fatigue warring with the adrenaline in his eyes. “You said I’m fascinating. That my mind is a weapon. So stop treating me like a liability and start treating me like a partner.”
We stare at each other. The air is charged with more than attraction now. Challenge. Respect. The shift of tectonic plates.
“Partners make tactical decisions together,” he says finally.
“Then let’s decide together. What’s our best play?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. Dangerous.
“Our best play is breaking into Nexus Holdings, getting past their security, confronting whoever’s destroying evidence, and stealing proof that connects them to Phoenix.” He pauses. “Without getting killed.”
“Acceptable.” I holster the weapon. “Let’s go.”
We slip into the Chicago night, two ghosts hunting monsters that hide in boardrooms and balance sheets.
Behind us, the SUV’s headlights sweep through the darkness, watching an empty cage.
Ahead, Nexus Holdings rises against the skyline, forty-seven floors of glass and steel and secrets.
Jackson’s hand finds mine in the darkness. Brief pressure.
Trust.
We run.
THIRTEEN
Jackson
BREACH PROTOCOL
The car sits exactlywhere I left it.
Talia slides into the passenger seat, weapon secured, laptop bag clutched against her chest like ceramic armor plates. Her hair is coming loose from the Angel Fire cap, dark strands sticking to her cheek where sweat and city grit meet. Even now—exhausted, hunted, running on fumes—she flips open the laptop, booting systems like her pulse runs on code instead of blood.
“Address for Nexus Holdings?” Her voice rasps, but her fingers remain steady over the keys.
“455 North Cityfront Plaza. But we’re not going straight there.”
She looks up. That question lives in her eyes before she even speaks it—sharp, searching, already calculating the odds. The way she processes under pressure hits me somewhere deeper than it should.
“We need equipment first.” I pull into traffic, keeping the speed casual despite the urgency crawling under my skin like ants. “Nexus Holdings will have layers of security we can’t bypass with your Bureau training and my go-bag.”
“What kind of equipment?” She braces a hand against the dashboard as I take a tight corner.
“The kind that doesn’t exist on any Cerberus inventory list.” I check the rearview mirror. Empty streets. For now. “Contact of mine runs an electronics shop in Pilsen. Specializes in surveillance countermeasures and access bypass. He taught me everything I know about making things go boom without leaving a trace.”
“At three in the morning?”
“Mateo Vargas doesn’t sleep. He waits.”
Understanding flickers across her face, quiet and raw. She knows that kind of insomnia. The kind that smells like gun oil and memory. The kind that never lets go.
Twenty minutes later, the shop appears—wedged between a closed panadería and a tattoo parlor. Bars on the windows. Hand-painted sign readingMV Repairs: Analog & Digital. The lights are still on despite the hour.
I park two blocks away. Distance equals options.
“Stay in the car.”
