I’ve spent years keeping people at arm’s length, convincing myself I don’t need anyone. But as Damon’s truck pulls out of the driveway, a flicker of something like hope stirs deep in my chest.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel entirely alone.
CHAPTER 4
ZANE
The burner phonebuzzes on the nightstand, cutting through the quiet hum of the ceiling fan. I crack open an eye, the red glow of the digital clock glaring back at me: 12:07 a.m.
The woman in my bed stirs, her arm brushing against mine. What’s her name again? Something with an “L.” Lauren? Lila? Doesn’t matter. She’ll be gone by sunrise, same as all the rest.
I grab the phone, the cold metal grounding me. Damon’s private line. If he’s calling the burner, it’s not to shoot the shit.
I swing my legs off the bed, the hardwood cool under my bare feet. The woman murmurs something in her sleep, her long hair fanning out on the pillow. I move to the window, cracking it open to let in the night air, thick with the scent of the desert. My apartment is small and bare—a one-bedroom with a couch that’s seen better days, weights stacked in the corner, and a single shelf lined with books I never finish reading. It’s not home; it’s just a place to crash between jobs.
Flipping the phone open, I press it to my ear. “Zane.”
“I need you on surveillance.” Damon’s voice is clipped, straight to the point. “Her name is Mia Henson.”
The name clicks, like a gear snapping into place. I know it’s not from personal experience, but it sends my instincts buzzing.
“And the man terrorizing her,” Damon continues.
“Jason Whitmore,” I finish, the name leaving my mouth like venom. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
Damon goes quiet for a second, and I know I’ve surprised him. “You know him?”
The memory hits me like a punch: Kandahar. The dead informants, the dirty deals, the look on Whitmore’s face when he walked away with a plea deal while the rest of us were left cleaning up his mess. The bastard’s name tastes like copper in my mouth.
“Yeah,” I say, voice tight. “I know him. Last I saw him, he was cutting a deal to save his own ass after botching a mission and getting good men killed. What the hell is he doing stalking a woman and her kids?”
“Long story,” Damon replies. “Right now, I need you on this. Can you handle it?”
I let out a sharp laugh, bitter and cold. “Six months ago, someone hired my old firm to track down his ex. We didn’t take the case. I later found out it was Jason making the request.”
“That’s her,” Damon confirms. “He’s been circling her, Zane. This guy doesn’t quit.”
I rake my hand through my hair. “I was too caught up in my shit back then. Well, I should’ve followed up. Should’ve done more.”
“You’ll do it now,” Damon says. “Get there fast. You’ve got the address.”
My phone pings with his text, probably Mia’s current address. I check it out. I’m in middle-of-nowhere Arizona, and she’s… far.
My hand tightens around the phone as I stare out into the night. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”
I scan the address before turning my attention back to Damon.. “Be careful. Whitmore’s a dangerous man,” hesays.“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my jacket and keys. “I’ve got a score to settle.”
From my vantage point in the SUV, I’ve got a clear view of Mia’s modest house. Lights flicker in the upstairs window, and I see the faint silhouette of her pacing back and forth. I adjust the binoculars, scanning the street for anything out of place.
Damon’s call reached me while I was still out in the Mojave, wrapping up a two-day job guarding some Silicon Valley exec at a private retreat. Without missing a beat, Damon arranged my transport—a quick chopper ride back to the city, then a company SUV waiting at the helipad, stocked with surveillance equipment and Mia’s file on the passenger seat. Less than two hours later, I’m pulling up outside her quiet suburban home, gear in hand. There are no breaks on this job, and that’s how I like it.
So far, it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The silence presses against my ears, thick with memories I can’t shake. They surface like bodies in a flood, refusing to stay buried.
The first time I met Jason Whitmore, he seemed like every other guy in our unit—steady, focused, dependable. A little too smooth, maybe. Too eager to please. But when you’re deployed, you don’t question a man who’s got your back. You just trust he’ll do his job.
