And for the first time in five years, he meant it.
CHAPTER 13
The safe house felt different in the aftermath of chaos.
Elena stood at the kitchen sink, her hands submerged in warm water as she scrubbed the last traces of prosthetic adhesive from her skin. The silicone pieces Reed had so carefully applied that morning now sat in a pile on the counter—discarded remnants of a disguise that had almost worked.
Almost.
Through the doorway, she could hear the low murmur of voices from the living room where Walker was tending to James’s wound. The sound of her own breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet cabin, each exhale a reminder that she was alive, that they’d made it out, that somehow—against all odds—the mission had succeeded.
But the victory felt hollow. Webb had escaped. James was hurt. And the cost of tonight’s operation was written in blood that Elena had seen on Reed’s hands when he’d helped her out of the SUV.
She turned off the water and dried her hands, studying her reflection in the window above the sink. Without the prosthetics, she looked like herself again—dark hair disheveled,eyes shadowed with exhaustion, the face of a woman who had spent five years running and was bone-tired of the chase.
Dear Lord,she prayed silently,thank You for bringing us through tonight. Thank You for protecting Reed and his brothers. Please guide us in the days ahead, and please... please let James be okay.
The prayer settled something in her chest, easing the tight knot of anxiety that had been lodged there since the server room door had burst open.
Elena took a steadying breath and walked toward the living room. The scene that greeted her was both reassuring and painful. James was stretched out on the couch, shirtless, while Walker worked on his shoulder with the focused precision of someone who had patched up battlefield wounds before. Terrel stood nearby with a first aid kit, handing supplies to Walker as needed.
And Reed—Reed was pacing near the window, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides. He looked up when Elena entered, and something flickered across his face that she couldn’t quite read.
“How is he?” Elena asked, moving closer to get a better look at James’s injury.
“I’ll live,” James said. His voice was strained but still carried traces of his characteristic humor. “Walker’s done worse to me during training exercises.”
“Shut up and hold still,” Walker muttered, threading a curved needle with surgical precision.
Elena studied the wound with a clinical eye, cataloging the damage. The bullet had carved a furrow across the top of James’s shoulder, tearing through the deltoid muscle but missing bone and major blood vessels. It was bleeding freely, the edges of the wound ragged and angry-looking, but it wasn’t life-threatening.
“Through and through?” she asked.
Walker shook his head. “Graze. Deep one, though. He’s going to need stitches and antibiotics, but he’ll have full range of motion once it heals.”
“Told you,” James said, wincing as Walker began suturing the wound. “Just a scratch.”
“A scratch that’s going to leave a scar,” Walker replied. “Try not to move.”
Elena watched the needle pierce James’s flesh, watched the thread pull the wound closed one stitch at a time, and felt the weight of guilt settle heavier on her shoulders. This was her fault. All of this—the danger, the violence, the blood—it was all because she’d walked back into Reed’s life and asked for help.
“Stop.”
Reed’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, and Elena looked up to find him standing directly in front of her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Stop what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking right now.” His blue eyes burned into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “I can see it on your face, Elena. You’re blaming yourself.”
“Because it is my fault,” she said quietly. “James is hurt because of me. You all risked your lives because I asked you to.”
“We risked our lives because we chose to,” Reed corrected. “Because the mission mattered. Becauseyoumatter.”
Tears pricked at Elena’s eyes, but she blinked them back. She was so tired of crying, so tired of feeling weak and vulnerable when she needed to be strong.
“Why don’t you get some rest?” Walker suggested without looking up from his work. “James will be fine, and there’s nothing more any of us can do tonight.”
Elena nodded, suddenly aware of how heavy her limbs felt, how much effort it took just to remain standing. The adrenalinethat had sustained her through the mission was fading fast, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
