Something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe, or loss. "Because someone should have helped Tank. And you’re the key to finally bringing him justice."
Before she could ask who Tank was, he was pulling her to her feet. "Twenty minutes, maybe less before they check every shaft. We need shelter."
"Where?" Sarah's voice was hollow. "They'll check the town, the roads, everything."
"Then we find somewhere they won't think to look."
As he helped her walk, Sarah tried to push down the fear still clawing at her throat. But one thought kept circling: if trained killers were after her, and her only protection was one man—no matter how capable—how long could they really survive?
7
The stolenFord struggled up the mountain road, engine coughing. Griff checked the mirrors again—a habit that wouldn't die even though they'd been clear for twenty minutes.
Sarah sat rigid in the passenger seat. Every pothole made her flinch. Every shadow made her eyes dart. She was holding herself together through pure will, but he could see the cracks forming. The thousand-yard stare. The rigid shoulders and trembling hands.
He'd seen it too many times. Soldiers after their first real contact. The moment when training met reality and reality won. Sarah Winters might be FBI, but she wasn’t even an actual agent. Now she'd been hunted through a mine shaft by professionals who skinned people for practice.
The adrenaline crash would hit soon. When it did, she'd need somewhere safe to fall apart.
His sat phone sat heavy in his jacket pocket. One call. That's all it would take. Ronan would have a safehouse ready within hours, probably send a full extraction team. Dekewould mobilize everyone. Maya would start running tactical analysis. They'd drop everything and come running.
Exactly the problem.
Griff pulled off at a scenic overlook, needing a moment to think. Sarah tensed as they stopped.
"Are we?—"
"Checking our six." He scanned the valley below, but his mind was elsewhere. His team was out there, probably worried sick. Six months of silence. They deserved better.
But deserving better and staying alive rarely aligned.
"You have a phone." Sarah's voice cut through his thoughts. "I saw it. Back at the mine."
He turned to find her watching him with those sharp investigator eyes, even through the exhaustion.
"Satellite phone," she continued. "Military encrypted, from the look of it. Why haven't you called for backup?"
"It's complicated."
"We're being hunted by Chechens and whoever hired them. How is calling your team complicated?"
Griff studied the dark landscape, weighing how much to tell her. "Knight Tactical is the best in the business. Ronan could have a team here in six hours. Full loadout, safe extraction, everything we need."
"But?"
"Right now, Stillwater thinks I'm a lone wolf chasing ghosts. The second my team surfaces, that changes. Suddenly Knight Tactical is a threat that needs eliminating."
"Your team can handle themselves."
"In a straight fight? Sure. But Stillwater doesn't fight straight." He thought of Tank, all his precautions that hadn't mattered in the end. "Ronan just got married. Axel's engaged. Deke's practically there. They have people to protect now. People Stillwater wouldn't hesitate to leverage."
Sarah was quiet for a moment, processing. "So you're choosing to work alone rather than risk them."
"I'm choosing to keep them alive." The words came out harsher than intended. "I can get you through tonight. Find somewhere safe. Tomorrow, I'll send you to them—they can protect you better than?—"
"No."
He blinked. "No?"
