“Please. You’ve got Big Bad Protector written all over that ugly mug. So stop arguing and tell me, who’s the special lady?”
"She's a person of interest."
"Right. That's why you've been living on coffee and surveillance for... how long now?"
"Can you track the flight or not?"
"Already done. Flight plan shows Bozeman Regional. Middle of nowhere, Montana." A pause. "You know, most guys would slide into her DMs like normal human beings."
Griff ignored him, staring at his phone. His thumb hovered over a contact labeled "Hammer." Axel would answer. No questions, no judgment. JustWhere do you need me?
His thumb moved to another name. Ronan. The team leader who'd brought them back together after Tank’s murder.
"You gonna call your team?" Needles asked, because of course he was watching through the cabin camera.
"No."
"They're worried."
"They're safe. That's what matters."
"From what? What's so bad you can't?—"
"Just fly."
The screen stayed dark. He locked the phone without calling. Six months of solitary hunting had carved hollows in places he hadn't known existed. No one to watch his six. No one to share the dark humor that made the job bearable. Restaurant meals for one, apartment silence that pressed against his eardrums, waking up alone with no one to confirm the nightmares weren't real.
But alone meant no one else in danger. Alone meant Tank's killers couldn't use his team against him.
Griff pulled up Winters' file again, studying the Bureau photo. Coffee-colored skin and deep, dark eyes. Pretty in an understated way, the kind of face that probably lit up when she cracked a particularly complex financial puzzle. According to her personnel records, she'd solved three major fraud cases by finding patterns everyone else missed. Brilliant at untangling numbers.
Needles paced through the cabin, stretching. "Perfect time to let Auto fly for a minute.” He leaned over Griff’s shoulder. “She's cute. In a librarian-who-could-ruin-your-life-with-spreadsheets kind of way."
"She's a forensic accountant who found something she shouldn't have."
"And you're following her because...?"
Because she might be the key to solving Tank's murder. And if that was true, Sarah Winters was probably as good as dead, too.
"Because it's my job," Griff said finally.
"Your job. Right." Needles' voice carried years of shared history. "Like it was your job to vanish without explanation. Your job to cut off your team. Your job to play lone wolf while the rest of us?—"
"Drop it."
Silence filled the cabin. Griff went back to studying Winters' file. Her social media—minimal and mostly professional—painted a clear picture. No photos with friends. No weekend adventures. A woman who lived in data because data was safer than people. Or so he imagined.
He understood that. Maybe too well.
He grabbed his phone and arranged for a car. "We'll have that 4x4 ready and waiting for you, sir," the rental agent assured him before they hung up.
Two hours later, the Gulfstream touched down smooth as silk, Needles showing off as usual. As they taxied to the private terminal, Griff could see his rental waiting on the tarmac.
"Ghost, listen—" Needles started as Griff gathered his gear.
"No." Griff didn't look back. "Whatever you're about to say, no."
"You can't keep doing this alone. Your team?—"
