She’s not fourteen anymore. She’s an FBI agent. A woman who hunts the same monsters that killed Lily.
And she had no idea Bobby Anderson was about to walk back into her life.
He’d spent the night going over his conditions with the doctor and strategizing his team. The list was short but non-negotiable: Montgomery wasn’t to share that he was Bobby, Lily’s brother.
He was a completely different person now than the kid Claire had met only three, maybe four times growing up. His and Lily’s mom had remarried and moved to D.C., leaving him and his dad behind. Garrett had lived with their father, mostly because he’d always been a handful, and Stephanie, their mom, hadn’t been able to keep him in check. He looked and talked differently now. Hell, he even thought differently. The Navy had cleaned him up after he’d spiraled because of Lily’s death and given him purpose. It was crucial to him that the past stayed buried where it belonged.
Vivi had agreed. For now.
She’d also given him free rein in picking his team for this assignment. Operation Paperclip was no different from the missions he’d led in the field. He'd picked his team based on their strengths—surveillance, perimeter defense, overwatch—and built a layered security bubble to keep Claire safe.
She’d spent the morning with the doctor, learning the Trident system and how Vivi was adapting it to hunt predators. Now, he couldn’t put it off any longer—he had to face the music. He had to faceher.
Garrett knocked, letting his professional operator face slide into place. “Agent Dawson? Your briefing is ready.”
The door opened.
Time stopped.
Fifteen years collapsed into nothing. Those blue eyes—Lily’s best friend’s eyes, the ones that had looked at him with such guilt at the funeral—met his. But they were different now. Harder. Older. Scarred by what she’d survived and the things she’d witnessed since.
She was beautiful. Not the skinny fourteen-year-old with a broken arm, but a woman who’d turned her trauma into purpose.
Lily would have been proud.
“Agent Dawson.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “I’m Wolf. We need to discuss your security protocols.”
She blinked. Studied his face with an intensity that made his pulse spike. FBI training, he told himself. She assessed everyone like this.
But her eyes lingered. On his jaw. His eyes. The set of his shoulders.
“Wolf, right.” She smirked. “Did you pick that yourself or just draw the short straw?”
Was she teasing? “Operational callsign. Everyone here uses them for their safety and yours.” He gestured down the hallway. “Dr. Montgomery is waiting in the conference room.”
“And believe it or not, I can find it on my own. I spent the morning there.”
“Please refrain from going anywhere unattended, Agent Dawson.”
“It’s Claire, and does that include the bathroom, Wolf?”
The sarcasm could peel paint. He started walking, hiding his grin. “The building is a security facility, but I want eyes on you at all times.” He held up a hand when she started to protest. “Bathroom trips excluded.”
She made a sound of frustration as she followed him down the hallway, and Garrett was hyperaware of every move, every sound she made. The cadence and quiet efficiency of her footsteps. The jut of her chin. The fall of her hair over her shoulder when she turned to look at him.
“How long have you worked here?” she asked.
Damn, that voice.So smooth and sexy.Stay professional. She’s a protectee. Nothing more.
But his hands were shaking.
“How long have you been with Shadow Point?” she asked again. The question was more pointed this time, analytical. She was gathering intelligence.
“I’m the first tactical commander.”
“You’re avoiding my question.” She stopped abruptly. “This is a new operation, isn’t it? Am I your first guinea pig?”
Damn, she was good. “We’re a new unit that’s part of an established organization offering personal security for years. Shadow Point specifically handles stalkers and serial killers.” He glanced at her, gestured for her to start walking again. “I assure you, you’re in good hands.”
