A real smile broke across her face then, chasing away more of the shadows. "Complicated's just code for worth it."
That pulled something close to a smile. Almost. "You always this cocky?"
"Only whenI'm right, Ghost." She moved toward the door, stepping past him with deliberate slowness.
Ghost's hand shot out on instinct, catching her wrist before she could reach the handle. Not hard, but just enough to stop her.
Rachel looked down at where his fingers circled her wrist, then back up at him. Her pulse jumped under his thumb.
"When it's just us," he said quietly, "it's Logan."
She repeated softly. "Logan," she repeated, softer this time.
He held her there for another heartbeat, his thumb brushing across the inside of her wrist where her pulse hammered, then released her.
Rachel stayed still for a moment; eyes locked on his. When she finally moved to the door again, she paused with her hand on the knob and glanced back over her shoulder.
"And admit it, Logan," she said, voice carrying just enough tease to land. "You like this trouble.”
He stayed quiet, unmoving, every muscle wound tight to keep from proving her right.
She smiled, knowing and genuine, and slipped out the door.
Ghost stood alone in the bathroom, staring at the space where she'd been. His hands were still damp from washing hers. He could still feel her pulse racing under his thumb, still see the way she'd looked at him when she said his name.
He was in serious trouble. The complicated kind.
And she was absolutely right, he liked it.
13
The sun bled low across the compound, casting long shadows through the wire. That late-afternoon gold painted the walls and gear racks like everything was glowing from the inside out, but inside the command post, nothing felt warm. The radio cracked and static flared.
“Multiple hostiles engaging from the east. Lead truck’s disabled, repeat—lead truck’s disabled!”
Ghost’s spine locked and his jaw clenched. He stood at the edge of the room, earpiece in, the voices coming through weren’t panicked, but they were tight. Combat-tight.
“Civilians caught in the crossfire. Several down. Need immediate support.”
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. His voice remained even, like it always did, but his attention sharpened to a pinpoint.
He turned to his team. “Gear up.”
The SEALs moved fast, practiced and clean. Kevlar snapped into place. Ammo locked. Boots hit the floor in a rising rhythm that sounded more like thunder than chaos.
Predator frowned as he strapped into his vest. “Wasn’t this the convoy that got rerouted last minute?”
“Yeah,” Rogue said, checking his sidearm. “It was. Colonel Hale signed off on the change.”
Echo glanced up from his tablet. “That doesn’t track with protocol. No reason to reroute a load like that without command’s clearance.”
Ghost let out a short breath. "Since when does Hale follow protocol?"
Rachel stood against the far wall, camera bag already across her body. The team was moving fast around her; checking weapons, securing gear, voices clipped and urgent. Her fingers tightened around the strap.
Ghost didn't look at her as he slung his vest over one shoulder. "You're staying here."
She stepped forward. "This is exactly what I need to document."
