How she'd pressed into him, certain and unhesitant. How she'd looked at him afterward—open, steady, not asking for promises he couldn't make.
It should've been just a moment. Heat and adrenaline burning off. But it wasn't.
He couldn't shut her out. Not anymore.
Across the tent, someone shifted. A boot hit the floor. Torch exhaled long and slow.
Ghost kept staring at the ceiling. Sleep wasn't coming. All he could think about was how she'd kissed him back—not hesitant, not uncertain. Like she'd chosen him.
He'd been deployed half his life. Knew what happened when you let someone get too close in this work.
But Rachel wasn't a mistake. She was just real.
The heat of her skin. The sound of her breath. The look in her eyes right before she stepped back. All of it was still sharp and clear in his head.
Ghost dragged in a breath and let it out slow.
It was going to be a long sleepless night.
19
It had been four days since the kiss. Four days since Ghost pressed her back against that metal shed and took her mouth like he’d been starving for it. Since he walked her to her barracks, fingers grazing hers like he couldn’t quite let go.
The tension hadn't eased. If anything, it had gotten worse. They hadn't touched since. Hadn't spoken of it. But every glance between them felt loaded, like something was building toward a breaking point.
Moonlight slicked off rooftops as the team advanced through the village, shadows moving through shadows. Boots struck hard-packed earth without sound. Rifles high. Eyes sharp.
Ghost took point, moving with silent precision, every sense tuned to the terrain.
Rachel followed at a distance. Camera snug to her chest. She didn’t argue or push, not tonight. She knew better.
She’d tried pushing him earlier, arguing for full access, her usual edge, but he’d shut it down with a single line.
“If you’re coming, you stay here.” His voice had been low. Too calm for the storm still riding behind his eyes.
He’d guided her into the shadow of a crumbling wall, his hand brushing her elbow for half a second longer than it needed to. Just enough for her to feel it.
"Stay put, Parker." The formality felt like armor. Distance he needed to maintain. "No movements. No risks." He locked eyes with her. "Clear?"
She nodded once. He stared at her for another second, then moved into the darkness. Now Rachel hunched in the shadows where he'd positioned her, camera trained on the team. Her breathing matched the rhythm of her shots, steady and controlled.
Ghost hadn't sidelined her just for her safety. He needed to be able to think clearly. To focus on the op instead of wondering if she was alive. If she was hurt. Her chest felt compressed. Her fingers trembled slightly on the camera. She breathed through it, steadied her grip. Watched Ghost signal the team into formation, two left, two right. Clean. Precise. No hesitation.
Then, movement. Far edge of the path. A low structure half-hidden in brush. Not on the map. She adjusted her zoom. Flickerinside. A shift in shadow. Small, but off. She tracked it. Five figures. Three in local garb. Two in U.S. military uniforms.
Her heart skipped. That wasn’t protocol. That wasn’t part of the op. And it didn’t look right.
Rachel lowered the camera just enough to peer over the lens, her breathing shallow. Whatever was happening in that building wasn't routine. She was supposed to stay put, but something cold settled in her gut. She needed to know what she'd just seen. What they were doing. Why they didn't want to be seen. A meeting.
Her pulse kicked as she adjusted the zoom. The uniforms were regulation, boots, vests, patches all correct, but their body language was wrong. Too relaxed. Too still. No hierarchy visible. No operational tension. Just quiet conversation.
She fired off a burst of shots, three frames, clean. One man turned slightly. Too young. Too polished. Blond hair. Not hardened enough for what this was.
Then her lens caught it. A tattoo on mystery soldier number two. Black ink. Bold and unmistakable. A skeletal hand inked across the back of his own, fingers curling as if death itself was gripping his skin
She needed sound. Not just images. Words. Proof.
Her eyes flicked back toward the compound Ghost’s team was clearing. Too close. If he spotted her movement, he’d yank her out before she got another second on record.
