Ghost didn't think. His arms were already around her, pulling her tight against his chest. She was alive. She was here. She was breathing.
He closed his eyes, breath stuttering out, his hand in her hair, the scent of her, the familiar mix of cedar and vanilla, flooding his senses. It hit harder than any battlefield ever had.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Rachel's voice came out muffled against his chest. "Are you okay? Why are you here? I didn't know it was you—"
Ghost couldn't answer. Couldn't speak past the knot in his throat. He just tightened his grip, one hand in her hair, the other spread across her back, feeling her heartbeat racing against his chest.
She was alive.
He'd never been this scared in his life. Not in Fallujah. Not in Helmand. Not in any firefight or ambush or clusterfuck op he'd survived. Nothing had ever terrified him like hearing that voicemail. Like thinking he might be too late.
"Logan?" Her voice was smaller now, uncertain.
“Fuck, Rachel.” His voice was ragged. “Yeah, my face will be fine. Jesus, that was a hell of a right hook.”
A shaky laugh escaped her, half-sob, half-relief. She clung to his neck like she was afraid he might vanish.
He pulled back just enough to see her face. His hands came up to cup her cheeks, tilting her face toward his so he could look at her. Really look at her.
"I got your voicemail," he said, rougher than he meant it to. "Are you okay?"
She nodded fast. "I'm okay. I hid."
Ghost's eyes dropped, cataloging. Blood at her knee. Dirt caked along her feet and ankles. Scrapes on her palms. A faint bruise forming on her shoulder.
"You call this hiding?" He reached past her to grab a hand towel from the vanity, ran it under warm water, and turned back.
Rachel stayed still as he crouched in front of her.
"I saw them outside first," she said quietly. "Through my window. Three men. I knew something was wrong. So when they broke in the front door, I slipped out the bedroom window."
Ghost lifted her foot gently, cradling her heel in his palm. The skin was scraped raw, dirt embedded in every line. He wiped it carefully, working the grit free.
"You climbed down?"
"Onto my neighbor's balcony. Then I hid in the bushes until they left."
He moved to her other foot, his touch gentle despite the rage building in his throat. Someone had done this. Had come here. Had torn apart her home and terrified her.
"Barefoot?"
Rachel nodded. "Didn't have time to grab shoes."
Ghost's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He moved to her knee next, shifting closer. His hand wrapped around her thigh to steady her, fingers spreading across bare skin as he cleaned the scrape. She'd jumped out a second-story window barefoot and hidden in the bushes while armed men ransacked her apartment.
"You shouldn't have had to do that alone," he said, voice low.
"I didn't have a choice."
Ghost looked up at her. His hand was still on her thigh, thumb moving in slow circles against her skin without him meaning to. "You do now. You're not on your own anymore."
The words came out before he could stop them. Before he could think about what they meant.
Rachel's breath hitched. Her eyes locked on his.
Ghost became aware of how close he was. How his hand was still on her thigh, how warm her skin was under his palm. He stood, putting distance between them before he did something stupid.
When he looked at her again, the tactical assessment fell away. He wasn't checking for injuries anymore. He was just looking at her.
