Rachel stayed close, her shoulder brushing his arm as he steered her toward a booth in the far corner. Dark wood, vinyl seatscracked at the edges. He waited for her to slide in first, then settled beside her instead of across. His back pressed against the wall, eyes already tracking movement. Two exits, the door they'd come through and one behind the bar that probably led to a stockroom or alley access.
The bartender, a guy in his fifties with a stained white shirt and forearms like he'd done manual labor before pouring drinks, looked up. No surprise registered on his face. Just a slight nod that Ghost returned.
Rachel's hands were shaking against her thighs. Ghost could see her pulse hammering in her throat, her breathing coming too fast and shallow. The adrenaline was still coursing through her system.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping low. "You good?"
She nodded, but her breath hitched. "Yeah. Just...processing."
His gaze swept the room again. Two old men at the bar nursing amber drinks in short glasses, staring at nothing with the glazed focus of people who'd started early and had nowhere else to be. A waitress moved between tables with practiced indifference, low ponytail, stained apron. No one else. No threats he could identify.
He looked back at Rachel. "They weren't trying to kill us. Not yet."
She stared at him, her eyes still too wide. "What?"
"They were herding us. Trying to push us into a pickup zone." His voice stayed calm, matter-of-fact, the same tone he'd use briefing his team. "That SUV probably had restraints in the back."
The color drained from her face. He watched her swallow hard.
"So what now?" Her voice came out quieter than she'd intended.
"Now we wait." His hand found hers under the table, thumb brushing across her knuckles in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Let them think we slipped through. Give them time to pull back and reposition. We sit tight, blend in, and when it's clear, we move."
She exhaled shakily, nodding, but her breathing was still uneven. Her chest rose and fell too fast.
Ghost shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against hers. "Hey." He waited until she looked at him. "This is what I do for a living, remember? I've run ops in places that make San Diego look like Disneyland. I know how to keep you safe."
Some of the tension in her face eased. Not all of it, but enough that he could see her trying to trust him.
The jukebox in the corner crackled to life, playing something slow and country that sounded like it belonged in the eighties. Twangy guitar, a woman's voice singing about heartbreak and highways.
Ghost's hand settled on her thigh. His palm was warm, fingers curling around her leg with enough pressure to anchor her. Histhumb stroked up and down absent mindedly, feeling her breathing start to even out.
She was still scared, he could see it in the tightness around her eyes, the way she kept glancing toward the door, but she was holding it together. Processing it like he'd told her to instead of letting panic take over.
Two exits. Three potential threats if those old men weren't what they seemed, but Ghost's gut said they were harmless. The waitress didn't give them a second look. The bartender had already gone back to wiping down glasses.
To anyone watching, they were just another couple. Nobody worth noticing.
Ghost's fingers tightened slightly on Rachel's thigh, and she looked at him. He scanned her face the way he'd scanned the alley, checking for damage, assessing her state.
"We're gonna get through this," he said quietly.
She nodded, and he could see her trying to believe him. The fear was still there in her eyes, but underneath it was something else. Determination, maybe. Or just the simple fact that she didn't have another choice.
31
Ghost leaned back, slowing his breathing deliberately. To anyone watching, he looked relaxed. Just a sailor in uniform with his girlfriend, taking a break from the heat. One arm draped around her shoulders like he had nowhere else to be.
His body stayed coiled and ready. His eyes kept moving, faces at the bar, the two exits, the mirror behind the liquor bottles reflecting the front door. He catalogued every detail while appearing to look at nothing in particular.
He waited a few seconds before reaching into his pocket. The movement was lazy, unhurried. Just checking his phone. Under the table, his thumbs moved quickly across the screen.
Ghost:Need a ride. Location sent. Compromised. Stay low.
He hit send and pocketed the phone.
Rachel shifted beside him. "Who did you text?"
