It happens so fast my brain struggles to keep up. This isn’t the quiet photographer who danced with me last night, or the man who watched me translate with steady calm and unreadable eyes. This is someone else entirely. Someone dangerous, terrifying, and precise.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, the words barely forming around the shock clogging my throat.
Addison sees him too. Her grip tightens painfully. “Kate! What the—“
James locks eyes with me across the room. For a split second, the chaos narrows to that point of contact. His gaze is sharp, focused, and unmistakably alert. There’s no softness there now, just intent.
Then he looks away, and in that instant, I understand something with terrifying clarity: The man I slept with doesn’t exist. Whoever James Smith really is—whatever he is—he’s far more dangerous than I ever imagined.
And my life will never be simple again.
10
RYDER
Yusuf Aden Barre is dead, exactly as planned, and the consequences arrive on schedule. They always do, like a vacuum that doesn’t stay empty. It collapses inward—violent and fast.
Gunfire snaps from the far side of the hall. Two shooters pushing from the east corridor, another breaking from the rear stairwell. I clock their spacing, the way they’re moving people toward choke points.
My eyes scan the conference room, looking for two familiar figures. I shouldn’t be here. My mission is complete; I should be on the way to my extraction right about now, but for the first time, I found myself defying orders just so I could come back for them.For her.
I couldn’t bear to leave Kate behind in all this danger, to deal with the fallout of my mistakes. Neither she nor Addison deserves this.
When I finally spot her, she’s hiding under a table with Addison by her side. She’s already looking at me with panic-filled eyes. I’m covered head to toe in tactical gear, but I can tell she knows it’s me. Of course, she recognizes me. She’s a smart girl.
Different emotions flicker in her eyes—shock, wonder, fear—before finally settling on betrayal when she realizes I am not the man,the photographer, or guitaristshe thought I was. But there is no time for explanation. I need to get them both out of here. Now!
I advance, take one of the gunmen down before he finishes leveling his weapon. A second attacker tries to flank, but he’s too young and eager. I put him down and keep moving.
Explosions ripple somewhere deeper in the building—not big enough to level the structure, just enough to shatter glass and fracture attention. Smoke blooms low and fast, turning the air into grit. I move fast, cutting through the chaos, efficiently clearing a path.
By the time I reach Kate and Addison, the room is in full evacuation. Security is funneling survivors toward the west exit. Smoke curls along the ceiling like a living thing. I step into their space, my body automatically positioning between Kate and the nearest threat.
“Move!” I command.
That one word is enough to have them in motion. Addison grips Kate’s arm and pulls. Kate stumbles, then finds her feet, still staring at me like I’m something that doesn’t belong in daylight.
We move with the flow until another blast rocks the corridor ahead, and people surge the wrong way. I reroute us without explanation, pushing through a side passage I memorized two days ago while pretending to photograph light fixtures.
Outside, Mogadishu is unraveling. Sirens wail, gunfire crackles in the distance as the city responds the way cities always do when you pull a pin and walk away. I know this pattern; I’ve lived inside it. I should already be gone.
Instead, I keep them moving.
“Where are you taking us?” Addison asks.
“The only place you’ll be safe,” I reply, the US embassy route already etched into my head—a series of turns and timings so accurate I could run blind.
I feel Kate’s presence like a weight I didn’t plan for—her uneven breathing, the way she flinches at every sharp sound, the heat of her through my bulletproof jacket when the crowd compresses us together. I adjust my pace without thinking, match hers, and keep her upright.
Kate stumbles when the floor drops half an inch at the threshold between corridors, and I catch her elbow without looking, my hand closing around bone and muscle. She flinches at the contact, breath coming in fast.
Addison’s pace, on the other hand, never falters; she’s already talking before the fear has time to root itself, her voice low and steady, pitched just for Kate.
“Hey. Eyes on me,” she coos. “You’re with me. You hear me?”
Kate nods too quickly. “I—I hear you.” Her breath stutters. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
She isn’t.
