Over the years, I’ve dug up everything there is to find on Cole Hartman.
In another life, he was a high-speed ghost for the U.S.government, an undercover operative in a clandestine operation called The Activity.No badge.No trail.No laws applied to him.When the government wanted deniability, Cole was their man.He infiltrated wars and made important people vanish.Terror cells, traitors, anyone too close to the truth.
Somewhere between Baghdad and Bogotá, his cover was blown.He faked his death and walked straight into the underworld.
Now he’s a trusted adviser in the Restrepo cartel’s inner circle.
I can recite his resume down to how he takes his coffee, the VIN on his motorcycle, and every tattoo on his body.And his wife’s body, too.But nothing I found on the dark web captures the disturbing, live-wire electricity that sizzles the air in his presence.
“So you’re the notoriousVigilante.”He clicks his tongue.“The hacker who made the NSA shit itself.”
“They should thank me for the warning shot.”
“You got balls walking into Restrepo territory.Most people don’t come back in one piece.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen your work.Dubai, Kiev, Râmnicu Vâlcea… I watched you erase an arms dealer’s offshore empire in under an hour.”He regards me for an eternity, tilting his head.“All this time, you kept your identity hidden.Why crawl out of your hole now?”
“Everyone crawls out for something.”My heart kicks as I lean back, stretch my legs, and feign nonchalance.
“What’s your something?”
“Not your concern.”
“Fair enough.”He smiles, and the dimples ruin it.Way too cute for a killer’s face.“You don’t cash a Restrepo favor unless you’re willing to bleed for it.Are you willing to bleed for yoursomething?”
“The way I see it, you owe me a favor.I’m calling it in.When it’s done, we’re even.”
“You won’t owe us after this.”He taps his fingers on the armrest, slowly and rhythmically, calculating.“You’ll belong to us.”
They’ll have to pull the bullets out of me first.I want out, not deeper in.
I want a world where Dove isn’t in danger every second of every day.
“You look tense.”Cole eyes me sidelong.
“I don’t fly well.”
“Liar.”
He’s right, of course.It’s not the altitude that twists my gut.It’s the fact that I’m about to walk into a nest of ruthless demons armed to the teeth.I’ve dealt with my share of violent criminal organizations, but I’ve never asked one for help.
“It’s curious,” he says.“You hate the world enough to fight it, but not enough to join it.That’s a lonely place to stand.”
“I’m used to lonely.”
“Still, it’s easier when you have a cause.You, me, the anarchists, and the patriots, we all tell ourselves we’re burning down the world for this or that reason.But the best of us learned to smile while doing it.”
“I’m the best.And I don’t smile.”
“Yeah.”Popping those dimples with a grin, he stands and ambles toward the cockpit.“I noticed.”
The plane eats miles and swallows whole countries.Time becomes a smear of coffee cups, crumpled napkins, and half-eaten meals.My phone stays off.Files flash through my head the way code slides down a monitor.Dove’s face is the only image that refuses to pixelate.
My fingers itch for a keyboard I don’t have, for a terminal I can’t touch.Not knowing where Dove is or what she’s doing is a special kind of torture.I tell myself Wolf’s protecting her, not filling her with come.It’s the only way I stay sane.
Hours fold into one another.I close my eyes and open them to a different sky.Stars stream past the window in slow motion.Cole reads a small tablet, thumbs drumming.Each glance he sends my way is a reminder that whatever we’re about to do has been measured, weighed, and approved by people who don’t blink.
