The freezing mountain air hits my face, doing absolutely nothing to cool the hot burn in my blood. I walk to the edge of the wooden porch and stare out at the dark, impenetrable wall of lodgepole pines.
I power on the sat-phone.
The screen glows a harsh green in the fading light. I punch in the encrypted sequence. A number I haven't dialed in four years. A number I swore I would never dial again unless I was bleeding out in a ditch.
Hell, even then I wouldn't dial it. I'd bleed out first. The pride of a Harrison doesn't break easily.
But this call isn't for me. It's for her.
Keeping her near me is a tactical risk I can't afford. I'm a target. Ares will send a small army into these mountains to finish the job. Right now, ensuring her survival means swallowing my bitterness and reaching out to the last man in the world who would ever grant me a favor.
My thumb hovers over the call button. The plastic feels freezing against my skin.
The phantom weight of my older brother's voice echoes in my head.You killed an innocent man. You're no brother of mine.
Frost.
When we got out of the military, Frost went to work for Guardian HRS. He put his tactical skills to use protecting high-value targets. I took the lucrative path. A freelance hitman for the underground syndicates. A career completely lacking in morals, even if I justified it by picking my contracts and only putting evil men into the ground.
We're both professional killers. Frost just does it under the guise of a legitimate, morally superior banner. Violence isn't the differentiator between us.
The difference was what happened four years ago. The wrong job. The hit where I pulled the trigger on a corrupt broker's intel, and an innocent man died in the crossfire.
Frost cut me off immediately. He had to. Guardian HRS operators don't harbor men who cross that line. So I embraced the darkness. I became the ghost they expected me to be. I became the Reaper.
For four years, I've hunted the broker who set me up. I've dismantled the Ares syndicate piece by bloody piece, trying to earn back my brother's trust by finally doing what I should have done years ago—protecting the innocent instead of executing the guilty.
But Frost doesn't know that. To him, I'm still a morally bankrupt, sociopathic killer. A pariah.
I press the call button and lift the phone to my ear. My heart beats a slow, steady rhythm against my ribs.
It rings once. Twice.
"I thought I told you never to contact me again." Frost's voice is absolute ice. The cold contempt cuts straight through the digital static.
I close my eyes. The rejection hits exactly as hard as I knew it would, a physical ache settling deep in my chest. "This isn't about me."
Silence stretches over the encrypted line. Heavy and unforgiving. He doesn't hang up. That's the only victory I'm going to get.
"I have a woman who needs protection. The Ares syndicate just tried to put a bullet in her head." I grip the wooden railing of the porch, the rough grain biting into my palm. "I pulled her out, but I can't keep her safe alone. And you're the only one I trust to take her."
FOUR
The Folder
ADDY
The deadbolt slides home with a heavy thud.
I stand alone in the center of the cabin. The silence of the mountain presses against the thick log walls.
I should be terrified. I should be shivering in the corner, clutching my knees to my chest and drowning in the adrenaline crash of surviving an assassination attempt.
But I'm not. Instead, my mind hums with sharp clarity.
A forensic accountant doesn't deal in panic. I deal in ledgers. I trace invisible lines of data until the anomalies surface. Right now, the biggest anomaly in my life is the man standing on the other side of that door.
My gaze drifts to the scarred table.
