Page 40 of Final Sins

“Sorry.” She winced. “Social skills aren’t my superpower. Obviously.”

His laugh, deep and unexpectedly warm, filled the car. “I don’t mind the question at all. Just takes me a sec to do the counting.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “If you don’t count scratches and near misses, three.”

Scars crisscrossed his hands and forearms, a roadmap of close calls and narrow escapes. His hair, thick and short, somehow managed to look rakishly disheveled despite its military cut. She imagined those piercing eyes, now focused intently on the road, softening as they gazed at someone he loved.

Who would have guessed she’d fall for him? From the minute they met, he’d rubbed her the wrong way. Too much alike, she realized with a start. They were both headstrong control freaks—excellent traits in their lines of work. In love? Not so much.

The thought settled like a weight in her chest, adding to the melancholy that had dogged her since the shootout. Alex sighed, her breath fogging the window. “I didn’t think it would affect me like this,” she murmured.

Jason glanced over, concern etching lines around his eyes. “The violence?”

She nodded, grateful for his perceptiveness. “It’s not like I haven’t seen people die, but this ...” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Was up close and personal,” Jason finished for her, his voice gentle. “It’s different when you’re in the thick of it.”

Alex nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. “Yeah, it is. I just ... I keep seeing their faces. Hearing the shots.”

“That’s normal,” Jason assured her. “It doesn’t make you weak. If anything, it makes you human.”

She turned to look at him, studying his profile in the dim light. “Does it get easier?”

Jason was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road. “Not easier,” he finally said. “But you learn to carry it. To use it as a reminder of why we do what we do.”

Alex leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Despite the darkness surrounding them, she found herself grateful for this unexpected connection.

The Mustang’s headlights cut through the darkness as he eased the car into the safe house’s gravel driveway. The engine’s rumble faded to silence, leaving only the distant crash of waves and the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

Jason turned toward her, his face half-shadowed in the dim starlight. “Wait here while I check the perimeter. Lock the doors.”

Alex nodded, watching as he slipped out of the car, his movements fluid despite his injury. The car door closed with a soft thunk, then she heard the distinctive snick as she engaged the automatic locks.

Jason melted into the shadows, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The night enveloped the safe house, a velvet blanket studded with a million pinpricks of starlight. Alex leaned back in the Mustang’s leather seat, the familiar scent of the car wrapping around her like a comfortable old sweater. Her eyes drifted closed as she sent up a silent prayer for her team’s safety, for Gravy, for Jason. A wistful smile tugged at her lips as she added a cheeky request for a man like Jason when this was all over. A real life, without the constant shadow of death and destruction, suddenly seemed within reach.

The buzz of her phone shattered the moment of peace. Alex’s heartrate spiked as she saw the message on her secure line. No one outside her inner circle should have this number. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the text:

Reilly is not who he claims. He’s a Seven-Five operative.

The words hit her like a physical blow. Shock, disbelief, and then a creeping dread washed over her in waves. She stared atthe screen, mind racing. Jason, a Seven-Five plant? Impossible, and yet ...

Her finger hovered over the encrypted link attached to the message, but she knew better than to activate it from her phone. Especially coming from a number she didn’t recognize. Deeper research would have to wait.

“All clear,” Jason said, returning quickly.

She tensed, forcing a weak smile as she climbed out of the car. “I’m beat. Think I’ll grab a shower and hit the sack.”

In her room, she locked the door with exaggerated care, wincing at even the faintest click. The TV came to life, a mindless sitcom providing cover for the soft tapping of her keyboard. With practiced efficiency, she erected a digital fortress around her laptop before following the mysterious link.

As the page loaded, her heart pounded in her ears. She told herself it was ridiculous, that Jason couldn’t possibly be a traitor. But a small, ever-vigilant part of her whispered: What if?

The last time she ignored a warning like this, she’d almost died.

Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the evidence before her, the blue glow of the laptop screen casting eerie shadows across her face. Her pulse quickened, adrenaline flooding her system, sharpening every sense. The distant crash of waves against the cliffs seemed to grow louder, punctuated by the creaks and groans of the old safe house settling around her.

First, she opened the file of audio recordings. Jason’s voice, low and conspiratorial, slithered through her earbuds. From the dialogue, it was clear he was discussing mission details with an alleged Seven-Five handler.

She forced herself to breathe deeply. Deepfakes were child’s play these days. She couldn’t trust audio alone.

---