Page 16 of Code Name: Hunter
Her lips part in a half-laugh, half-challenge, but she does it—slow, deliberate, eyes locked on mine the whole time. Small victory, large implications. Power passes hand to hand, molecule by molecule. I feel it settle inside me like a new heartbeat.
She moves with a precision that makes my packing habits look sloppy—hard drives laid beside silk, ammunition nested between lingerie. Even here, under threat, she orders her world like a puzzle only she knows how to solve.
She shoulders a backpack. “Dossier stays with me until I see Fitz’s guarantee in writing.”
“You’ll deliver the dossier,” I correct. “And you know as well as I do, Fitz’s word is iron.”
“Even iron rusts.”
“Not on my watch.” I step aside, gesturing to the door. “Ladies first.”
She strides past. I follow, scanning corners, cataloging her scent, cataloging everything. Because handler isn’t just a title—it’s the pulse between danger and surrender, a tether spun tightaround every breath she takes, and every decision I can’t afford to get wrong.
We’re halfway down the corridor when a low beep chirps in my ear—Ash on the outside channel. Vivian must have comms in her ear as well because she stops immediately.
“Logan, we’ve got company. A black SUV just turned onto the access road, low beams, three souls. Could be someone lost. Not definite, but enough to spike my pulse.”
Vivian goes still beside me; I feel the calculation race through her like voltage.
“Do you think the threat is coming from inside?” I ask Vivian quietly.
She shakes her head, murmurs, “No. There’s no way they could have gotten inside, and besides, whoever they are, I don’t think they would risk a direct assault. Not yet. That would be suicidal.”
Her certainty scrapes something raw in me. Wolfe’s name drifts up like smoke I can’t wave away—acrid, insistent, and impossible to clear. They? Does she not know? Does she even suspect Wolfe could be alive?
I tap comms. “Ash, defensive positions—cover the villa from all approach angles and prepare to intercept. If they advance past the gate, disable engine blocks, non-lethal if possible.”
“Copy. Two minutes to contact.”
I glance at Vivian. “Looks like your shadows are early.”
She offers a thin smile, dark eyes bright. “Told you. I work faster under pressure.”
Thunder rumbles over the Ligurian coast, low and rolling like distant artillery, sending tremors through the mist-drenched hills above the Mediterranean. The air is charged with static and a sharp, metallic bite. Somewhere in the distance, lightning flashes—brief, electric punctuation to a night already wound too tight.
I press a hand to the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. “Stay down.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” She says it lightly, but there’s a flicker behind her eyes—a split-second blink of disbelief at the demand cloaked in humor. Her eyebrows lift in mock challenge, a dance meant to disguise the quick intake of breath she doesn’t want me to hear.
Sirens—mine, not Monte Carlo’s—wail in my head, static-laced and deafening, like a high-pitched warning drilled straight into the base of my skull. This is the line between chaos and control, and I’m straddling it with a woman who could burn kingdoms to ash or raise empires from the wreckage.
Outside, Ash whistles once—sharp and low. A heartbeat later, a quiet click cuts through the dark, unmistakable in its meaning. Safeties off. Steel nerves, fingers poised. The calm before the chaos tightens, razor-fine.
I draw my Glock, chamber hot. “Let’s see if they're willing to bleed for these secrets.”
Vivian’s answering grin is all teeth. “I hope they brought a big enough bandage.”
Headlights slice across the courtyard gates, temporarily blinding us.
Game on, I think, lifting my weapon as the SUV rolls to a halt—and all my instincts scream that whatever happens next will change everything.
I brace for impact. Not from the weapons I expect—but from the ghosts I don’t. Because somewhere in my gut, something screams this isn’t a clean op. This is a reckoning. The SUV doors swing open. The first man steps into the beam, the headlights etching hard shadows across his face. But it’s the glint of silver on his hand—Wolfe’s signet ring—that hits like a gut punch. My breath locks. The ground doesn’t tilt, but it might as well. Impossible. Unthinkable.
And yet… it’s right there. The edges of my vision contract until all I see is the glint of that ring. Sound drops out, replaced by the heavy rush of my own pulse hammering in my ears. A single heartbeat later, the world slams back, too loud, too real, and I’m already shifting my weight for the shot I might have to take.
7
VIVIAN
