Page 9 of Code Name: Hunter
"Yeah, they did. So did the rest of us—especially with Vivian. She knew which buttons to push and how to make it sting. Watching her now, I realize she hasn't changed. She's just upgraded her weapons." She used to wield a smile like a scalpel. Now she’s switched to full-blown psychological warfare—and I’m not sure whether I want to disarm her… or let her cut me open.
That gets his attention. Fitzwallace shifts—barely—but it’s there. A minute recalibration of posture, like a predator realigning his aim. I catch it. My gaze sharpens. He masks it with stillness, but I see the flicker—just a pulse beneath his ribs, the kind that rides the edge of memory and instinct. Something old. Unsettled. Shifting under the surface.
His shoulders ease back. Chin lifts. Eyes narrow, just enough to register. The calm amusement doesn’t vanish, but it hardens at the edges—tempered now by something colder. Curiosity. Or calculation. Like he’s just spotted a fracture he might be able to pry open—and he’s already measuring how.
Fitz leans back, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Go on.”
"Remember Black Site Bravo in Tunis?" I say, keeping my eyes on the data feed.
He doesn’t answer, but I know he remembers. Hell, he probably heard about it before the dust settled.
“Training op. Six of us are in play. Two-hour clock. Simple objective—get the intel and exfiltrate. Vivian was embedded in the opposing team.”
I glance at him. "I led the breach. We took the flank. Flawless movement. Textbook coordination. Neutralized the defenders, room by room.”
Fitz raises an eyebrow, expecting but not asking.
“But when we hit the safe—it was empty. She’d already taken the package. Left a 9mm shell casing like a signature—still warm when I found it, like the whisper of a ghost who knew exactly how to haunt me. One line in Arabic: ‘Always check your six.’”
He chuckles, "Classic Vivian."
“No," I say, shaking my head. "Classic Wolfe. That was his move. Low-entry misdirection with a psych read baked in. She baited us into expecting an attack from above. Moved underneath. Took a blind corridor no one swept.”
Fitz’s expression sharpens. “She used one of his tactics against you. Damn, I should have hired that girl a long time ago."
I roll my shoulders, shaking off the memory. "She baited me, and I took it." And that’s what this feels like now—a setup so clean I can’t see the trigger, but I know it’s there. “She used Wolfe’s move to teach me a lesson. Left me flat-footed, and I knew it the second I saw that shell casing."
Fitzwallace is still watching me like he’s deciding which part of me to weaponize. He doesn’t nod, doesn’t smile—just absorbs. Like he’s filing away my tells for later use.
“She’s dangerous,” I say flatly. “Brilliant, yes. But she doesn’t follow the rules. She doesn’t answer to anyone but herself.”
“She followed Wolfe,” he counters, without looking up.
My jaw clenches. “And look where that got us. Wolfe’s dead… so was she. Until today.”
That earns me a mischievous grin—a grinning Fitzwallace is a dangerous Fitzwallace. The bastard is enjoying himself. “So, what’s your recommendation, Logan? We ignore her?”
“We can’t. If the data she dropped came from the dossier, and I think it did, it might be the only active copy left. I think it's real. I think she's been holding onto it until she thought she could use it to her best advantage.”
“You have reservations.” He says it as a statement, not a question.
I nod. “Vivian’s unpredictable. She can be an asset, but also a liability.”
Fitz closes the folder with a soft thwap, then stands. “Then control her.”
The words hit like a trigger pull—sharp and unmistakable.
I step forward. “You think she’ll just take orders after all this time? You think she’ll fall in line?”
“No,” he says calmly. “But I think you're a good enough operative and a good enough Dom to make her do both. I think you’re the only one who’s ever gotten close enough to make her choose something other than herself.”
That lands harder than I care to admit, but it wasn't me she cared enough about. That was Wolfe, and now he's dead. What if controlling her burns her to the ground?
But Fitzwallace isn't wrong. I was in love with her once. Not just the way a man loves a woman. The way a Dominant falls—for someone who sees the truth under the command and still kneels. Except she never did. And maybe that’s why I never got over it. Not the convenient kind—the raw, choking kind that never quite lets go. And maybe that was my problem all along. I thought I could compartmentalize it, keep the man separate from the mission. But when it came to her, there were no clean lines—just blurred intentions and the echo of what could’ve been.
I thought I could bury it when she picked Wolfe. Thought I could put duty before desire. But when I saw her sitting at the Crown & Scepter, eyes sharp and haunted, still wearing secrets like perfume—I knew damn well I never stopped wanting her. It’s not just lust. It’s gravity. The kind that drags you under while convincing you you’re flying.
“You said it yourself,” Fitz says, his tone unreadable, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—something just shy of a challenge. "She’s brilliant. Unpredictable. Wild. You can’t stop her,” he says slowly and deliberate. “But maybe you can collar her. Set the rules. Make her yours—on your terms.”
