Page 93 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
"Team meeting. Now." My voice cuts through the room like a knife.
Cole rises first, tablet in hand, his movements measured as always. "I've been compiling data on Steele's known associates. There's a pattern emerging with his international movements."
Damian slides a digital file across the table display. "I've got three confirmed hits matching his MO from the last two years. Clean, professional, completely untraceable to anyone who doesn't know what to look for."
I nod, scanning the information without fully seeing it. My mind keeps drifting to the journalist currently sulkingin Roman's office. The journalist who's still furious with me.
"We need to fast-track Bennett's training," I announce, cutting through the updates. "She's a liability without basic skills, and I won't have her endangering herself or this operation."
Jax's eyebrows shoot up, a grin spreading across his face. "You sure that's a good idea, boss? Giving her training when she's pissed enough to put a bullet in you?"
"That's exactly why Frost handles the weapons portion," I reply, not rising to the bait.
Asher's eyes flick up from the ballistics report he's reviewing. "She shows promise. Good instincts, solid focus." His assessment is clipped, precise.
"What's the timeline?" Cole asks, already creating a schedule on his tablet.
"Three days." I plant both hands on the table, leaning forward. "Basics only. Enough to keep her alive if she gets separated from us."
Xander whistles low. "That's ambitious. Even for someone with her background."
"It's necessary," I counter, straightening up. "Remy can observe for signs of fatigue or over-training. I want her pushed, not broken."
Remy nods, his usual affable demeanor replaced with professional assessment. "I'll monitor her vitals and recovery capacity."
"B3 in twenty minutes," I order. "Each of you prepare a condensed training module on your specialty. Focus on survival skills only."
The team disperses efficiently, gathering equipment and data as I turn toward the elevator. A hand on my shoulder stops me—Cole.
"Ghost." His voice is quiet enough that only I can hear. "This isn't just about training her. You're worried."
I shrug his hand off. "She's a civilian in a war zone."
Cole's expression doesn't change. "And you're a commander making emotional decisions."
"You questioning my judgment?" The temperature in my voice drops ten degrees.
"Just observing that you've never fast-tracked anyone's training before. Not even when we had assets in active combat zones." He pauses. "Is this about keeping her safe, or keeping her close?"
I don't answer, striding instead toward the elevator. "B3. Twenty minutes," I repeat over my shoulder.
The B3 training facility is already humming with activity when I arrive.
Jax has set up a compact driving simulation station, complete with reaction-time monitors. Asher methodically arranges weapons on the firing range table—starting with smaller calibers and working up. I notice he's included a Glock similar to the one Roman kept in his desk drawer.Smart.
Xander steps out of the equipment room, carrying a small case that undoubtedly contains basic explosive recognition tools. Cole stands near the digital tactics board, loading custom scenarios. Remyarranges a medical kit with field essentials, while Damian sets up what looks like a simplified interrogation resistance station.
I stand on the observation platform, watching them work with military precision. This is my team at their best—focused, efficient, deadly. And we're about to introduce a firebrand journalist into the mix.
The elevator doors slide open, and the atmosphere shifts instantly. Every man in the room straightens slightly, attention diverted for a microsecond before deliberately returning to their tasks. Too deliberately.
Alina steps into the training area, her chin lifted in that defiant angle I'm coming to recognize too well. Her eyes scan the room, taking in the stations before landing on me. The temperature between us could freeze hell over.
"You wanted me trained," she says, her voice carrying across the space. "Here I am."
Cole, ever the diplomatic one, approaches her first. "We'll start with situational awareness and threat assessment," he explains, gesturing toward his station. His tone is professional, giving no indication of the tension crackling through the room.
She nods, shoulders squared, and follows him without sparing me another glance.
