Page 77 of Anchor
He straightened, rolling his shoulders once, pulling command back over the hollow ache in his chest. He glanced back at Apex. “If she stirs, tell her I’ll be back before she opens her eyes. And send someone to interrupt the meeting to get me.”
Apex gave a short nod. “Done.”
Reid turned toward the door, every step heavier than the last. And upstairs, the board was already waiting.
EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM – 1342 HOURS
The table was full of faces lined under low light. Every director had pulled back in, some with travel bags still at their feet, no one daring to leave while the walls of Chase Ann Arbor shook.
Ian Chase stood at the head, one hand flat on the polished surface, the other holding a manila folder that looked almost out of place in a room of glass and screens. “Vos has clearly invaded Ann Arbor. We’ve locked down our systems here. Everythingdigital is suspect. Everything. We’ll move immediately to courier transmission for sensitive data. Hand to hand. Paper only.” He dropped the folder to the table with a dull thud. “Old ways. Proven ways.”
Zach Wentworth leaned forward, fingers steepled. “That means someone inside gave him a way in. You don’t ghost your way through these walls without a key.”
“Agreed,” Ian said. “And that’s why, from this moment, nothing leaves this room without my approval.”
Kyle Cooper exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re saying Vos already owns part of this board?”
“I’m saying,” Ian replied, “Vos has been hollowing us out since that day on the ridge. He’s patient. He’s deliberate. And now he’s inside our space.”
A ripple of unease passed around the table.
Wes Crockett shifted in his chair, jaw tight. “So, we treat Ann Arbor as compromised ground until further notice.”
Ian’s gaze swept across them, iron-steady. “We treat ourselves as compromised ground. Every communication, every corridor, every handshake. Vos wants us paranoid. Good, let him. But he won’t find us blind.”
The silence stretched until Zach spoke again, blunt. “And Claire?”
Ian’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not leaving our protection. Not to Heather. Not to the NSA. Not to anyone.”
He straightened, both hands now braced on the table. “Vos took his first shot. We answer by tightening the circle until nothing gets through. And when he reaches for her again, we’ll be ready to break his hand.”
No one argued.
TWENTY-SIX
EXECUTIVE SUITE – 0147 HOURS
Claire stirred. The room was quiet except for the faint whoosh of oxygen and steady thrum of Reid’s heartbeat under her ear. She shifted, realizing she was wrapped in his arms. His chest was solid behind her, one hand curved protectively across her waist as if, even in sleep, he refused to let her go.
She nestled closer, her body relaxing into his warmth. The faintest kiss brushed the crown of her head. “You awake?” His voice was low, rough with sleep.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He kissed her again, softer this time, lips tracing down toward her temple. Then his mouth found hers, unhurried but certain, and the kiss deepened. Claire sighed into it, her fingers curling against his shirt, the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding bleeding out with the sound.
When she drew back, her breath caught on something else. Memory. Sudden and sharp. Her eyes flicked open in the darkness. “Reid…”
He tipped his forehead to hers. “What is it?”
Her pulse picked up. “My father’s journals.”
Reid’s eyes sharpened instantly. “Journals.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “The day I moved in, there was a box I never fully unpacked labeled FIELD NOTES / DAD. I thought it was just scraps—maps, old notebooks. But at the bottom…” Her voice thinned. “There was a ledger. Black. Heavy. Strapped shut. It didn’t match the others. I never looked—assumed it was accounting stuff. But now?”
Reid’s hand tightened slightly against her waist. “You’re sure?”
“I touched it,” she whispered. “I’d forgotten until now, or maybe I didn’t want to remember.”
