Read Chapter 1

Rafe

The voice in my ear had been a ghost for three months.

It was a voice made of smoke and velvet, cool efficiency wrapped around steel. I had heard it at 3:00 AM when I needed a witness relocated. I had heard it in the middle of a firefight when I needed a federal clearance code to land a chopper. I had heard it when I was bleeding, and I had heard it when I was winning.

But I had never seen the face that belonged to it.

Until tonight.

I killed the engine of my armored SUV, the heavy silence of the Miami night rushing in to fill the cab. I was parked in the alley behind a derelict warehouse in Wynwood, a grim, graffiti-covered district that woke up when the tourists went to sleep. It was one of my black sites. Off the books. Off the grid.

The phone in my center console buzzed. A single text message.

I’m inside. 10 minutes.

I stared at the screen. Lena Hart.

For the last ninety days, while Logan Cross was burning down the world to save Maya Dias, Lena had been the invisible hand moving the pieces on the board. She was Victim Services. She was the government cleanup crew. She was the woman who made people disappear.

And now, she was the one asking for an extraction.

I checked my weapon, a SIG Sauer P226, holstered beneath my jacket. I checked the perimeter sensors on my tablet. All clear.

I stepped out of the truck. The humidity was suffocating, a wet wool blanket draped over the city. It smelled of ozone and stale beer.

My heart was doing a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. It wasn’t fear. I didn’t do fear. It was anticipation.

I had built a billion-dollar private security empire on the concept of knowing everything. I knew the blast radius of a C4 charge. I knew the precise pressure required to break a human trachea. I knew the darkest secrets of every politician in Florida.

But I didn’t know what Lena Hart looked like.

I walked to the steel door at the rear of the warehouse. I punched in the biometric code. The lock hissed, disengaging with a heavy clank.

I stepped into the darkness.

The warehouse was a cavern of shadows, lit only by the ambient streetlights filtering through the high, grimy windows. Dust motes danced in the beams.

"Stay where you are, Santoro."

The voice came from the catwalk above. It was her. The same cool, detached tone I had listened to over encrypted lines for months. But there was something else in it tonight. A tremor. A fracture in the steel.

"I’m alone, Lena," I said, my voice echoing in the empty space. "Weapon is holstered. Hands are visible."

I held my hands up, palms out. "Come down."

"Did you bring the transport?" she asked.

"It’s outside. Armored. Secure."

"And the driver?"

"I’m the driver."

A pause. "You don’t drive, Rafe. You command."

"For you," I said, my eyes scanning the darkness, trying to pinpoint her location, "I drive."

I heard a sigh, soft and ragged. Then, the sound of boots on metal grating.

She stepped out of the shadows and began to descend the spiral staircase.

My breath hitched.

I had imagined her a thousand times. In my head, she was severe. Dark hair, maybe. Glasses. A woman who buried herself in paperwork to hide from the horrors she managed.

I was wrong.

Lena Hart was a storm.

She hit the concrete floor and turned to face me. She was tall, with legs that went on for days clad in dark tactical cargo pants. But it was her hair that stopped me cold. It was blonde, a bright, defiant gold that seemed to catch every scrap of light in the room. It was pulled back in a messy, chaotic bun, strands escaping to frame a face that was sharp angles and exhaustion.

Her eyes were blue. Not the pale blue of a summer sky, but the dark, electric blue of a gas flame.

She was holding a file folder against her chest like a shield.

"So," she said, her gaze raking over me, assessing the threat. "The voice has a body. You like your picture.”

“I’d not seen a picture of you,” I said. “But I’d know your voice anywhere.”

I took a step closer. The somatic response was immediate and violent. My skin prickled. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, though she was devastatingly so. It was the recognition.

It was the feeling of a click. A lock sliding home.

"You look like hell, Lena," I said softly.

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "I’ve had a bad week."

"The message said high-risk extraction," I said, closing the distance until I was six feet away. "Who’s the client?"

She hesitated. Her grip on the file tightened until her knuckles were white. She looked at the door behind me, then back at my face.

"There is no client," she whispered.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The file," she said, holding it out. "It’s mine."

I stared at her. "You’re the target?"

"I closed the loop on the Morales cartel for you," she said, her voice speeding up, the cool professional facade cracking. "I processed Maya’s exoneration. I buried the witness relocation data so deep the devil couldn’t find it. But someone found me."

"Who?"

"I don’t know," she said. "But I came home last night to find my apartment tossed. My laptop was gone. And there was a bullet on my pillow."

My jaw tightened. A kill warning. Old school. Personal.

"Why didn’t you call the Marshals?" I asked. "You work for the DOJ. You have an entire agency behind you."

"The agency is compromised," she said. "The breach that found me… it came from inside the network. If I call them, I’m calling the people who sold me out."

She took a step toward me, entering my personal space. I could smell her now. She didn’t smell like vanilla or flowers. She smelled sweet with he mixture of cold rain, antiseptic, and pure, high-octane fear.

"I didn’t know who else to call," she admitted, looking up at me. "You’re the only person I know who operates outside the system. You’re the only one I trust to be… effective."

"Effective," I repeated. "Is that what I am to you? A tool?"

"You’re a wall," she said. "And right now, Rafe, I really need a wall."

The vulnerability in her eyes gutted me. This was the woman who had sounded bored while coordinating a multi-agency raid. This was the woman who had told me to go to hell when I asked for a favor without a warrant.

And now she was standing in a dirty warehouse, shaking.

"Okay," I said, my voice dropping to a low rumble. "You’ve got a wall."

I reached out to take the file from her. My fingers brushed hers.

Heat.

It wasn’t a spark. It was a jolt of electricity that traveled straight up my arm and settled heavy in my gut.

She flinched, pulling her hand back as if burned. Her eyes went wide, locking onto mine.

"We need to move," I said, my voice rough. "If your apartment was compromised, your phone is compromised. Did you bring it?"

"I turned it off."

"Not good enough." I held out my hand. "Give it to me."

She dug into her pocket and handed me her phone. I dropped it onto the concrete floor and crushed it under the heel of my boot. The crunch of glass and plastic echoed in the silence.

"We’re dark," I said. "From this moment on, you don’t exist."

"Where are we going?" she asked. "I can’t go to a hotel. They’ll track my credit cards."

"My house," I said.

She blinked. "Your house? You mean… your home?"

"It’s a fortress," I said. "Biometric perimeter. Independent server. Armed detail 24/7. Nobody gets in unless I want them in."

"Rafe, I can’t ask you to, "

"You didn’t ask," I cut her off. "I’m telling. You’re the asset now, Lena. And I protect my assets."

I grabbed her arm. It was instinct. I needed to get her moving, get her behind armor plating.

But the moment my hand closed around her bicep, she hissed in pain.

I froze. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, trying to pull away. "I’m fine."

"You’re hurt," I accused.

I didn’t ask for permission. I reached for the hem of her tactical jacket and pushed it up.

There, on her forearm, was a nasty, jagged laceration. It was crudely bandaged with what looked like a strip of a t-shirt and duct tape. Blood had soaked through the fabric.

"Jesus, Lena," I swore. "This needs stitches."

"I cut it on the fire escape," she said, her face pale. "When I ran."

"You’ve been bleeding this whole time?"

"I didn’t have time to stop."

I looked at the wound, then at her face. She was tough. Tougher than any civilian I had ever met. But she was running on fumes.

"We’re leaving," I said. "Now."

I guided her toward the door. I kept my body between her and the open space of the warehouse, shielding her. It was a reflex I couldn’t control.

We reached the heavy steel door. I punched the code to exit.

The lock clicked. I pushed the door open.

Thwip.

The sound was barely audible. A displacement of air near my ear.

Then a chunk of concrete exploded from the doorframe inches from Lena’s head.

Sniper.

"Get down!" I roared.

I tackled her. I didn’t think about being gentle. I slammed my weight into her, driving her back into the warehouse and down onto the dirty floor. I covered her body with mine, shielding her head with my hand.

Thwip. Thwip.

Two more rounds tore through the open doorway, sparking off the metal floor.

Silenced high-velocity rounds. Pros.

"They’re here," Lena gasped beneath me, her hands clutching the front of my shirt. "How did they find me?"

"They tracked the car, your phone,” I snarled. "Or they tracked me."

I rolled off her, dragging her behind a stack of crates. I drew my weapon, the weight of the gun familiar and comforting in my hand.

"Stay down," I ordered. "Do not move."

"Rafe, there’s only one exit!"

"There’s always another exit," I said. "You just have to make it."

I peeked around the crate. The doorway was a kill box. Whoever was out there had the angle. They were waiting for us to panic. Waiting for us to run.

I looked at Lena. She was pressed into the dust, her blonde hair coming loose from the bun, wild and bright in the gloom. She wasn’t screaming. She was watching me, her eyes laser-focused.

"How many?" she asked.

"One shooter," I said. "Probably a spotter. Maybe a breach team moving in."

"I have a Glock in my bag," she said.

I looked at her bag. "Can you shoot?"

"I’m federal, Rafe," she snapped. "I qualified expert."

"Good."

I grabbed her bag and tossed it to her. She ripped the zipper open and pulled out a compact 9mm. She checked the chamber with a fluid, practiced motion.

My blood heated. A woman who knew how to clear a jam in a crisis. God help me.

"Here’s the play," I said, my voice low. "I’m going to blow the fire suppression line. The steam will give us cover. We run for the loading dock on the east side."

"The loading dock is welded shut," she said. "I checked the blueprints."

"I have C4 in the truck," I said. "But the truck is outside."

"Then we’re trapped."

"No," I said. "We’re hunting."

I looked at her. In the dim light, with a gun in her hand and blood on her arm, she was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen.

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

She looked at me. We had never met before tonight. We were strangers with a history of ghosts.

But she didn’t hesitate.

"I trust the wall," she said.

"Then get ready to run."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, the encrypted one. I triggered the remote ignition for the SUV outside.

BOOM.

The explosion outside shook the warehouse. The distraction I needed.

"Move!" I yelled.

We sprinted.

We ran through the dark, weaving through the maze of machinery. I could hear shouting outside. The breach team was confused.

We reached the east wall. There was a high window, painted over black.

I holstered my weapon and laced my fingers together. "Up!"

Lena didn’t argue. She stepped into my hands. I launched her upward. She grabbed the sill, used the butt of her gun to smash the glass, and hauled herself up.

She straddled the sill, ignoring the glass shards. She reached down.

"Rafe! Hand!"

I jumped, grabbing her forearm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. She hauled, I pulled, and I scrambled up beside her.

We dropped into the alley on the far side, landing in a pile of wet cardboard.

I was up instantly, pulling her to her feet.

"My car is gone," I said, pointing to the burning wreckage of the SUV at the front of the building. "We’re on foot."

"My safe car is three blocks over," Lena said. "A gray Honda."

"Lead the way."

We ran. The rain started again, a sudden tropical downpour that soaked us in seconds. My clothes clung to my skin. Lena’s blonde hair was plastered to her face.

We reached the Honda. She fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking from the adrenaline dump.

"Give it to me," I said, taking the keys.

I unlocked the car and shoved her into the passenger seat. I got in and started the engine.

I didn’t turn on the lights. I pulled out of the alley, keeping to the shadows.

We drove for ten minutes in silence, putting distance between us and the kill zone. I checked the mirrors constantly. No tail.

Finally, I let out a breath.

I looked over at Lena. She was leaning her head back against the seat, eyes closed, clutching her bleeding arm.

"You blew up your truck," she whispered.

"It was a lease," I lied. It wasn’t. It was custom. But I didn’t care.

"You saved my life."

"I’m just getting started," I said.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. The blue was intense, piercing.

"Why?" she asked. "Why are you doing this, Rafe? You don’t owe me this much."

"You helped Maya," I said. "That counts."

"That was professional courtesy."

"This is personal," I said.

"Personal?"

"Yeah," I said, shifting gears, the engine growling as we hit the highway. "You called me. You chose me. That makes you mine to protect."

She stared at me, a flush rising on her pale cheeks. "I don’t belong to anyone, Santoro."

"You do now," I said. "Until the threat is neutralized, you are under my command. My house. My rules."

"And if I don’t like your rules?" she challenged, a spark of fire returning to her voice.

I glanced at her. I looked at her wet clothes, the curve of her neck, the gun still gripped in her hand.

I wanted to pull the car over and kiss the fight right out of her.

"Then we’re going to have a problem," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "Because I don’t lose, Lena. And I never give up an asset."

She held my gaze for a long moment, the tension in the small car thick enough to choke on.

"Just drive," she whispered, turning to look out the window.

But I saw the shiver that ran through her.

I smiled grimly and pressed the gas pedal.

The security billionaire and the witness protection ghost.

We were going to be a disaster.

And I couldn’t wait.