My gaze jumped between monitors until I spotted him—a well-dressed man with military bearing, standing ata floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor. Papers spread across an ornate desk behind him.
“Target confirmed in the main office on the second floor,” I reported, voice tight. “East-facing room with balcony. He’s alone.”
The biometric door locks required a cascading shutdown rather than direct disabling. My fingers cramped as I executed the complex sequence Specter had taught me.
“Systems compromised,” I finally announced. “You are clear to proceed.”
I followed Ronan’s instructions, dragging a heavy bookcase across the security hub’s entrance, then wedging an antique desk chair under the handle. No one was getting in without warning me.
Turning back to the monitors, I keyed my comm. “It’s a go.”
I watched the screens intently as Ronan and Specter materialized from the darkness, moving gracefully toward the estate.
On the eastern perimeter screen, Ronan appeared like a summoned spirit—one moment there was only manicured landscape, the next he was moving through it with purpose. The transformation was jarring. The man I’d slept beside, whose hesitant smile I’d memorized, now moved with mechanical accuracy, his body a weapon deployed with devastating efficiency.
Two guards patrolled near the infinity pool, unaware. Ronan reached the first before the man registered movement. The guard’s head snapped back, body going limp. The secondguard turned, mouth opening in alarm, but Ronan was already there, a shadow detaching from shadows.
“Oh God,” I whispered, fingers pressed against my lips.
On screen, Ronan was terrifying—fluid, lethal, unstoppable.
Specter appeared on a different monitor, his approach entirely different. Where Ronan confronted, Specter diverted. He fought only when cornered, using the building itself as his weapon—a chandelier released at the perfect moment, a sliding door timed to separate pursuers.
“Section clear,” Ronan’s voice came through my comm, calm despite what I’d just witnessed.
My hands trembled slightly, but I forced myself to focus. “Two more coming around the tropical garden corner, Specter.”
I toggled between feeds, coordinating their movements through the sprawling estate. The journalist in me noted how blood looked almost black on security feeds, the obscene contrast between violence and luxury.
I froze as a new figure appeared on one of the monitors, exiting a room into the hallway. Something about his confident stride made my pulse quicken.
“Ronan, Specter—Brock’s on the third floor, east corridor,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Nothing in his demeanor suggested awareness of the intrusion—until his phone rang. I watched his face transform on screen. The confidence drained away, replaced by something cold and calculating. He barked orders at someoneoff-camera, his entire body language shifting from controlled to predatory.
“He’s onto us,” I reported, fingers flying across the keyboard as I switched between cameras to track new movement throughout the estate. Guards changing positions, staff hurrying with purpose—the entire building shifting like an organism suddenly aware of invaders in its system. My breath caught in the back of my throat.Shit.They were definitely aware of our presence now, but I couldn’t allow myself to panic right now.
Brock turned toward his private monitor bank, lips moving in what looked like rapid-fire commands. I couldn’t hear him, but I could read enough.
I focused on the screens showing Ronan and Specter’s progress, swallowing the urge to alert them about the new development. On monitor six, a guard with a military stance walked with purpose toward the security hub. Toward me.
“Two more coming around the corner, Ronan,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the sickening lurch in my stomach. “East corridor, armed.”
I glanced at the barricade I’d constructed—a bookcase pushed against the door and a chair wedged under the handle. It would slow someone down, but not stop them. Not for long.
My gaze returned to the screens. I had fought to be included in this mission. I had insisted I could handle it. And now…
A heavy thud against the door made me jump. The chair wobbled slightly against the handle.
“Confirming Brock’s position?” Ronan asked through the comms.
I forced myself to scan the monitors. “Third floor, moving west. Two armed men with him.” My voice betrayed nothing of the second, harder thud behind me. I did my best to ignore it. They needed to focus on Brock and get information about Xavier. If I distracted them now, everything could fall apart.
Another slam against the door, this time accompanied by a voice. “Open the fucking door—now!”
The metal security door groaned as something heavy crashed against it. The bookcase slid an inch, shaking the desk.
What would Ronan do? What would Xavier do?
