Chapter 21

21

Alex leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the shadowy outlines of cliffs and crashing waves blur past. The Pacific Coast Highway stretched before them, a ribbon of darkness punctuated by the occasional flare of headlights. The events of the day replayed in her mind, a grim montage of gunfire and blood.

Jason gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white in the dim glow of the dashboard. His jaw clenched, a telltale sign of the pain he was trying to hide. Alex’s gaze drifted to the bandage peeking out from under his tee.

“How many times have you been shot?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, a moment of surprise breaking through his stoic facade.

“Sorry.” She winced. “Social skills aren’t my superpower. Obviously.”

His laugh, deep and unexpectedly warm, filled the car. “I don’t mind the question at all. Just takes me a sec to do the counting.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “If you don’t count scratches and near misses, three.”

Scars crisscrossed his hands and forearms, a roadmap of close calls and narrow escapes. His hair, thick and short, somehow managed to look rakishly disheveled despite its military cut. She imagined those piercing eyes, now focused intently on the road, softening as they gazed at someone he loved.

Who would have guessed she’d fall for him? From the minute they met, he’d rubbed her the wrong way. Too much alike, she realized with a start. They were both headstrong control freaks—excellent traits in their lines of work. In love? Not so much.

The thought settled like a weight in her chest, adding to the melancholy that had dogged her since the shootout. Alex sighed, her breath fogging the window. “I didn’t think it would affect me like this,” she murmured.

Jason glanced over, concern etching lines around his eyes. “The violence?”

She nodded, grateful for his perceptiveness. “It’s not like I haven’t seen people die, but this ...” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Was up close and personal,” Jason finished for her, his voice gentle. “It’s different when you’re in the thick of it.”

Alex nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. “Yeah, it is. I just ... I keep seeing their faces. Hearing the shots.”

“That’s normal,” Jason assured her. “It doesn’t make you weak. If anything, it makes you human.”

She turned to look at him, studying his profile in the dim light. “Does it get easier?”

Jason was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road. “Not easier,” he finally said. “But you learn to carry it. To use it as a reminder of why we do what we do.”

Alex leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Despite the darkness surrounding them, she found herself grateful for this unexpected connection.

The Mustang’s headlights cut through the darkness as he eased the car into the safe house’s gravel driveway. The engine’s rumble faded to silence, leaving only the distant crash of waves and the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

Jason turned toward her, his face half-shadowed in the dim starlight. “Wait here while I check the perimeter. Lock the doors.”

Alex nodded, watching as he slipped out of the car, his movements fluid despite his injury. The car door closed with a soft thunk, then she heard the distinctive snick as she engaged the automatic locks.

Jason melted into the shadows, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The night enveloped the safe house, a velvet blanket studded with a million pinpricks of starlight. Alex leaned back in the Mustang’s leather seat, the familiar scent of the car wrapping around her like a comfortable old sweater. Her eyes drifted closed as she sent up a silent prayer for her team’s safety, for Gravy, for Jason. A wistful smile tugged at her lips as she added a cheeky request for a man like Jason when this was all over. A real life, without the constant shadow of death and destruction, suddenly seemed within reach.

The buzz of her phone shattered the moment of peace. Alex’s heartrate spiked as she saw the message on her secure line. No one outside her inner circle should have this number. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the text:

Reilly is not who he claims. He’s a Seven-Five operative.

The words hit her like a physical blow. Shock, disbelief, and then a creeping dread washed over her in waves. She stared at the screen, mind racing. Jason, a Seven-Five plant? Impossible, and yet ...

Her finger hovered over the encrypted link attached to the message, but she knew better than to activate it from her phone. Especially coming from a number she didn’t recognize. Deeper research would have to wait.

“All clear,” Jason said, returning quickly.

She tensed, forcing a weak smile as she climbed out of the car. “I’m beat. Think I’ll grab a shower and hit the sack.”

In her room, she locked the door with exaggerated care, wincing at even the faintest click. The TV came to life, a mindless sitcom providing cover for the soft tapping of her keyboard. With practiced efficiency, she erected a digital fortress around her laptop before following the mysterious link.

As the page loaded, her heart pounded in her ears. She told herself it was ridiculous, that Jason couldn’t possibly be a traitor. But a small, ever-vigilant part of her whispered: What if?

The last time she ignored a warning like this, she’d almost died.

Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the evidence before her, the blue glow of the laptop screen casting eerie shadows across her face. Her pulse quickened, adrenaline flooding her system, sharpening every sense. The distant crash of waves against the cliffs seemed to grow louder, punctuated by the creaks and groans of the old safe house settling around her.

First, she opened the file of audio recordings. Jason’s voice, low and conspiratorial, slithered through her earbuds. From the dialogue, it was clear he was discussing mission details with an alleged Seven-Five handler.

She forced herself to breathe deeply. Deepfakes were child’s play these days. She couldn’t trust audio alone.

Next came a file of intercepted text messages. Her stomach churned as she read through them, Jason’s supposed words laying out plans to manipulate her and the team. The casual cruelty stung like salt in an open wound, even as her logical mind insisted they could easily be fabricated. Still, a seed of doubt took root, its tendrils creeping through her thoughts.

Again, easy to ignore.

Then came the final piece of evidence, the one that made her blood run cold. A series of high-resolution surveillance photos filled her screen, each more damning than the last. Alex’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled through the images.

There was Jason, his face clear and unmistakable, shaking hands with a known Seven-Five operative outside a nondescript warehouse. Another showed him accepting a thick envelope, his expression grim and focused. The timestamp on the final image made Alex’s stomach lurch—it was dated just two days before he’d shown up at her safe house.

She leaned in closer, the heat from the laptop warming her face as she zoomed in, searching desperately for any sign of manipulation or fakery. But the details were too crisp, too consistent. The play of light on Jason’s face, the familiar scar on his left hand, even the way he stood—it all screamed authenticity. Alex could almost smell the salt air and feel the gritty texture of the concrete in the photos.

What hit her hardest was the location. She recognized the background—a stretch of industrial coastline she’d used for her own covert meetings in the past. It was a place known only to a select few in their world. If this was a setup, it was an incredibly sophisticated one.

Alex’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind racing. She could explain away voice recordings and text messages, but these photos? They were harder to dismiss. The seed of doubt blossomed into full-blown suspicion, leaving her feeling hollow and betrayed.

Every sound in the house seemed amplified—the hum of the air conditioning, the tick of a distant clock, the soft rustle of leaves outside her window. Her own heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else.

A sharp knock at the door made her jump, her heart leaping into her throat. The sudden noise shattered the tense silence, sending a jolt of electricity through her already frayed nerves.

“I just wanted to see if you showered,” Jason commented. “I’m gonna jump in myself and I didn’t want to hog all the hot water.”

Alex’s mind raced, her voice coming out higher than usual. “Totally. I mean fine. I mean. Yes. Go ahead and shower. I’m good. ‘Night.”

She heard his footsteps retreat, followed by the distant sound of the shower starting. Alex shut her laptop with trembling hands, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She crawled into bed, pulling the covers tight around her as if they could shield her from the doubts now plaguing her.

Sleep eluded her, each creak of the old house making her tense. The man she’d begun to trust suddenly felt like a stranger. As the night wore on, she stared at the ceiling, her heart heavy with the weight of suspicion and the fear of betrayal.

The evidence on her screen mocked her, a digital Pandora’s box she couldn’t close. She ran a hand through her hair, her mind whirling with implications and possibilities.

One thing was clear: she needed answers, and she couldn’t get them with Jason just a few feet away. The walls of the gorgeous house closed in around her.

Her training kicked in, pushing aside the emotional turmoil. She needed space and time to investigate without Jason’s watchful eye. To follow up on these accusations, she’d have to create some distance between them.

She needed to get away.

It was a risky move, but the alternative—blindly trusting a potential enemy—was unthinkable.

Jaw set, she began to formulate a plan. She’d need to be careful. Jason was no amateur; if he really was Seven-Five, he’d be watching her every move. She’d have to find a way to slip away without raising suspicion.

Tomorrow, she’d make her move and get the space she needed to uncover the truth, whatever it might be.