Chapter 7

7

Sparring gloves laced tight at her wrists, Alex circled Mac in RAVEN’s state-of-the-art gym the next morning. Her breath came in short bursts, muscles burning with exertion. Her fists connected with Mac’s chest, each strike echoing through the cavernous space. The rhythmic thud of her punches formed a symphony of effort, punctuated by the soft whir of high-tech equipment surrounding them.

The more she sweated, the clearer her mind grew.

Screens flickered in the periphery of her vision, bathing the room in a cool, blue glow, totally the opposite of the heat radiating from her body as she pushed herself to the limit. She ducked Mac’s swing, the rush of air tickling her sweat-dampened hair. Her nostrils flared, catching the faint scent of leather from the training mats and the sharper tang of their shared perspiration. As she pivoted, her sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, the sound crisp in the climate-controlled air.

Mac pulled his hands back up to his jawline, readying for another punch. He was breathing almost as hard as she was. A huge victory in her book.

He caught her gaze. “You were pretty hard on Mr. Special Forces last night, girl.”

Alex’s roundhouse kick betrayed her frustration. “Not as hard as I’m gonna be.”

Mac’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not thinking about using the Castle Protocol?”

“Absolutely. The man needs to be erased.”

“But Alex?—”

She jabbed at his midsection. “Munsinger was supposed to come alone.”

“Things happen. You know that.” Mac sidestepped, then froze. “Hold up,” he whispered.

Alex whirled to find Reilly in the doorway, sleep-tousled and curious. His borrowed tech tee rode up slightly, revealing a peek of white gauze beneath the hem. Despite the ordeal he’d been through, he looked annoyingly fit and alert. The pallor that had clung to him the night before had mostly faded, leaving behind a healthy glow that had no business being on the face of a recently injured man. His eyes, sharp and inquisitive, took in the room with a practiced sweep that spoke of years of training. Alex felt a twinge of irritation at how quickly he seemed to be bouncing back.

She’d seen seasoned operatives laid low by less severe wounds, yet here he stood, looking like he’d just stepped out of a mildly inconvenient fist fight rather than a bullet-riddled escape. She strode over, ignoring the sweat trickling down her back and the unbidden thought that his resilience was, grudgingly, impressive.

Yet another reason to get the man away from RAVEN headquarters without him being able to divulge their location.

Mac untied his boxing gloves and retreated, towel in hand. “Gonna check on our client’s ID papers.”

Jason surveyed the high-tech room. “You’re not FBI. They’re not trained to fight like that. Ex-CIA?”

“... ish.” Alex slid off her gloves, tossing them on the weight bench behind her. “You’re Delta Force, with a splash of something extra on top. Black Ops. Deep black, I’m thinking.”

Surprise flitted across his face. “You got all that from one look? You do realize these aren’t my clothes.”

“They’re ours.”

“Then how—” He slapped his forehead. “The blood draw. You IDed me. What if I hadn’t passed?”

“You’d be in the LA river.”

“Isn’t it like a foot deep?”

“Let me rephrase. Your body would be in the river.”

Or so she’d like him to believe. In reality, she’d never sanction murder. Still, she needed him gone, without compromising their location. The Castle Protocol it would be: drug him and drop him off with friendlies. For now, play nice.

“Look,” she said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Munsinger’s safe. He wants our help disappearing. We’re the good guys here.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, and Alex fought the urge to roll hers. This was going to be a long day.

Alex led him to the kitchen area. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the air, masking the sterile scent of antiseptic that clung to him.

“Help yourself,” she gestured to the spread. “How’s the wound?”

Jason lifted his shirt, revealing a neatly dressed injury. “Nicely cleaned up. My compliments to the chef.”

“Thank Mac. Guy’s amazing.”

“Will do.” Jason piled his plate high, his movements precise despite his injury.

He was big, strong—typical special forces type, with that confidence highly trained men wore like a second skin. But there was more. A vulnerability in his eyes, and intelligence. Definitely that. Handsome in a wind-beaten, knocked-around way.

Not that she cared. At all.

He scanned the facility.

Alex found herself seeing it through a stranger’s eyes—the huge, open room with its high-tech corner of humming computers, the state-of-the-art workout area, and the gourmet kitchen they stood in. Above them sat the ivy-covered Beverly Hills mansion, all faux Italianate charm and eight bedrooms. The pool big enough for a hockey team. Her private suite with its walk-in closet stuffed with designer clothes she only wore under extreme duress.

None of which he’d see.

“Nice setup.” He nodded appreciatively.

Alex hummed noncommittally, focusing on selecting a perfectly ripe peach.

He leaned against the counter, pressing his uninjured side into the granite edge. “So, how does this disappearing thing work?”

She debated ignoring him, but her cousin, Gabriel, sauntered in, his black hair tousled, slim form draped in baggy chinos and a concert tee that should have been tossed years ago. Dark circles underlined his eyes.

He nodded at Jason and beelined for the coffee pot. “Morning.”

“You going to introduce me?” Jason asked her.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Gabe shot her a look. “Don’t mind Lexie. She’s not a morning person.”

“Like you are,” she retorted.

He smiled. “I haven’t been to bed yet, so for me, it’s not technically morning yet.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, willing Gabe to disappear.

But her cousin plowed on. “You meet the team?” he asked Jason.

“I think so,” Jason said. “Big guy, super smart. Pretty blonde lady. Super scary. And Lexie, here.”

She winced at his use of her nickname. Too soft. Too ... powerless. In her world, people didn’t cede you power. You had to take it.

Gabe slurped from his mug. “How’d we end up with two clients?”

“Long story,” she responded tersely. “Tell you later.”

But Jason butted in, explaining about Munsinger’s call, the airport shooting, insisting they were all in danger.

“Clients get attacked all the time,” she responded. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the price of doing business. People don’t arrange to be disappeared for no reason. If Mr. Munsinger had followed protocol and come alone?—”

“He’d be dead,” Jason interrupted.

“Possibly.” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. He wasn’t wrong.

“How can you say that so lightly?” His incredulous tone set her teeth on edge.

Fury rose in her chest. “Do you have any idea how many bounties my team and I have on our heads?”

“I can guess.” His voice softened. “My crew and I have earned a few, too.”

No doubt. Her research hadn’t told the whole story, but she could read between the lines. The man had tangled with the Consortium and lived.

“Speaking of my peeps, I need to contact them,” he said.

“No.”

The rising tension drove Gabe off. Utterly conflict-averse, he retreated to his lab, leaving them alone. Though technically a part of RAVEN, her cousin had his own venture cooking. A world-expert in holographic and VR technology, his latest invention, the NeuroVerse, planned to be a groundbreaking leap in the field. His cutting-edge VR company wasn’t just about disappearing into virtual worlds; it was about revolutionizing how humans interacted with technology.

Or so he continually explained. She was more rooted in the actual universe.

Once perfected, his tech would allow users to experience virtual environments with all five senses, creating immersive experiences indistinguishable from reality. The potential applications were staggering—from advanced medical training to therapeutic treatments for PTSD, from revolutionary educational tools to entirely new forms of entertainment.

Alex shook her head, refocusing on the immediate situation. Groundbreaking technology or not, she had a job to do.

She eyed Jason, sensing his determination. It would take another day before he’d be content leaving Munsinger. Might as well let him make his call. She handed him a phone.

He held it up. “Any place I can talk without you overhearing?”

She bit into the peach. “Nope.”

He muttered something under his breath and headed for the farthest couch, leaving her to ponder the complications he brought to her carefully ordered world.

She could practically see the wheels turning in his head, no doubt formulating plans and contingencies. It was what she would do in his position.

“Let your team know we’ll get you home as soon as you’re ready to leave,” she called out, her voice carefully neutral.

Jason glanced back, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. “Appreciate it,” he replied, before turning his attention to the phone.

No. Probably not .

A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. He’d be a lot less appreciative if he knew about the complimentary drug-induced nap that came with the return trip package. But then again, the best exits were always the ones you didn’t see coming.

As she turned back to her peach, Alex couldn’t help but feel a twinge of ... something. Regret? Respect?

It didn’t matter. Jason Reilly, with his stubborn determination and inconvenient competence, was a liability she couldn’t afford.