Chapter Eight

Ghost

T he blonde climbed me. Like a tree.

Not reacting, surreptitiously glancing at the SUV but not making eye contact with the woman in the front passenger seat, I still saw Safiya watching.

I'd also seen the look in her eyes the second she'd noticed my number eighteen.

" Ghost ." The petite blonde who was barely a woman whispered my name like all the others—with a heavy dose of desperation edged in resignation. "You're not coming back again, are you?"

I never lied to them. "No, baby girl." This was the end of the road for her and I.

Grasping the sides of my face as I held her, she tipped her forehead to mine. "I never kissed my husband."

That wasn't what this was about. She knew that. "You'll be safe here."

Her fingers threaded through my hair and sifted. It was her nervous tic. They all had one. Hers was tactile comfort. Usually on me. "I don't want to say goodbye."

"You don't have to." I never made them do anything except follow the protocols.

Her clear blue eyes studied me for a beat. Then her hands stilled. "Why aren't you with her?"

I didn't have time to answer. Not that I would have.

Neil Christensen and his project manager walked out of the large ranch house.

Christensen, a former Danish Special Forces powerhouse you didn't want on your bad side, scanned from the woman to the SUV to me. Then he spoke in Danish. " She is young ."

That's why I'd chosen to leave her here. Despite everything I'd taught her, she was barely a legal adult, still new to this, and she needed looking after. All the other women would be fine, but the petite blonde wouldn't do well on her own. She was the one who texted me the most. Actually, she was the only one who texted besides Safiya. All of the other women had carved out lives for themselves, and I rarely checked in. Then again, I'd let them all get jobs if they wanted or go to school in person, all except for Safiya.

Safiya was always the exception.

Bottom line, my number eighteen hadn't been acclimated yet. She needed protection, and I didn't know if I'd be able to immediately provide it after the escalation this morning. Christensen didn't live here in Ocala, but this was his place, security was tight, he had room and his project manager occupied the larger guesthouse. A smaller cottage sat on the rear of the property, and I'd needed an alternate plan on short notice that included backup. Since Christensen owed me from our deployments downrange, I called in the favor when I'd texted him this morning before leaving Miami.

Ignoring Christensen's comment, I glanced at his PM who stood a foot back, eyeing my blonde. "Everything set?" I had a source I used for IDs, and I'd called it in after I'd hung up with Christensen this morning. A package should've been delivered to the PM this afternoon.

Christensen answered in Danish before switching to English. " Ja . The documents are on the counter in the cabin."

"Cabin?" the petite blonde asked, looking from Christensen to me. "A real one? With logs for walls?"

The PM spoke up. "It's a small guesthouse with frame construction."

The blonde looked at me with confusion.

Trafficked from her foster group home at sixteen, then purchased by me at seventeen, she'd lived a lifetime, but she didn't have life experiences. Not ones that would've taught her what frame construction was.

Setting her on her feet, I broke it down. "No logs, baby girl."

"Oh." Hiking her bag up on her shoulder, she glanced around. "I see a barn. Is this a farm?"

Christensen switched back to Danish. " How long are you leaving the child here? "

"Legal adult," I corrected. "And as long as necessary." Until I got all the others relocated, drew out my target, made sure my strike teams were in place, and fucking ended this. None of which I was going to tell him. I'd kept it tight for eight years for a reason. I wasn't breaking that protocol now.

" How much danger is she in? " Christensen asked in Danish.

His PM tore his gaze away from her and looked at me.

I switched to Christensen's native language. " Enough that she's here ."

" Your danger or hers? " Christensen asked pointedly.

I didn't answer the question in English or Danish. "I'll be in touch." I wouldn't. Not directly.

Knowing not to ask who Christensen and his PM were, blindly trusting me, the petite blonde clung to my arm as she leaned her head on my shoulder. "I like animals."

Christensen's project manager's gaze cut back to her. "This is a working ranch. We have horses."

My number eighteen smiled shyly. "I love horses."

The Marine Christensen had met downrange tipped his chin. Then he held out his hand. "Jesse Emerson."

My gaze hit Christensen, his landed on his employee, and the Marine realized his mistake too late.

Christensen laid down one of his proverbs in the form of a warning to his employee. "Do not sail out further than you can row back."

"Understood." The Marine dropped his hand. "Apologies."

Still eyeing his project manager, Christensen switched to Danish. " The child is under our protection, not under you. She is not entertainment ." Without waiting for acknowledgment, his attention cut to me. " While she is here, she does not leave the grounds. She does not invite trouble. Both of you remember she is a guest. You have one month . Then my hospitality ends ." Neil strode toward his truck and got in.

The engine turned over, and the PM nodded at me before glancing at my blonde. "I'll show you to your accommodations, ma'am."

The blonde glanced between the truck and the PM before looking at me. "This is it?"

"Yes."

She threw her arms around my neck. Then my petite blonde whispered in my ear as she hugged me fiercely. "The pretty lady is the wind in your face."

Before I could put an arm around her to hug her back with a final goodbye, she was already gone, following a Marine.

I walked to the SUV and got behind the wheel.

The second I had the door shut, Safiya broke her hours-long silence. "I heard what she called you."