Chapter 2

TWO

The soft sand of Coronado Beach shifted beneath Hatch’s feet as she ran along the shoreline, the rhythmic crashing of waves mirroring the steady cadence of her breathing. Early morning mist clung to the horizon, shrouding the Silver Strand Highway in a thin veil while the ocean air carried the crisp saltiness she’d grown to associate with this stretch of California coast.

As Hatch slowed her pace, sweat cooling against her skin, she turned her attention to the water. A group of BUD/S trainees struggled to push their rigid inflatable boats through the relentless breakers, the waves towering over them in their furious attempts to surge forward. The boats pitched and rolled, the students straining as they heaved against the ocean’s might, fighting for every inch.

She watched them with an expression somewhere between admiration and melancholy, reminded of the man who’d once navigated those same waters with effortless grace.

A gust of wind swept in from the sea, tangling her hair in the salty breeze, and in that moment, Cruise’s memory enveloped her. It wasn’t just the salty air that brought him back—it was something more, something in the way the breeze curled against her, like it carried a part of him within it. She could almost smell him in the air, that scent of saltwater and sun-kissed skin. The ocean had always been a part of Cruise, and now he was a part of it—forever intertwined with the endless tides.

Hatch pulled her focus away from the struggling trainees, her breath catching as the bittersweet memory tugged at her. She glanced down at the shifting sand beneath her feet, grounding herself in the present, but the weight of the past lingered in the air, as constant and vast as the ocean stretching before her.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, feeling the pull of the sea and the man who had become part of it. Then, with a deep breath, she opened them again, refocusing on the horizon. The waves crashed, the world moved on, and so would she—though part of her would always remain here, on the edge of the water, chasing memories of a man lost to the sea.

Hatch’s phone vibrated against her hip. Grateful for the distraction, she slowed her pace and pulled it from the small fanny pack around her waist. The screen lit up with Tracy’s name.

“Good morning,” she greeted, her voice carrying the edge of ragged breath as her heart rate began to settle.

“Not sure how good it is.” Tracy’s voice had a sharpness to it, a tension she wasn’t used to hearing from him. “Need you to come in.”

“Everything alright?” Hatch asked, wiping a hand across her damp forehead, though the cooling ocean breeze did little to ease the sudden knot of worry forming in her gut.

“We’ll see. I’ll get you up to speed when you get here. How far out are you?”

Hatch glanced at her surroundings, the iconic red roof of the Hotel Del Coronado just ahead. “By Hotel Del. Do I have time to rinse off?”

“This is a come-as-you-are powwow,” he replied, the words heavy with meaning, void of any humor.

“Be there in fifteen.” She paused, the weight of his mood pressing down on her. “Anything else I should know?”

“Brace for impact.” With that, the line went dead.

Hatch exhaled slowly, lowering the phone. She cast a fleeting glance back at the struggling BUD/S trainees in the surf, catching sight of the lead boat capsizing as the giant wave rolled over them, scattering the occupants toward shore.

Whatever was coming her way, she had the sinking suspicion she’d rather be in that boat, fighting the current.

Hatch sat in the conference room, her back ramrod straight as tension coiled in her shoulders. The room was nondescript to the point of irritation—beige walls, a scuffed table, and fluorescent lights that hummed like a persistent mosquito. For someone who thrived in chaos, she found the sterile monotony unnerving. Her eyes locked onto the unfamiliar face at the head of the table, taking in every detail: the sharp jawline, the calculated movements, the way his eyes swept the room like a predator sizing up its prey.

Jordan Tracy sat to her right, his usual calm unraveling with each second that ticked by. He tapped a pen against the edge of his notepad, the rhythmic click echoing in the quiet room. Hatch shot him a sidelong glance, noting the tightness in his jaw and the slight sheen of sweat on his temple.

To her left, Ed Banyan sprawled in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. But Hatch wasn’t fooled by his nonchalance; his fingers drummed against his thigh in a restless cadence, and his eyes darted to the door as if gauging the quickest escape route.

Hatch shifted in her chair, the cheap vinyl creaking beneath her. The scent of stale coffee and industrial cleaner hung in the air, mixing with the undercurrent of unspoken tension. She rested her palms flat on the table, forcing herself to remain still despite the urge to match Tracy’s nervous energy.

“Hatch,” the man at the head of the table began, his voice stern and commanding. “I’m William Thorne.”

“Sir.” Hatch gave a curt nod. Tracy had been less than forthcoming as to the nature of the meeting. Reading his body language spoke volumes.

“We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting. That’s a good thing. Cut my teeth in the Army, finishing my time as a Brigadier General with SOCOM. I’m in charge of asset management and operational oversight here at Talon Executive Services.”

Great. Internal Affairs. In Hatch’s past life, it was never good when called to the carpet. From the look on the general’s face, this was not the exception.

“We’re here to discuss your recent activities in Diamondback, Arizona.”

“Understood.”

Thorne leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he assessed her. “Walk me through it.”

Hatch let out a slow exhale. “We were in Diamondback to assist in gathering information for Max Carver.”

“When you say we , you’re referring to you and Banyan, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Explain to me why two Talon assets were conducting an unsanctioned operation without proper approval.”

“General, I’ve already explained this was done as a personal favor to me.” Tracy sat forward. “Max and I go way back. This was supposed to be a simple fact-finding mission. Nothing more.”

“But it became something more. Much more. Wouldn’t you agree?” Thorne shifted his attention back to Hatch. “Now, I’d like to better understand how this situation escalated so far out of control.”

Hatch spent the next several minutes recounting her time in Arizona. She discussed the rapid escalation. Carver’s client, Harvey Linden, had been targeted by a dangerous group of Belarusian mobsters. That Linden’s family was in imminent harm and the wife had been kidnapped.

Anger flashed behind Thorne’s eyes. His hands pressed hard into the desk between them as he stood. “This little stunt could’ve compromised the agency. We operate behind the scenes. We get tapped to handle the types of jobs others are incapable of. We aren’t the A-Team, out there looking for trouble. We are the problem solvers, not creators. Get me?”

“In Hatch’s defense,” Banyan said, “she freed the hostages. We dismantled the Novik family’s entire operation, rescuing Linden’s children as well.”

Thorne shook his head, unimpressed. “You had other options. Options that didn’t involve a major incident that could have compromised the integrity of Talon.”

A spark of defiance flared in Hatch’s chest. “With all due respect, sir, when good people’s lives are on the line, standing idly by is not an option for me. Especially when I know I can handle saving them.”

Tracy tried to interject on her behalf once more, but Thorne silenced him with a single look. Banyan, ever the provocateur, chimed in casually. “General, maybe it’s been too long since you strapped on your own combat boots and gone toe to toe with the enemy.”

“You’re on thin ice. I wouldn’t push too much or you might fall in.” Thorne’s eyes narrowed. “I’d hate to see you lose that new assignment you put in for.”

Hatch shot Banyan a questioning look. He refused to meet her eyes.

Tracy’s unease was apparent. The man wasn’t known for timidity, but even he seemed wary of the situation unraveling further.

“I’m not a man who gives second chances. All of you are put on notice.” Thorne turned his focus back to Hatch. “Your next assignment will be your last if you can’t play by the rules.” He straightened his tie and walked out without another word to any of them.

The three of them lingered in the room, ensuring the general was gone before making their exit. As they filed out, Hatch muttered to Tracy, “What the hell was that all about? Seems like he’s on a witch hunt.”

Tracy sighed. “General Thorne was a hell of a soldier back in the day, Hatch. But the politics of rank have a way of diluting that.”

“Guess so. It just seemed personal. Like he’s gunning for us. For me.”

“Don’t overthink it. Everybody in our line of work gets our pee pee slapped from time to time.” Tracy smirked. “It’s how you know you’re doing something right.”

Hatch pulled on Banyan’s elbow. “Hey, what was that back there? The talk about a new assignment?”

Banyan rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I was going to let you know. Haven’t had the chance.”

“I’ll give you guys a chance to get up to speed.” Tracy nodded and moved toward the door.

“How ‘bout we grab a coffee?” Banyan asked.

“You ever heard me turning down a cup?”