Page 43 of Protect Thy Enemy

My gut churns. Something is wrong here. Harris is a reliable guy, but why go out of their way to reach him, especially when we’ve got standard protocols in place?

Tate folds his arms, his expression hardening. He’s thinking the same thing. “Does Harris know?”

“Not yet,” I say, already moving. “But he’s about to.”

As we head down the hallway, the unease claws at me. Something about this feels bigger than just another threat.

There’s a missing piece, and I don’t like not knowing what it is.

***

The air in Harris’s office is always stale and uncomfortable as fuck. Too quiet. Too cold.

I step in, shutting the door behind me with a controlled click, my eyes immediately finding Harris at his desk.

He doesn’t look up. He just sits there, calm and unreadable as always, scanning whatever file is in front of him like I’m not even in the room.

I clear my throat, shifting the folder under my arm. “Got something from the night agent last night,” I say.

Harris doesn’t flinch or show any sign that he’s heard me, but I know he’s listening.

“He passed along a code. ‘Nightwalker.’”

That gets him. Barely. Just a flicker, the smallest shift in his posture, almost imperceptible. But I see it. After all this time, I know when Harris’s calm cracks even a little. He lifts his head slowly, his gaze locking on mine, his expression smooth as always. “I see.”

That’s it. No follow-up. No sign of surprise. Just those two words, spoken in the same neutral tone that’s always rubbed me the wrong way.

Like he’s already two steps ahead of me. I stand there, waiting for more, but he offers nothing.

I narrow my eyes, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “What’s it mean?” I ask, keeping my voice controlled. Pushing him too hard won’t get me anywhere, but I’m not leaving without something.

Harris’s eyes flick back to the file on his desk, dismissing me before he even speaks. “Not your concern, Grant.”

I bite down hard, teeth grinding against the restraint I’ve learned over the years. The old man has always played his cards close, but this? Something’s off, and he’s hiding it. I hate when people keep things from me, especially when I’m the one in the line of fire.

“It is my concern,” I say, careful to keep my tone respectful but firm. I was brought up better than to outright question a superior, but I can’t shake the feeling that whatever this is, it will land in my lap sooner or later.

Harris glances at me just long enough for me to catch the subtle edge in his expression. A warning. “No, Agent Grant, the two rookies I placed into your care are your concern. Making sure they don’t get the president or First Family killed is your concern until you’re told otherwise. Senior Agent or not, you still report to me. Don’t forget that.”

Dismissed. Just like that. This makes two times too much.

I give a stiff nod, forcing myself to keep my jaw from locking. “Understood, sir.” But the words are a lie. I don’t understand it, not one fucking bit. I turn to leave, every muscle tight, the itch of unanswered questions prickling at my skin.

As I reach the door, I glance back at Harris. He’s already back to his file, not a flicker of emotion in sight. It’s like nothing ever happened.

But I know better. I saw it. The way his posture shifted just slightly when I said “Nightwalker.” He knows something, and it’s not just some throwaway intel.

I don’t like being kept in the dark. Not by anyone.

Especially not by him.

“So what did he say?” Tate falls into step beside me, his usual easygoing manner only thinly veiling his curiosity. He’s been in the game long enough to know when something doesn’t add up.

“He didn’t know,” I respond. The lie slips out smoothly, but we both know it’s not the truth.

Tate raises a brow, his sharp eyes flicking to mine. There’s a brief pause, the kind that comes when someone knows they’re being fed bullshit but decides to let it slide. “Uh-huh,” he mutters, but doesn’t press further. He’s smart enough to know I’m not in the mood for digging deeper right now. I don’t have time for his questions when the ones in my own head are already piling up.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension as we walk, but it lingers, coiling around me like a vise. I need to get out ofhere and blow off some steam before I storm back into that office and demand answers I know Harris isn’t going to give.

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