Page 31 of Code Name: Ghost

She lets out a brittle laugh, one that cuts deeper than she knows. "Right. Because I’m just supposed to disappear while you charge in and fix everything?"

I step closer, not in anger but something closer to desperation, careful to keep my hands at my sides because if I touch her now, I won’t stop. "You don’t know what’s waiting out there, Cherise. This isn’t just about information anymore. It’s about survival. Yours."

Her chin lifts in defiance, and God, she’s beautiful when she fights. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

I take a deep breath, willing her to hear the truth I can't quite say out loud. "I’m not doing this because I don’t believe in you. I’m doing it because I do. Because losing you again would finish me."

The words slip out before I can pull them back. Her eyes widen, just slightly, but I press on before either of us can get swallowed by what hangs between us.

"You’re involved because you were brave enough to stand up. Brave enough to come to me. But it’s my job to keep you breathing. It always has been."

The fire in her gaze falters, just a fraction, but enough that it nearly breaks me.

"I’m not trying to lock you away," I say, voice thick. "I'm trying to give you the chance to live. To be free of all of this."

She holds my stare, her breathing uneven. Her body says she wants to fight me. But her heart—her heart’s breaking right there with mine.

I force myself to turn away first, breaking whatever invisible tether keeps us locked together. Cherise doesn’t argue. She just trails after me in silence, her footsteps light but steady, like she's walking through a door she knows she can't close again.

The drive back is quiet. Heavy. She keeps her hands folded tightly in her lap, staring out the window at the darkened streets, the lights of Monte Carlo blurring past like ghosts. I keep my eyes on the road, jaw locked, muscles aching with the need to say something—anything—but knowing that words won’t fix this. Not now.

She deserves better than the half-truths and the walls I keep shoving between us.

By the time we reach the safe house, dawn is just a ghost on the horizon. She disappears into the guest room without a sound. In the hallway, I stand for a long minute after the door clicks shut, my hand pressed flat against the wood, willing her somehow to hear everything I’m too much of a coward to say.

I should leave her out of this. I know that. But when morning comes and the mission calls, she's there—already dressed, already ready, like she made the choice for both of us.

And maybe I hate myself for how much I need her standing beside me.

9

CHERISE

The Mediterranean sun blazes against the glittering waters of the Nice marina, painting the scene with an almost surreal beauty. Super yachts gleam under the golden light, bobbing gently in their berths, and the scent of salt fills the air. It’s the kind of place where wealth cloaks the shadows, where secrets are traded over champagne and caviar.

Nick parks the Range Rover a safe distance from the marina, his movements as precise as ever. He hasn’t spoken to me since last night except for some one-word answers all day, and he doesn’t speak now as we step out of the vehicle, but his body radiates purpose, every inch of him coiled and ready.

“Stay close,” he says, his tone low, almost a growl, as he pulls a duffel bag from the backseat. Another short sentence. This is getting ridiculous, but now is not the time to bring it up.

I nod, trailing behind him as we move toward a small café overlooking the docks. The bag slung over his shoulder looks casual enough, but I know it holds the tools that will give us eyes and ears on the luxury yacht anchored near the far end of the marina.

Inside the café, Nick claims a table near the window, positioning himself so he has a clear view of the docks. He gestures for me to sit, his hazel eyes scanning the area, sharp and unyielding.

“What’s our plan?” I ask watching him set up his equipment.

“My plan is,” he says, pulling a tablet from the bag and powering it on. The screen flickers to life, displaying a live feed from a drone hovering discreetly above the marina. “Hector and René are meeting on a yacht namedElysia. It’s anchored at berth twenty-four.”

I lean in, the faint scent of his cologne teasing my senses as I focus on the screen. TheElysiais a stunning vessel, all sleek lines and opulence, but it might as well be a fortress. Armed guards patrol the deck, their movements precise and calculated.

“And what exactly arewelooking for?” I ask, keeping my voice low but emphasizing my intent to be involved.

“Anything that confirms their plans,” he replies, ignoring my comment, his gaze never leaving the screen. “Hector doesn’t move unless he’s certain he won’t get caught. That means he’s using something—or someone—to cover his tracks.”

“Diplomatic immunity,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Nick’s eyes flick to mine, sharp and questioning.

“It’s what Hector always bragged about,” I explain. “He used to laugh about how easy it was to exploit the system. If René’s involved, they’re probably leveraging someone with a diplomatic connection.”

---