Page 50 of Code Name: Ghost

She blinks. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She recoils as a nasty thought occurs to her. “You think I’m working for him?”

I shake my head. “Not knowingly. But Vallois and his people have known I was alive for a while and working for Cerberus. Earlier this year, I was in Chicago, but by the time they knew, I’d moved on. They call me the Ghost because, like most spirits, I move through the ether undetected.”

Cherise stares at me. “They used me as bait.”

I nod. “I think Hector knows you—knows what you’d do when pushed. After the party in Paris, he had to have known you’d reach out to JJ, which means you’re reaching out to Cerberus. They had to have known threatening you would flush me out into the open.” I pause, watching her jaw twitch. “They were counting on it.”

“That’s not the same as me being a willing pawn.”

“Doesn’t have to be. He used your instinct against you. You’re loyal. Emotional. You put your trust in the wrong man once—he’s banking on you doing it again.”

Her eyes flash, bright and furious. “You mean you.”

I don’t flinch. “Maybe.”

She shoves past me, grabbing the edge of the table for balance, her breath coming too fast.

“You really think I’d knowingly lead them here? That I’d walk into your life after ten years just to set you up?”

I move behind her, placing a hand on the table next to hers. “I think Hector’s a manipulative bastard with reach. I think he planted just enough fear in you to get you running. I think you walked right into his narrative without realizing it.”

“I don’t deserve this,” she whispers, staring at the plate I set down earlier. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You don’t deserve to die either,” I reply quietly. “But that’s what will happen if we don’t stay ten steps ahead of him.”

She turns, and this time, there’s no fire—just exhaustion. Hurt. But her voice still holds.

“I loved you. I mourned you. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a liability you regret taking on.”

“I don’t regret you,” I say. And I mean it. Every word. “But I do regret not telling you who I was becoming before I left. I regret I didn’t get to teach you the difference between trust and submission. I regret not seeing this coming.”

She stares at me, lips parted, then presses her fingers against her mouth like she’s holding in something she doesn’t want to say.

“Tell me,” I demand.

“You’re the only man I’ve ever trusted enough to give myself to,” she says quietly. “That scares the hell out of me.”

“It should.” I reach out, wrapping my hand gently around her neck, not squeezing—just holding. Grounding. “Because I don’t take it lightly. When you kneel for me, when you let me in—it means something. To both of us.”

She nods once, eyes dropping.

My phone buzzes from the console near the bed. I don’t move at first. I want this moment—this sliver of raw honesty—to linger.

But the second buzz carries a unique three-beat pattern. Not a call. Not a message.

A security alert.

I step away and tap the encrypted screen. A single line appears, untraceable, scrambled through five relay points. The name at the top sends a jolt through me.

DuBois, S.

Cherise watches as my posture shifts. “What is it?”

I read the message once. Then twice.

They’re closer than you think. Don’t trust the doors that open too easily.—S.D.

I stare at it, committing every word to memory before the message deletes itself.

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