Page 9 of Code Name: Ghost

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CHERISE

Paris, France

Present Day

I press my back against the headboard of the hotel bed, gripping my cell phone like it’s the last solid thing in my world. My pulse beats erratically, a hammer against my ribs, refusing to settle. It’s only been a few days, but I’m on the run with no way to get out of France. All I have is a small bag with a few clothes, my French and American passports, the file and flash drive I removed from Hector’s safe, and all the cash I could put my hands on. If I use a credit card or my passport, he’ll find me—that's part of his job—tracking people. I’m not safe. Not even close.

The faint hum of traffic in the 20th arrondissement of Paris filters through the cracked window, muted and distant—like a world I used to belong to but now watch from behind a pane of glass. It feels surreal, like I’ve slipped into a different life, a cruel joke where every step I take leads me deeper into a nightmare.

I close my eyes, but the memory crashes in like a tsunami.

Lyon felt colder that evening, the damp air pressing against my skin as I unlocked the door to the house I once called home. The scent of Hector’s cologne was subtle but suffocating—woven into the very walls. He never changed it. A testament to his arrogance, his obsession with control.

I moved fast, barely breathing, as I made my way to his study. The mahogany desk gleamed under the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows. I knew exactly where he kept the safe, hidden behind the bookshelf, cleverly concealed beneath a false panel. Hector was meticulous, but not infallible.

I crouched, pressing my fingers against the tiny indentation at the edge of the shelf, feeling for the release latch. A soft click sounded as the panel shifted. The safe was old, a model I had memorized the combination of years ago. My fingers moved on instinct, spinning the dial. Four numbers later, the lock released.

Inside, several stacks of cash, as well as my U.S. and French passports, sat atop a stack of documents. I grabbed some of the cash and both of the passports, about to close the safe, when a name on one of the files made my pulse stutter.

René Vallois, the notorious arms dealer. I’dbecome obsessed with the man. For someone who was supposed to live and work in the shadows, he seemed perfectly comfortable living in the light.

Fear and nausea coiled in my belly. I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t look. But my hands betrayed me, reaching for the file, flipping it open.

At first, it was nothing more than financial records—wire transfers, offshore accounts. Then, photos. Blurry surveillance images of men exchanging crates and armed guards stationed at a private airstrip. Notes scribbled in Hector’s precise handwriting.

And then, the actual proof.

A signed agreement between Hector and René Vallois, detailing arms shipments disguised as Interpol asset seizures and attached to it a flash drive. Hector wasn’t just laundering money—he was supplying high-powered weaponry to one of the most dangerous arms dealers in Europe.

My breath left me in a silent gasp.

I had been married to this man. Slept beside him. Trusted him... and he was a traitor.

The sound of footsteps behind me turned my blood to ice.

"You shouldn’t be here, Mrs. Pardo."

I spun, my heart slamming against my ribs.

A man stood in the doorway. Not Hector. But someone just as dangerous… one of Hector’s men.

He was tall, dark-haired, wearing an expensive suit that did nothing to soften the menace rolling off him. His eyes flicked to the open safe, then back to me.

“Put the file back,” he ordered, his tone smooth. Controlled.

I forced my voice to stay even. “I know who you are, and you need to move out of my way.”

He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "That’s not how this works. René doesn’t like when people go poking around where they don’t belong. And Hector? He won’t be pleased to know his ex-wife has been playing detective."

René. His name wrapped around my throat like an invisible chokehold, squeezing the air from my lungs. I’ve read too many articles about him. Seen too many news stories on his dealings around the world.

I took a step back, angling my body toward the desk. He saw it, his gaze sharpening.

"Don’t make this difficult, Cherise."

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t bluffing. If I didn’t leave here now, I wouldn’t leave at all.

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