Page 33 of Code Name: Ghost

“I know that,” I say, my voice rising. “But sitting back and waiting isn’t the answer.”

His grip on the wheel tightens. “We’ll act when the time is right. Until then, you need to trust me.”

Trust. The word hangs heavy in the air, and I hate how much I want to give it to him. But trust has never come easy for me, and Nick isn’t exactly making it any easier.

I cross my arms, staring out the window as the city blurs past. “Fine. But if Sergei saw me…”

“I said he didn’t,” Nick says firmly. “And if he did, he won’t live long enough to do anything about it.”

The cold certainty in his voice sends a shiver down my spine, but I don’t argue. Because as much as I hate to admit it, I know he’s right.

By the time we reach the safe house, exhaustion has settled over me like a heavy blanket. Nick doesn’t speak as he parks the Range Rover and retrieves the duffel bag, his movements efficient and methodical.

Inside, the air is cool and despite that, the safe house is a stark contrast to the chaos of the marina. Nick sets the bag down on the couch and begins unpacking the equipment, his focus unwavering.

“I need to go through the audio,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “There might be something I missed.”

I nod, sinking into the chair across from him. The adrenaline from earlier has worn off, leaving me drained and raw. But I can’t stop thinking about what we heard, about Sergei, about the danger that feels closer than ever.

“Nick,” I say quietly, my voice cutting through the silence.

He looks up, his hazel eyes locking onto mine.

“I’m not backing out of this,” I say, my words steady despite the fear gnawing at me. “You might not want me here, but I’m not leaving until this is over.”

He doesn’t respond, his gaze unreadable. Then he leans back in his chair, shakes his head, then goes back to his laptop.

* * *

The safe house feels smaller tonight, like the walls are pressing in. The buzz of the earlier op in Nice hasn’t left my veins, but the energy has shifted. It’s not adrenaline anymore—it’s something darker, sharper. I can still hear Hector’s voice crackling through the earpiece, René’s slimy chuckle, and the unmistakable mention of Monaco and diplomatic crates.

And Sergei. His face flashes in my mind like a warning light, and I grip the edge of the counter in the small kitchen to steady myself. He didn’t see me. Nick said so. But the fear is still there, coiling in my gut like a venomous snake.

I glance toward the living room, where Nick is still sitting at the table, his laptop glowing in the dim light. His posture is rigid, his focus locked on the screen as he analyzes the surveillance footage. He hasn’t said much since we got back. Hell, he hasn’t said much to me since Nice.

Something inside me snaps. “You’re treating me like a liability,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

He doesn’t even look up. “What are you talking about, Cherise?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I fire back, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “You’ve been trying to sideline me since this whole thing started.”

His hazel eyes finally lift, sharp and assessing. “I’m trying to keep you alive. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” I fold my arms, meeting his gaze head-on. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you don’t trust me to handle myself.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve managed to put yourself in this situation and you’re not prepared for it,” he counters, his voice calm but laced with steel.

I laugh, the sound bitter. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I ruin your perfect plan by showing up when you wanted me to believe you were dead? By being the one who brought you the intel you’re using to stop Hector and René?”

His jaw tightens, and he stands, towering over me. “Don’t twist this into something it’s not. You ended up here with Cerberus because you called JJ, which means Fitz had no choice but to get involved. You were in over your head.”

“Over my head?” I hiss. “I think I’m lucky I still have my head. They want me dead.”

“Take it easy, Cherise. I’m on your side. A lot has happened to you. You’re in deeper than you ever dreamed. You’re not trained for this. You’re not equipped to deal with what’s coming.”

“You bastard,” I say, taking a step closer. “What gives you the right to decide what I can or can’t handle?”

“Because I’m trained for it. Have been my entire life. And I’m the one who’s cleaning up your mess!” he barks, his voice finally breaking through his icy control.

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