Page 66 of Close Protection

Morgan glanced sideways at her partner, concern evident in her expression. "Julia," she said carefully, "you're operating beyondprotocol here. Beyond department guidelines."

"I know."

"Because of her." It wasn't a question.

Julia met her partner's gaze. "Yes."

The simple admission hung between them as Morgan navigated toward the industrial district. Neither spoke for several minutes, the silence filled with implications both personal and professional.

"You know what Hayes used to say," Morgan finally offered.

"'The witness isn't the mission; the testimony is,'" Julia quoted automatically.

Morgan shook her head. "That's what she said in briefings. What she told me when no one else was listening was different." She paused as she turned onto the access road leading toward the shipyard. "She said, 'Sometimes the person becomes the mission, and that's when you find out what kind of cop you really are.'"

The words settled into Julia's chest, recognition of a truth she'd been fighting since first seeing Ivy in that safe house. The person had become the mission. Ivy Monroe had transformed from witness to partner tosomething Julia still couldn't fully name but could no longer deny.

As the abandoned shipyard appeared ahead, rust-covered cranes rising like skeletal sentinels against the morning sky, Julia made her decision. Protocol, department guidelines, professional distance—all of it was secondary to the simple truth that had crystallized in the devastation of morning.

She would find Ivy. She would bring her home. And God help anyone who stood in her way.

"I need to go in alone," Julia said as Morgan parked the sedan in the shadow of a derelict warehouse two hundred yards from the main terminal. "Knox's people will be watching for a standard response. Multiple entries will trigger their security protocols."

"That's not how this works," Morgan objected. "Partners stick together, especially in hostile territory."

"I need you coordinating with Chief Marten," Julia countered, already checking her equipment one final time. "Establishingthe outer perimeter. Ensuring no additional hostiles arrive as reinforcement."

Morgan recognized the argument for what it was—a tactical rationale for a decision already made. She sighed, then reached into her jacket, extracting a small device.

"Take this then," she said, pressing it into Julia's hand. "Experimental prototype from Technical Division. Short-range EMP. Knocks out electronics in a twenty-foot radius for approximately ninety seconds."

Julia pocketed the device with a nod of thanks.

"And Julia?" Morgan caught her arm as she prepared to exit the vehicle. "Bring her back. Bring yourself back too."

Something tight and painful unfurled in Julia's chest at the simple acknowledgment. She nodded once, unable to form words around the emotion threatening to compromise her.

Then she was moving, slipping from the vehicle into the shadow of abandoned shipping containers, becoming one with the industrial wasteland that had once been Phoenix Ridge's economic heart.

The shipyard stretched before her, agraveyard of maritime commerce abandoned when newer facilities had been built farther west. Rusting cranes stood frozen against the sky. Empty warehouses lined forgotten loading docks. The main terminal building rose in the center, windowless concrete with a single visible entrance.

Julia moved between containers with practiced silence, years of tactical training focused to crystalline purpose. Her injuries protested with each careful step, but she pushed the pain aside, compartmentalizing it as she'd been trained to do. Physical discomfort was irrelevant. Only the mission mattered.

Only Ivy mattered.

She spotted the first guard exactly where she'd expected—positioned at the southwest corner of the perimeter, watching the most likely approach from official vehicles. Ex-military, based on his posture. Armed with what appeared to be a modified assault rifle and communications visible in his ear.

Julia circled wide, using shipping containers as cover. Protocol dictated identifying all security positions before engagement. But time was against her; each minute Ivyremained in Knox's hands increased the likelihood of extraction of information, of irreversible harm, of loss Julia refused to contemplate.

The second guard appeared as she reached the eastern approach—similarly positioned, similarly equipped. Two more would be inside with Knox and Ivy. Standard security protocol for off-site operations.

Julia checked her watch. Seven minutes since leaving Morgan. Perhaps forty-five since Knox's team had arrived with Ivy. The interrogation would be underway but still in the early stages. Knox would be methodical, thorough. He would want everything Ivy knew before disposing of her. The thought sent ice through Julia's veins.

She reached the side entrance—service access, likely alarmed but less monitored than the main doors. The lock was commercial grade, designed to keep out casual intruders but not a determined professional with proper tools. Julia extracted her pick set, working with practiced efficiency despite injured fingers.

The lock yielded with a soft click. Julia eased the door open fractionally, listeningfor indicators of alarm systems or response. Nothing but the distant sound of machinery—generators, likely, powering whatever operation Knox had established inside.

She slipped through the door into darkness that smelled of rust, salt water, and something else—something chemical that raised the hairs on her neck. CS gas residue. Knox's team had used the same tactical approach here as in her apartment.

---