Page 76 of Duty Compromised
But we were alive. Charlotte was safe. For now.
My parents’ guesthouse sat far enough from their main home to feel private, but close enough that we weren’t completely isolated. One story, two bedrooms, a kitchen that opened into a small living area. Nothing fancy, but definitely better than that motel or a safe house about to explode.
Donovan had cleared out within an hour of our arriving, throwing his stuff into a duffel and heading back to the main house without complaint. Just a nod and “Take care of her” before disappearing into the morning sun.
My brother understood what it meant to protect someone. Even if he didn’t understand the rest of it—the way my chest tightened every time Charlotte pushed herself too hard, the way I wanted to surround her in bubble wrap and simultaneously watch her take apart problems that would make most people’s heads explode.
Through the bedroom doorway, I could just make out Charlotte’s form under the quilt. She’d crashed hard about four hours ago, literally falling asleep mid-sentence while typing at the workstation we’d rigged up on the kitchen table. One second, she’d been explaining something to herself about quantum entanglement and error correction, and the next, her head had dropped forward, fingers still on the keyboard.
I’d carried her to bed, and she hadn’t even stirred. Just curled into my chest with a soft sigh that did things to my insides I didn’t want to examine too closely. She weighed next to nothing, all soft curves and brilliant mind wrapped up in a package that barely reached my shoulder. The contrast killed me—this woman who could revolutionize technology, who held solutions to problems most people couldn’t even understand, and yet she felt so fragile in my arms.
Time was running out, though. Whoever had stolen the Cascade Protocol would be looking to sell it soon. Once it hit the black market, there’d be no controlling who got their hands on it or when they’d use it. Foreign governments, terrorist organizations, anyone with enough money and a grudge. Charlotte knew it. I knew it. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on both of us.
My burner phone sat on the table like a live grenade. I’d been staring at it for the past twenty minutes, working up the nerve to make the call I’d been dreading. Ben was right. We needed backup. Professional backup. The kind only Citadel Solutions could provide.
Which meant calling Ethan Cross and admitting I’d fucked up.
Before I could talk myself out of it again, I grabbed the phone and dialed Ethan’s personal number. He wouldn’t recognize the burner number. Probably wouldn’t even answer. I could leave a message, buy myself more time to figure out how to explain?—
“Cross.”
The familiar voice hit me like cold water. Of course he’d answer. Ethan always answered.
“It’s Ty.”
A pause. Then, “I know.”
I straightened, wincing as the movement pulled at my ribs. “How the hell did you know it was me? This is a burner.”
“I run one of the top security companies in the world, remember?” His tone was dry, but I caught something else underneath. Concern, maybe. “Although, if I’m honest, Ben told me you might call. From a burner. Want to tell me what the hell is going on? Last I checked, you were supposed to be on medical leave. Doctor’s orders, company policy, all that.”
I rubbed my jaw, feeling three days’ worth of stubble. “I took a temporary gig. Helping out a friend in the FBI. George Mercer, you remember him?”
“The one from your Army days. Yeah, I remember.” Papers rustled in the background. Ethan was probably in his home office, working even though it was barely seven in the morning. “This temporary gig—was it supposed to be easy? Low-risk? Just keeping an eye on things?”
“Something like that.”
“Let me guess. It got a lot more complicated.”
The understatement of the century. “You could say that.”
“How complicated are we talking?”
I closed my eyes, seeing Charlotte’s face when she’d realized someone had sabotaged her work. The terror when that truck had slammed into her car. The exhaustion that seemed bone-deep now, that no amount of sleep could fix. “I’m in over my head, Ethan. Way over.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ve been worse.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Before I could respond, a knock echoed through the guesthouse. Soft but deliberate. Two sharp taps. Not a pattern Ben or Donovan would use.
“Hold on.” I set the phone down, grabbed my Glock from the table. My body protested as I moved toward the door, keeping to the side of the windows. Old habits. Stay out of sight lines. Control the angles.
Another knock. Same pattern.
I peered through the edge of the window, angle sharp enough to see without being seen. Then blinked. Checked again.
