Page 137 of Anchor
Reid touched her belly lightly, then her face. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“But promise me anyway.”
He nodded. “I promise. But only if you promise to fight like hell to stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
“Good,” he curled beside her in the bed, “then marry me.”
Now she was wide awake. “I’m dreaming.”
“Claire, you’re the love of my life. Even when I didn’t know your name, I knew you were important. My head is clear. You’re carrying our child. That first minute I saw you in that ballroom, I knew. You’re mine. My sweetness. My love. So will you have a man who will try to be worthy of your love every day for the rest of our lives?”
Tears filled her eyes, and as one slipped down her cheek, she whispered, “Yes.”
He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. “I love you, Claire Bowman.”
Claire laid her head against his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. It was warm and constant, the thing that had pulled her through so much. She let herself fall asleep in his arms.
MONTENEGRO – PRIVATE VILLA – SAME TIME
The air smelled of pine and salt, not the pristine sort that tourists adored, but metallic and faintly brackish. It clung to the walls of safehouses meant to look like luxury.
Vos sat upright in the leather chair by the window, one hand resting on the cane he didn’t need but still used as a force of habit, control and perception. The other hand traced the edgeof the healing incision near his ear, beneath a face that wasn’t entirely his anymore.
The surgeon had done good work. The final version of his jawline was stronger, more angular. The scar at his temple was hidden beneath his reshaped hairline. But the eyes? Still his. Still dangerous.
Heather sat across the room in silence, a cooling compress on her cheek. The swelling was down, with her bruises faded to amber. She hadn’t spoken since breakfast. That suited him.
Scour stood by as he turned his gaze to the file in front of him with ultra-thin paper from Czech military stock. It had arrived with the new passports and the map overlay from the Balkan corridor, routes into Albania and Kosovo. But he wasn’t planning that exit yet, not before one more trip where he would put the last of his plan into action.
The burner phone beside him buzzed once with a single text from the contact in the medical center:Viability scan complete. 24+ weeks. Previa developing. Obstetrician recommends enforced rest.
Vos smiled faintly. “She’s still trying to play soldier,” he muttered. “Even with a war inside her.”
Heather finally spoke, voice low. “You’ll never get near her with Chase Security watching.”
He didn’t look at her. “I don’t need to get near her—yet.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Vos stood slowly, methodically. Pain flashed through his ribs where one was used for his jaw. He welcomed it. “I’m waiting for the moment they think they’re safe. When Ian Chase thinks he’s won. When he stops watching every shadow, and that fool, Hanlon’s nephew, thinks he’s earned back control.”
He stepped closer to the table, tapping the edge of the dossier stamped with Claire’s name. “And then,” Vos said softly, “I take what matters. And leave him with nothing.” He nodded at Scour.
He turned toward Heather, expression unreadable, his tone colder still. “I don’t need to kill her, Heather. Death is too simple. I just need to take the one thing she thought would save her.”
Heather’s gaze didn’t waver.
Vos let the silence stretch the continued, almost reflective, “I’ve made mistakes before. I had to compete with Joseph to raise her. That split your loyalties. That divided my influence. It was inefficient.”
He set a hand on the dossier, fingers pressing down as though to pin the future in place. “But imagine this…” his eyes flicked to Heather, “a child with genius like its mother, and strength like its father. Raised, trained, and educated exactly as I see fit.”
He straightened, his voice hardening to a vow. “The child will succeed where Claire failed. It will be everything she could not be. It will be the perfect weapon.”
Heather didn’t blink.
The ocean wind hissed through the cracks in the stone. Vos’s smile was slow and reptilian. The war wasn’t over. It was just beginning.
