Page 62 of Anchor
A hand tightened around hers. “Claire.”
Reid. Her gaze dragged sideways, blurry, until she found him. Exhaustion was carved into his face but locked firm behind his eyes.
“You’re here,” she tried to say, but broken air was the only sound.
He leaned closer, so she didn’t have to fight. “I’m not leaving.”
The panic edged back slowly against his presence.
Tuck appeared at her other side, checking her vitals by hand, not by machine. “Easy now, darlin’. Don’t fight the tube. Pain’ll kick your behind.” He reached for a syringe, moving calm as water. “I’ll give you a touch of relief.”
Claire’s eyes fluttered as the medication hit. She caught Reid’s face one last time before the edges blurred again. She wanted to hold on to it, wanted to tell him she wasn’t afraid anymore because he was there. But her eyelids were too heavy. And the darkness pulled her under again.
The door eased open.Ian Chase stepped inside, the man who never wasted motion. Reid straightened automatically, though he didn’t let go of her hand.
After one glance at Claire, Ian lowered himself into the chair beside Reid. “The board is with us. They know Heather is pressing the NSA. They know Vos is close enough to smell. What they don’t know yet is how deep the rot goes. That’s my burden.” He paused. “Yours is here.”
Reid’s jaw tightened as he searched Ian’s face for any crack, any tell. There was none, just that calm, surgical steadiness.
“They’ll try again,” Ian said, softer now. “Vos won’t let go. Heather won’t back down. The Agency…” He exhaled once through his nose. “They aren’t sure what she means to them. Is she a heroine or a felon? That means the next fight is already moving toward us.”
Reid looked down at Claire’s pale face, the rise and fall of her chest, the taped lines and wires. His throat tightened, but he forced the words out steadily, “Then we hold the line here, whatever it takes.”
Ian’s gaze lingered on him a moment, unreadable, then he gave a single nod. “Whatever it takes.” He stood, smoothing his jacket, and left without another word.
TWENTY-ONE
ICU – 0210 HOURS
The monitors ticked their steady rhythm. Claire lay pale against the sheets, a tangle of IV lines threading into her body, her chest rising and falling with fragile persistence. Reid’s hand never left hers. His thumb moved in small circles, the only motion betraying how hard he was holding himself still.
Across from him, Wes Crockett leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His eyes weren’t on the machines or on the door; they were locked on Reid.
“I was the medic with Joe Bowman when he died,” Wes said, the truth laid bare. “I’ve carried that day a long time, longer than I should.” His eyes flicked briefly to Claire, then back. “And I’ll tell you this, son, I’m not watching another Bowman slip away on my watch.”
The words hit like a stone dropped into still water, rippling deep. Reid’s throat tightened.
Wes straightened, resolve etched in every line of his face. “Senior exec or not, doesn’t matter. I’ll take shifts right here.You’ll know she’s covered when you can’t be here. Some debts don’t get paid sitting behind a desk.”
Reid gave a short, hard nod. His jaw worked once, but no words came.
Zach Wentworth, sharp, restless, and the strategist to Wes’s steady hand, broke the silence. “Ian will keep pressing Heather and the NSA, but that’s temporary cover. Vos is the real play. And he’s already in motion, which means Apex has to move faster.”
Reid finally looked up, meeting Zach’s gaze. “What’s Ian need from me?”
Zach didn’t hesitate. “Twelve hours of pressure. Bravo Team is running extra security on Ian. Crescent 1 was almost in New Orleans again. They’ve been rerouted back here. Jamie O’Reilly and Logan Shepard are sending medical staff to augment Claire’s care. But in these next twelve, we lock down every channel, every corridor, every perimeter.
“Apex drills in shifts. You hold her perimeter here, but your people show teeth everywhere else—public narrative, security posture, tactical readiness. Make it look like Chase has already mobilized a strike package, even if we haven’t.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Fuse runs comm intercepts; Shade and Spartan hold down visible patrols. Torch shadows campus chatter; Bluebird embeds at Med as a double-watch with Wes. Ghostwire pulls the back end of every movement log. We don’t give Vos daylight.”
Reid exhaled through his nose slowly. The burden was already on him. Zach was just naming it out loud.
“She’s not dying here,” Reid said, steel in every syllable.
Wes nodded once, solid. “No, she’s not.”
And Zach, ever the tactician, let the silence hold a beat before adding, “Then let’s make damn sure no one even thinks she’s vulnerable.”
