Intense

Tara didn’t seem interested in talking, which was fine with me. She’d gotten what she’d wanted, even though it wasn’t completely necessary. I couldn’t blame her, since it was my choice to go to the hospital in the end.

Still, I wished she could have been at least a little more grateful, or at least a little less pissed off. She didn’t seem to get how much danger we were in every time we so much as walked outside the safe house.

I had no clue if we had been spotted or not. There was just no real way for me to know. I moved silently through the neighborhood, sticking to the shadows, but I found nothing.

I was like a shadow in the night, deadly and swift. This was my element, my way of life. I was the stalker and the world was my prey. Nobody could stand before me and survive long if I wanted to destroy them. In the night, I was in control.

I moved across the street and crouched down in the shadows. A minute later, another shadow peeled itself from a wall and crouched down next to me.

“Captain,” Travis said.

“How’s it going?”

“Not bad. Quiet.”

“Sorry about earlier. The hospital thing.”

I could sense Travis’s discomfort. “I understand needing to take the kid to the doc, but was that the best decision?”

I glanced at him. He was staring out across the street. “No,” I said, “it wasn’t. I told command that I’m too close to this, but they insisted on keeping me in control of the girl.”

Travis nodded. “Blackfire knows his stuff.”

“He does, but I’m worried he made the wrong call on this one.”

Travis looked at me. “Are you too close?”

I didn’t answer at first. My mind wandered back over the past few days and stopped on the moment when I finally saw Tara again in person.

The excitement I felt, the fire in my veins, the heat. That hadn’t gone away, not one bit. If anything, it had only gotten hotter and stronger the more I got to know her.

Then there was the way I felt about Mason. Holding him, feeding him, I’d never experienced that sort of emotion before. I wanted to take care of him, to protect him above all other things. I’d only ever felt that way about my squad before, but never to that intense a degree.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m too close.”

Travis nodded. “I’ll relay that.”

“Have you seen anything tonight?” I asked him, changing the subject.

“Maybe,” he said. “Can’t be sure. Saw some strange car movement a few hours back, but nothing since.”

“What happened?”

“Two cars, one white and one black, driving around the area. Could have been lost people. Could have been The Network scouting. Can’t be sure.”

“Omar?”

“Haven’t seen or smelled him.”

I nodded. “Got it. Keep an eye out.”

“Roger, captain.”

Travis melted back into the shadows and disappeared.

I held my position for another minute, my mind wandering slowly. Strange cars, threats in the night. I was too close to this, too damn close to this, and yet Blackfire thought it was the right call to keep me involved.

“Fucking hell,” I said as I disengaged myself from the shadows and headed back toward the safe house.

Everything was quiet as I moved down the alley and jumped over the back wall. I landed on my toes without making a sound, crouching down and scouting out the yard.

Everything looked fine. I moved across the backyard and stopped at the back door, reaching into my pocket for the keys.

As I grabbed the handle, the door pushed open. It gave to the slightest pressure.

Instantly I entered battle mode. My heartrate jumped but my breathing slowed, and I felt completely calm. My training took over and I began to asses the situation.

The back door was open. There was no way Tara had opened it, which meant someone had broken in. There was no sign that the door had been forced, and so I could reasonably conclude that whoever was inside was trained to open doors silently, even doors with a bunch of solid locks.

I slipped my knife from the sheath on my thigh and made sure that the silencer was on my pistol. Softly, I pushed open the door.

The kitchen was empty. Like a shadow, I drifted into the space, moving along the counters, stepping silently. I pressed up against the far wall and edged toward the doorway.

I looked into the living room and spotted him. One man stood near the front door, a submachine gun in his hands. I counted at least ten paces from here to there, and so I sheathed my knife and pulled out my gun.

It only took two shots, one to his skull and one to his chest. He toppled to the ground, blood pooling around his motionless body.