They were trained to follow orders. Now, the only rule is to survive.
Former-CIA operative and Delta Force veteran, Nick Colter, thought Raven’s Security would be the quiet after the storm—until a “simple” job becomes a surgical hit, and a fabricated burn notice turns him, and the team, into targets.
Sloane Hart doesn’t hesitate. The moment Nick’s emergency code hits, she walks off-grid and into the fight. A deep dive reveals the truth—the burn is a smokescreen for a kill order tied to a buried operation neither of them were meant to survive.
Hunted by ghosts with government-grade resources, Nick and Sloane have one chance—move faster, hit harder, and outthink an enemy who controls the narrative. With Bodie’s team at their backs, they’ll drag the truth into the light before the next strike erases them for good or die trying.
He’s the blunt force. She’s the precision. Together, they’re unstoppable—and exactly the kind of problem someone will kill to solve.
Prague, Czech Republic, two months ago…
Seven minutes until handoff…
The shot cut the night like a whip. Sharp. Finite. The supersonic round sparking off the HVAC stack as Nick Colter slammed into his partner, Sloane Hart, driving her clear. She stumbled against the bulkhead, another round jumping off the steel beside her cheek, as Nick shifted again, blocked any further sightline from the high rise across the river.
He searched the windows, caught a flash off the sniper’s optics before the third shot caught his left side — the hit to his ballistic vest hard enough to bruise his ribs. He rode the pain down to one knee, rifle still notched in his shoulder, scope tracking the sniper’s angle. He fired, hit the frame next to the asshole’s head, forced him to recoil into the shadows.
Sloane muttered something about him being too damn reckless — always taking the hit — before grabbing him by the collar, dragging his ass behind some cover. She shook her head, gave him a scathing side eye, then fired off a series of controlled bursts, kept the sniper nest quiet. “Bird’s ninety seconds out. Try not to die before it gets here.”
Nick pushed to his feet, pain burning up through his ribs as he moved in beside her, alternating trigger pulls. “Vest took the brunt of it.”
She paused for a moment. “Mine could have, too. And you might have gotten a quicker bead on the bastard if you hadn’t been pushing through the pain in order to fire.”
He snorted. Cold day in hell before he’d let her take a round he could intercept. Not just because they were partners — because he’d spent several years in Delta Force before moving over to the CIA’s Clandestine service — but because somewhere over the past several months, their missions had felt different. Heavier. As if he’d just realized he’d been carrying extra weight. Had more to lose, with her being at the top of his list.
Not that he’d acted on it. He’d dated operatives before, and those relationships had ended the way most of his missions did — bloody, with his ass in a sling. But he couldn’t deny that something had shifted between them. An urgency he wasn’t sure he could contain much longer.
A whimper sounded off to their right. Their asset, Julian Kessler, hunched inside a protected alcove, clutching the bag with the ledger files like a shield. Proof his company, Armatus Logistics, had washed embargoed weapon components into government-owned shell companies. The kind of intel that ended careers was often accompanied by wet squads and entire teams being systematically erased.
Not that the end result played into Nick’s objective. He kept Kessler breathing because it was his job — he kept Sloane breathing because the weight of his feelings had become too heavy to push aside.
A deep rumble thundered in the distance, the helicopter’s sleek silhouette misting out of the clouds. Sloane launched a grenade onto the tarred roof, red smoke coughing out a second later. It sheered sideways as the wind cut across the rooftop, carried it downwind.
The chopper came in hot, rotor wash whipping the smoke into a funnel, when tracer fire stitched across the fuselage, a spray of brass eating up the cowlings a heartbeat later. The pilot banked hard, dipped down behind the building, then backtracked, that constant beat slowly fading.
Sloane tapped her comms, cursed. “Bastards are bailing. Pilot won’t risk hovering long enough to get us up on the winch with all the gunfire. Like he didn’t know there’d be resistance when he agreed to take the op.” She changed her mag, patted down her vest. “Looks like we’re making an audible — Plan B.”
“The van? Really?”
“You got a better idea?”
He ran his fingers through his hair.
She smirked. “Thought not. Regardless, we need to move before that asshole’s reinforcements show up because we both know they will.”
“Fine. We’ll use the access door — see how many flights we get down before we’re dodging more bullets. We can reassess if we actually make it to the ground floor alive.”
Sloane stepped in close, looking as if she wanted to kiss him before tsking. “Wow, one hit to your vest and you’ve already lost faith.”
“One of us has to be a realist.”
“That’s definitely you because you are, without a doubt, a real pain in my ass.” She scanned the surrounding buildings, focusing on the nest. “Try not to get hit again before we’re in the thick of it. That vest can only take so much, and I’m not carrying your ass.”
Nick motioned her on, ribs burning, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as a familiar pressure built between his shoulder blades. Something seemed off, and he had a bad feeling it wasn’t simply paranoia this time.
They cleared the area, darted behind a few more units before popping out next to Kessler. Ashen skin, eyes like white saucers, the man looked as if he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
Nick nudged his foot. “You good?”
Kessler wheezed out his next breath, sweat dampening his skin, hair more than a bit wild, as if he’d been threading his fingers through it for the past hour. “They shot you.”
Nick tapped his chest. “That’s why we’re all wearing vests.”
Kessler clutched the bag tighter. “This is crazy. I never should have agreed to the deal. I—”
“Would still have bastards hunting you. The only difference is that at least now, you’ve got a chance at walking away still breathing.” He sighed. “Just keep it together, though, there’s been a change of plans. We’re heading back inside—”
“Inside?” Kessler’s voice cracked on the single word. “But you said it was too dangerous. That you couldn’t cover every angle.”
“That was before we lost our chopper. Had a sniper covering the other options. Just remember the rules. Stick to us like glue and don’t lose that bag.”
He turned, cut off any further discussion with a shove that got Kessler stumbling across the rooftop. They moved in beside Sloane as she yanked on the door.
Sloane kicked at the frame. “Damn thing’s been magnetically sealed. Keypad’s red, and they took out the network connection. But the power’s still live. I need thirty seconds to bypass it at the source. Though, once I open it, the damn thing will be locked that way. Probably won’t even close.”
“Sloane, it’s too…”
His voice faded into another curse as she darted over to the electrical panel, pried it open. No cover, no way to guard her own six, just her trapped in the kill box as she connected her tablet, started tapping on the screen.
Nick moved out, gaze scouring every recess, every angle, that pressure between his shoulder blades nearly crushing him. While he realized this was their only option, standing there, watching her bear most of the risk, undid him. Had his chest squeezing tight, his lungs refusing to work.
He edged closer. “Sloane…”
“Almost there. Just ten more seconds.”
Movement.
Three balconies over. Two men peeling out of the shadows, rifles already notched at their shoulders. Not aimed directly at Sloane, her silhouette partially hidden behind the wall, but close enough.
Nick darted forward, took another hit as he drew their attention, forced them to focus on him before he returned fire, dropped them both a heartbeat later.
He stumbled back, pain cutting like a knife, as Sloane tapped the screen, popped the seal on the door.
She shouldered in beside him. “You shouldn’t have done that. They didn’t have a direct bead on me.”
He breathed through the stabbing ache, motioning her back to the door. “Couldn’t risk it. I can’t bypass shit, so… kinda need you alive to get us down.”
“Still…” She looked at the mushroomed slug in his vest, eyes narrowed, mouth pinched tight, then showed the countdown on her hand. The door swung open, locking into place, a punch of boiled cabbage and damp concrete hitting them as they barreled in, swept the landing.
Nick nudged Sloane’s arm. “I’ll take point.”
Sloane huffed. “You’ve already taken two in the vest.”
“Please, I finish half my missions with actual gunshot wounds.”
“Not exactly the benchmark we should be aiming at.”
“I…”
A glint.
One balcony over from the previous nest. Where Nick knew the bastard had shifted in order to get a better sightline — follow them into the stairwell. He moved before he could voice the threat, pushing Kessler into the shadows as he stepped in front of Sloane — shoved her aside.
The crack sounded as he shifted into place, everything exploding into white-hot pain as the slug punched through his shoulder, caught him just outside the fabric. He tumbled backwards, hit the far wall before sliding to the floor, rifle lifting as he focused on that spot, unleashed a few rounds out of sheer muscle memory.
Sloane crowded him a second later, chest heaving, fingers already working the ties on his vest as she shook her head. “Jesus, Nick.”
He brushed off her hands. “Sniper—”
“He took one in the shoulder, too. Took off. Christ, even half-dead you’re a damn lethal shot.” She grabbed a few supplies out of her thigh pouch. “Here, sniff this.”
He arched a brow. “Ketamine? You that worried already?”
“Do you want to move or not? Though, based on the injury, I doubt this low of a dose will numb the pain for long.” She packed the wounds, bound them. “That should at least slow the bleeding. Even a jackass your size will run out eventually.”
He smiled at her version of an endearment, everything blurring into gray before he snapped back, forced his legs underneath him. The ketamine dulled the blazing fire into a smolder as Sloane bridged his weight, helped him balance until he managed a few breaths without blacking out and falling down the stairs.
He braced his good hand on the rail, took a step, when a concussive charge rocked the lower level, smoke quickly funneling up the stairwell. Shouts echoed through the air, multiple footsteps pounding up the steps.
Some of that pain returned, blood warm and sticky against his skin. “Shit. They blew the blast door.”
Sloane huffed, grabbed his arm, angling him back toward the roof. “Not a chance in hell we’re going head-to-head against an army. There’s a window washing rig on the north side. Now that the sniper’s down…”
“You said I only caught him in the shoulder. That’s not down.”
“I doubt he’s as stubborn as you, because a lesser man would still be on his ass at the top of the stairs.”
Nick tripped along beside her, doing his best to carry most of his weight. “If there’re more…”
“Then, I’ll deal with them. But we can’t afford a direct confrontation, and you know it.”
They hit the doorway, Sloane still shouldering half his weight, her carbine sweeping the area as she helped him across to the far side, glanced over the edge.
“It’s a floor down. We’ll have to drop onto it.” She waved Kessler over. “You first.”
He shook his head, tried to back away, but she simply grabbed his arm, manhandled him to the edge. He whined about missing the rig, dying, as Sloane eased him down, holding his weight before letting him fall. The unit rocked, ropes creaking from the sudden strain, but it held, swinging in the breeze as Kessler cowered near the end.
Sloane motioned to Nick. “You’re next, sunshine.”
He shook his head. “You go. In case I need you to stop me from continuing down.”
She eyed him, cursed. “I knew you were hurt worse than you were letting on. Fine, just, don’t screw me over by staying on the roof.”
“Do you seriously think I’d leave you alone to face this?”
“No. But you’d definitely stay up here if you thought it was the only way to keep everyone else alive.”
He waved her on, watching as she dropped gracefully to the narrow ledge, barely making the rig shake. He waited until she’d shifted to the right, then climbed over the edge, holding on with his good arm before letting go — crashing onto the surface below.
He hit hard, breath wheezing out, everything burning bright as the scenery swam, the distant lights blurring into a yellow smear.
Sloane didn’t waste any time coddling him, just grabbed the line, got the whole rig screaming down. Shouts rose above them, the wind swinging the scaffolding sideways as they hit the halfway point, kept going.
Nick stared at the roofline, rifle at the ready, stomach roiling from the motion. Kessler squatted beside him, fingers white knuckled around the metal rails, chanting something under his breath.
The ropes creaked as the rig shuddered to a halt, one side slightly lower. Sloane crouched beside him, gaze scanning the area before centering on him.
She sighed. “This is as far as the rig goes. We’ll have to rope down the last two flights.”
Nick chuckled. “Of course, we do… shit, get down.”
He rolled to get a clear sightline as heads popped out along the roofline, their silhouettes black against the indigo sky. He didn’t wait, just ran through a full magazine as he sprayed the ledge, kept the men back while Sloane readied a line.
Nick stumbled to his feet, changed the magazine, then unleashed a few more trigger pulls before leaning in close to Sloane. “You both go together. I’ll be right behind you.”
Sloane scoffed. “How the hell are you gonna rope down with only one good arm?”
“I’ll be fine, but we can’t leave Kessler alone, and as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t hold him and the rope.”
She huffed, fired off a few rounds when more heads appeared above them before grunting. “I swear to god, Nick, if you get yourself killed, I’ll climb back up and kill you all over again.”
He smiled. “Deal.”
Sloane grumbled under her breath, readied the rope, then swung over the rail, Kessler holding onto her with a death grip. She coughed, repositioned one arm, then started down, slipping the last several feet. She shifted over, covered the roofline while Nick retrieved the rope, wrapped one arm around it.
Easing off the edge without crashing all the way to the alleyway damn near killed him, until his strength waned and he hit the cobblestone with a resounding thud. Pain flared through his chest, more blood washing down his back.
Bullets sprayed the rig above them, sparks scything across the metal as a few ricochets bounced off the surrounding brickwork. Sloane snagged his vest, heaved him onto his feet, pushing him to get him moving. He stumbled along the alley, clipping two tangos when they stepped around the corner, weapons at a low ready.
His team reached the exfil van amidst a volley of gunfire, more men breaching the alley behind them. Sloane tossed Kessler in the back, then all but shoved Nick’s ass into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel and peeling out.
The tires chirped on the pavement, a few puffs of smoke coughing out as she hit the gas, swerved onto the street, then gunned it. The scenery passed in a hazy blur, a black SUV pulling in behind them, a series of dull thumps hitting the ass end of the vehicle. Nick roused enough to lean out the window, plant a couple rounds in the trailing SUV’s radiator before Sloane slewed across two lanes, headed for the airport.
Voices sounded in the distance, shapes moving in and out of his field of view before he blinked, coming to in the back of a large plane. Sloane hovered above him, handing supplies to some guy in a jumpsuit.
The man shook his head, tapped a syringe, then slid it into an IV port Nick hadn’t realized had been hooked up to his arm. “I gotta ask, Colter. Is there any mission where you don’t end up bleeding?”
Nick grunted, eyes rolling a bit at the renewed pain. “You can’t be effective if you’re afraid of dying.”
“You’re just lucky that whoever shot you, didn’t catch you two inches to the right. Or that Hart didn’t take the scenic route. Either one, and you would have been beyond saving.”
Nick smiled, coughed, gaze sliding to Sloane. “She already thinks that.”
The medic grinned. “Maybe you should take that to heart. Reassess.”
Nick merely nodded, grabbing Sloane’s hand before she could slink away. “Kessler?”
She sighed. “On board. He’ll be debriefed once we’re back in Virginia.”
“Hooyah.”
She laughed. “You know you’re the only one who says that military crap, right?”
He held firm when she looked as if she wanted to pull away. “Thanks for dragging my ass in from the van.”
Her chin quivered. Not much, but he’d spent his life noticing minute details, and he knew her better than anyone. “You know I hate owing you. Figured it evened the score a bit.”
“Still…”
She squeezed his hand, shifted, then leaned in close. “Rest. We’ll… talk once you’re stronger.”
He frowned. “That sounds… serious.”
“That’s because it is. You… Me… This…” She blew out a harsh breath. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
* * *
Nick stared up at his apartment building, the late evening rain ticking off Sloane’s windshield. They’d made it back in decent time, spent a few hours debriefing before he’d been ordered home on medical leave pending approval for him to return to duty.
Sloane hadn’t said a word since they’d left Langley, her wipers tapping out a beat as she drove him across town, parked in front of his place. The chassis rocked as she stepped out, slammed the door, then made her way around to his side. He managed to stumble out of the vehicle without falling, hating the fact he needed her help to walk to the entrance, then up the three flights to his suite.
The door creaked open, his footsteps heavy as she angled him toward the sofa, all but dropping him onto the cushions. She detoured to his kitchen, grabbed him some water and a bag of nacho chips before standing in front of him, staring at him as if he’d grown another head.
Nick sighed, tossed his cell on the coffee table as he gathered his courage. “Whatever’s on your mind, Sloane, just spit it out. We both know small talk’s not your thing.”
She tapped her foot against the floor, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “You realize bullets aren’t contractual obligations, right?”
“You say that like I get shot on every mission.”
“Not every mission. Just the ones where there’re men with guns.”
“I can’t do my job if I’m not willing to make the tough calls.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing? Making the tough calls? Because it looks more like you have a death wish, to me.”
“Keeping you from getting shot isn’t a death wish.”
“I’m not talking about you saving my life. I’m talking about all the other times you take a round because it seems like a good idea.” She huffed, the rough breath feathering the wispy auburn hairs around her face. “This job’s a meat grinder, and you keep tossing yourself into the blades without a second’s pause. But sooner or later, you’re gonna be on the wrong side of a few inches.”
She shuffled forward — the armor she kept around her like a shield cracking slightly. “That Ranger buddy out in Oregon — the one who keeps trying to recruit you. Bodie. Maybe hear him out.”
Nick straightened, biting back a curse as pain throbbed through his shoulder. “You trying to get rid of me?”
“I can’t keep doing this, Nick. Can’t be the one out there with you when your luck finally runs out. Be the reason…”
She took a few steps back, voice thick, eyes glassy. He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the irate huff she tossed at him as he tripped his way over to her, cornered her against the door.
She bit her lip, looking angry and sad and so damn beautiful it made his chest hurt. “Nick…”
“Back in the plane, you said we needed to talk.” He braced his left forearm against the wall. “Is that what you wanted to say? That you’re bailing on me?”
Her lips pursed, hints of red blooming on her cheeks. “I’m not bailing. I’m making a strategic retreat before I have to bring you back in a body bag.”
“Still breathing.”
“But for how long?”
He scowled. “This is who I am. Who I’ve always been.”
“No, it’s who you became after that mission nearly killed you five years ago.” She brushed her thumb along his jaw. “And thinking you’ve got this under control is an illusion that’s gonna drive you into an early grave.”
Nick grunted, staggered halfway back to the couch. “I’m not sure what you want from me. I thought…” He coughed around the lump in his throat before pushing through. “I thought things had shifted between us. Or was that just an illusion, too?”
Sloane inhaled, a few tears slipping down her face before she swiped at them. “Why do you think I’m so upset? Things have changed, but…”
“But what, exactly?”
She pushed off the wall, took a step closer. “I need the version of you who takes a bullet to protect the people you lov—” She cut off for a moment. Breathed. “Not the man who jumps in front because he’s trying to fill a void. Because he’s so damn empty inside, he’s looking for a way out.”
“I didn’t shove you out of the way for the greater good, sweetheart.”
Her left eye twitched at the endearment, a few more tears breaking free. One of the few times he’d ever seen her cry. “I know. But what about the next mission? And the one after that?”
“I’m not the only one who puts their life on the line. Who could have been killed.”
“I’m not saying…” Her head bowed forward, shoulders drooping. “Deputy Director Hill asked me to be part of a DIA joint task force for the next couple months, effective immediately. It’s mostly cyber work but…” She sighed, the sound heavy. Final. “I could use a break from the field if I’m being honest.”
His stomach dropped, all the warmth he’d been feeling since admitting he was falling for her turning to ice. “Guess that answers all my questions.”
“Nick, I…” She swallowed, coughed, then opened the door, stopping on the threshold as she glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Just think about what I said before there really isn’t anything left of you to save.”
He waited until the door had nearly closed before muttering the truth he’d been hiding since Bodie had first asked him to join Raven’s Security. “If I go to Oregon, I’ll be three thousand miles away. I don’t see how that solves anything.”
She inched the door back open, leaned against it. “Or maybe, it’s the first step in saving us both.” She nodded at him. “Don’t forget to take those antibiotics.”
Nick collapsed on the couch, their argument playing over in his head. The look in her eyes, the desperate tone in her voice — the unforgiving truth he’d been trying not to face. He mulled it over, wondering if he’d lost or won, when his cell rang, Bodie’s name flashing on the screen like a beacon. And for the first time since his buddy had offered him a job, he saw it for what it was — a lifeline. One he wasn’t sure he could pass up anymore.
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