POV: Hunter
The shower water ran cold. Hunter stood under the spray, letting the icy needles hammer his back, shocking his system awake. Sterling Shield. PMC. Corporate hit. This is bigger than Morgan's gambling debts. Much bigger.
His mind raced, making connections. If Sterling Shield was involved, then Morgan's debt was just the lever used to get to Tessa. To get to him. But why? His last mission had been over a year ago. He was retired, a nobody.
Unless… unless it was about his past. About something he'd seen or done. Or about someone he knew.
Alex.
His best friend, Alex, who had died in a supposed training accident overseas just before Hunter retired. Alex had been nervous before he died. He'd said he was looking into some "shady contracting stuff" on the side. Hunter had told him to drop it.
Oh, god. Alex.
A new, more terrible theory took shape. What if Alex's death wasn't an accident? What if he'd stumbled onto something involving Sterling Shield? And what if they thought Alex had told Hunter? Or that Hunter would come looking for answers?
The hit on his house wasn't about money. It was about silencing a potential threat. Permanently.
The water turned fully cold. He got out, toweling off roughly. He had to keep playing his part. For now.
He crept back into the bedroom. Tessa was still asleep. The digital clock glowed 4:17 AM. He had less than two hours until the meet with Riley.
He lay down on top of his bed, fully dressed, and closed his eyes. He didn't sleep. He planned.
At 5:30 AM, he "woke up" with a groan, making enough noise to rouse Tessa. She blinked awake, disoriented, then the memory flooded back and her face crumpled.
"Hey," he said softly, sitting on the edge of her bed. "It's okay. We're safe."
"I want to go home," she whispered.
"We can't yet. Soon." He took her hand. It felt small and cold. "Tess, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be totally honest with me."
She looked up, wary. "Okay."
"Your mom's debts. How bad are they? Really."
She looked away, guilt flashing across her face. "Bad. Really bad. She… she got in deep with some people. Not a bank. Private lenders."
"How much?"
Tessa swallowed. "Almost two hundred thousand."
Hunter absorbed the number. It was a killing debt. The kind that made people do desperate things. "And you've been sending her money from our account." He said it as a statement, not a question.
She flinched, then nodded, tears welling again. "I'm so sorry. I was so scared for her. She said they'd hurt her. I thought if I could just help her make the payments…"
"Who are 'they,' Tessa? Did she give you a name?"
She shook her head. "No. Just that they were dangerous. She was terrified." She grabbed his hand. "You don't think… you don't think they had anything to do with last night?"
Yes. I do. "I don't know," he said, his voice gentle. The performance was agony. "But the police might. They asked about her. They found a phone on one of the men. With a text from someone called 'M.'" He watched her closely.
Her reaction wasn't guilt. It was dawning, horrific comprehension. Her face went paper-white. "M… Mom? No. No, she wouldn't… She couldn't…" But the doubt was there. She knew her mother's desperation.
"We don't know anything for sure," Hunter said, pulling her into a hug. She trembled against him. He felt like the worst kind of liar. He was using her fear, her love for her mother, to extract information while hiding his own. I'm becoming what I fought against.
"I need to go out for a bit," he said, pulling back. "Get some air. Maybe see if the sheriff is at the diner for an update. You stay here, lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me."
"Don't leave me," she pleaded.
"I'll be back in an hour. I promise." He kissed her forehead. It tasted like ashes.
He left the motel room, the door locking with a solid click behind him. The pre-dawn air was cold and clean. He scanned the parking lot. No one. He got in his car and drove toward Main Street, his eyes constantly checking the mirrors.
The diner was an old railroad car, glowing like a beacon in the gray morning. Only a few trucks were in the lot. He parked around back, out of sight from the road.
He took a deep breath. He was walking into a meeting with an unknown asset. Rules of engagement: verify, observe, trust nothing.
He walked in. The bell jingled. The smell of coffee and grease filled the air. An old couple sat in a booth. A truck driver at the counter.
And in the very last booth, facing the door, sat Riley Kane.
She wore jeans and a simple black t-shirt now. She looked alert, cradling a mug of coffee. She saw him and gave a slight tilt of her head.
He slid into the booth across from her. A cup of black coffee was already waiting for him.
"You're punctual," she said.
"You're cryptic," he replied. "Sterling Shield. Talk."
She took a sip, her eyes never leaving his. "Private military contractor. They provide 'security' for corporations in unstable regions. Also provide 'cleaners' for problems back home. They're connected, well-funded, and have lawyers that make prosecutors vanish. The man whose pocket held the map? His fingerprints are in the database. He did two tours with Sterling in Iraq before they hired him full-time for 'domestic security.'"
"Why would they come for me? I'm retired. I'm nobody."
"Are you?" she asked, her gaze piercing. "Your friend. Alex Rainer. How did he die?"
The direct hit stunned him. His guard slipped for a second. "Training accident. In Kuwait."
"That's the official report," Riley nodded. "The report filed by the Sterling Shield liaison on site, who oversaw the 'training exercise.' Alex was poking into Sterling's books. He thought they were double-billing the government and running illegal weapon shipments. He told you, didn't he?"
Hunter's blood ran cold. "He mentioned he was looking into something. I told him to leave it alone."
"He didn't. And he died. And now, a year later, someone sends a Sterling Shield wet-work team to your house. They're tying up loose ends. And they used your mother-in-law's debt to get a blueprint of your life." She leaned forward. "They own your mother-in-law, Hunter. And they used your wife to get to you."
The whole, ugly picture was now clear. It wasn't just betrayal; it was a trap constructed from his family's weakness.
"What's your stake in this?" he asked, his voice hard.
Her expression finally changed. A flash of raw pain. "My little brother was a whistleblower. Not military, but a logistics contractor for a company like Sterling. He found evidence of fraud. He was going to the press. He died in a one-car accident the night before. The police called it speeding. I called it murder. The company had ties to Sterling Shield. I left Intel because no one would listen to me. Now I listen for myself."
She was offering him a shared motive. Revenge.
"The police won't touch Sterling," she said. "They're too powerful, too connected. If you want justice for Alex, for your family, you have to go around them."
Hunter stared into his coffee. He was at a cliff's edge. He could walk away, trust the system, live in witness protection looking over his shoulder forever. Or he could step into the darkness with this stranger.
He looked up at her. "What's the first move?"
Hunter aligns with Riley, accepting that to achieve justice, he must operate outside the law, fully committing to a dangerous path.