The view of Berlin’s inner city locality of Moabit was breathtaking, and the moderate fifty-eight degree October weather tugged at him, but he refrained from opening the patio door. Caution had kept him alive this far, and he wasn’t going to break pattern now. With his fair hair, forged papers, and German ancestry, he fit into the area, but he would lay low for a few days. He needed to let the dust settle before surfacing.
It had taken ten months to find and get close to Viktor Lakhonin, but his experience and patience had finally paid off.
Of course, he hadn’t always been this patient. In the beginning, it had been hard as fuck with every thought leading back to Mac.
Eventually, he’d used the pain of Mac leaving to drive toward a new future. Back then, he’d looked for anything to take his mind off Mac. He joined a martial arts studio and had taken more language classes at the local college.
Just after his twenty-first birthday, he had reached out to several law enforcement agencies. Each one had returned a denial letter. To say that he had been surprised and disappointed would be an understatement. It was shortly after that, he was approached by a man, Stefano Esposito, who ran an elite team fighting the war against crime. They were a top secret official government team, experts in cleaning up and handling domestic and international messes when law enforcement had their hands tied. In fact, they were so elite and secretive, only a handful of government officials knew of their existence. It sounded intriguing and saying yes had been the easy part, telling the woman who had become a mother to him had been harder, much harder.
“That’s so far away.” US Marshal Clair Holt’s worried gaze met his. Clair had been concerned about him since Mac had placed him in her care and severed all contact. She hadn’t said a word, but she knew he had been in love with the man. Clair fussed because she knew how much it had hurt Noah to let go of loving Mac.
“I know, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” he said, and reached across the kitchen table to cover her folded hands. It could be years before he came back to the States. He’d told her he’d be working at an embassy in a foreign country. He didn’t explain the real thing to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but he had yet to find out exactly what he’d be doing.
He swallowed hard. “Will you take care of Havoc for me?” Leaving his dog had been a hard thing to do, but he couldn’t take him along. Noah had checked and received a negative. He didn’t feel too terrible because Havoc loved Clair and vice versa.
“Of course, I’ll be happy to. He’ll keep me company.” She smiled through her tears.
“Thank you.” Noah’s heart hurt, and he gently squeezed her hand.
“Oh Noah, I wish… I wish things had turned out differently.” Clair drew a deep breath.
“Me too,” he said, knowing that this had changed him. He knew that Mac had his reasons, but he also knew he would never again risk his heart. Standing, Noah skirted the table to pull Clair up from the chair and into his arms.
“Be safe,” she whispered, holding him tightly.
“I’ll try,” Noah promised, squeezing her tight.
After that day, things just sort of snowballed. While he felt saddened to leave Clair and Havoc, the team’s offer was easy to accept. Come work for them, forget about his past, fight the bad guys, and don’t ever again worry about witness protection. Most importantly was the opportunity to stop wondering if Mac would ever come back for him.
From that day forward, he learned everything he needed to succeed. He was sent to the CIA training facility called The Farm. Not as an agent, but rather, posing as one. He learned the basics there before being shipped overseas for an extensive infield military and weapons training that was so extensive, it was all he could do to eat and sleep when they took breaks. His body had felt pain like never before but eventually, he welcomed it and grew stronger from it. They taught him hand to hand combat and espionage. He became invisible standing in plain sight and learned how to kill a man with one blow.
It was during the first year working with the team known only as Phoenix that he came into his own. Shrewd and astute, he became personable to get what he wanted, and as he matured, he gained confidence in his abilities and judgment. He became an expert in his field, better than most, but never bragged. His superiors tested him, and he successfully completed each test with authority and a rate of speed they had not often seen.
By the age of twenty-two, he took his place permanently within Phoenix and never looked back. The more assignments they gave him, the more lethal he became. Through the years, he completed missions with cold precision, got in and got out, and earned himself a reputation.
Much to the annoyance of his commander, he’d go off the grid for weeks, only reporting in when needed, earning him the label of Ghost. Being part of a team didn’t come easy, but he’d adjusted over time and eventually acclimated. So much so, when the team needed a difficult job done, they began to request his presence, and if he wasn’t available, they waited.
The pretzel bag crinkled in his hand, and he gazed at it blankly. It had killed him when Mac had sent him away. And working as a Phoenix all this time had eventually deadened the pain.
He turned away from the view. He hadn’t thought about Mac in a long time. Dropping onto the couch, he dipped a pretzel into the jar of peanut butter and lifted his feet to rest them on the coffee table.
The past was in the past, and that was where it needed to stay.
Mac
The front porch stood the same as always, but it felt empty. He’d been here before, in this same spot, watching a young, blond boy struggle to become a man. The times he spent here with the boy were some of the best in his life.
He frowned and whirled around, searching, but the boy’s form was fading in a swirling mist. Each dead end after dead end, searching for monsters, had failed. He had failed. Hands reached and snatched at the boy, and his heart lurched.
The sinister faces swam through the fog, elongated teeth and blood red eyes gleamed and talons sank into the boy’s skin. Mac cradled the bleeding boy in his arms. There was nobody good enough to protect him, not like he could.
He reached for his gun, but his hands came away empty.
“Mac!” the boy screamed.
Mac looked down; his arms were empty.
“Wait! Mac, don’t leave me,” the boy begged.
Mac jerked upright. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he brought the sheet up to wipe it away. His breathing sounded harsh in the quiet of his bedroom. Fear paralyzed him the last few seconds before he’d realized it was only a dream. He fisted the sheet, swallowing thickly. Hanging his head down, he rested his forearms on his legs and studied the floor. Time hadn’t stopped the nightmares. If anything, they grew more sinister as the years went by. And he knew why.
He’d walked away, leaving a piece of himself behind.
The traffic on the Guadalupe Freeway sucked as usual, and more than one asshole had almost caused an accident. Mac took the Curtner Avenue exit and turned into the cemetery entrance. The large, rounded archway boasted Home of Peace, and Mac certainly hoped it was.
Drawing the edges of his suit jacket closed against the cold San Jose wind, he fought against the wind’s persistence at pulling the jacket apart. Walking through fields of statues and concrete monuments, he dropped down on the grass, uncaring of his pants. Sitting near one pale gray piece of granite, he gently placed a small bunch of wild flowers at its base.
“Hey, sis. Sorry, it’s been awhile.” He pulled at a few strands of grass and twisted them between his fingers.
It took him a moment to get the words out, but eventually, he started to talk about his life and some of the funny stories at the US Marshals office.
“Oh, and Kane and Becca finally got married. I swear he should have popped the question years ago.” Smiling, his eyes stung as he traced his sister’s name. “Don’t worry, I gave him shit about it.” The headstone felt cold to the touch. His big sister had been an extraordinary h
uman being. It was Lisa’s bravery that had given Mac the courage to come out to his parents. He adjusted the flowers. Courage or not, he’d been kicked out the same as her. Lisa had ended up on the streets and paid the ultimate price when their parents tossed her out like forgotten trash. She’d died out there. Mac had been luckier. He’d ended up in California on his aunt’s doorstep. Mac had wondered why Lisa hadn’t done the same.
“I still feel guilty, sis. I can’t help it, and I know you’d tell me to save it.” Mac gave a harsh laugh. Her death remained a black hole in his heart. Lisa would have told him to get on with his life and stop wallowing in her death. His big sister had been a ball buster.
His cell phone buzzed and he glanced at it. Ben’s name flashed across the screen, another thing he had to deal with. He just couldn’t handle Ben, not now. His ex hadn’t gotten sober. Instead, Ben had continued to drink and had moved in with US Marshal Leroy Conrad from Mac’s office. But Ben continued to call him whenever he was drunk. Often, when his boyfriend was being a dick, Ben came to the beach house or called, trying to gain Mac’s sympathy. Mac had changed through the years, and instead of enabling Ben, he would send the guy packing when he showed up. Usually, he was able to avoid Ben, like he was doing, and let the call go to voicemail.
Ben reminded him of his defect. With a finger, Mac traced the edges of the slightly puckered scar on his face, a visible reminder of his inadequacy. Ben had continually tried to get him to see a plastic surgeon, but Mac had refused. Ben had been furious. On the other hand, Noah hadn’t seemed to mind the scar. Noah. Everything always came back to Noah, even after all these years. With a frustrated sigh, Mac turned and placed a hand on top of the gravestone. “Love you, sis.”
A car door slammed in the far distance and Mac glanced over with a sense of déjà vu. Squinting, he tried to make out the features of the man in the distance.
Mac’s heart jumped at the sight of a shock of blond hair blowing in the wind. He stood, hardly daring to breathe. How had Noah even known he was here?
Sweet hell, he never in a million years thought he’d ever see the gorgeous man again. So many questions suddenly sprang up. What did he do now? What should he say? He should keep it casual, right? Right. Rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans, Mac swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. His gaze stayed riveted on the man who then turned and opened the passenger car door.
A young woman grasped the man’s extended hand and exited the car. Disappointment surged in Mac, and his breathing became as harsh as if he’d been running. Staring blankly after the couple, he watched them walk arm in arm toward a grave at the far end of the cemetery.
Why the hell he thought Noah would come to the cemetery of all things, on this day of all days, had Mac chastising himself. “Idiot,” he whispered in a hard breath.
Noah was safely tucked away in WITSEC, in a place Manning and Stevenson would never find.
A lump grew in his throat, and he struggled to hold back the harsh sob that threatened to tear him apart. Nothing had gone as planned back then. Terrance Manning had connections that blew Mac’s mind and the man had come after them with everything in his power. They’d escaped, but it had cost Jake a bullet wound to the chest and Jenny Myers her life.
Noah
Three days later, he sat in a small, quiet Italian bistro, just off of the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II street in the city of Milan, Italy. Leaving his cell phone tucked away inside his pants, he pushed the cuff of his dress shirt away from the gold face of his watch and checked the time before lifting a menu.
“You need a shave, cheri!” Allison Dupont said teasingly before dropping elegantly into the chair across from him. The graceful French national was also an American citizen. She looked like a college student bumming around Italy for the summer with her long, black hair, white tunic top, ripped blue jeans, and black chunky boots, all accompanied by a leather jacket.
Allison didn’t look like a covert operative, but Noah had seen her kill a man with her bare hands. She’d growled while doing it and had earned the nickname of Bear within the team. Noah knew she took shit from no one, because he’d trained with her. They’d spent the better part of a year attending training together. And by the time it was over, they had become friends. If there were a BFF in Noah’s life, he’d have to say it was Allison.
Noah pulled his fingers through his beard and smoothed it out. “November’s next month. It’s men’s health awareness month back in the States,” he smirked.
“Oui, but I believe it’s grow a mustache, not a full-on beard,” she teased, rolling her eyes and ordering a coffee from the waiter.
Noah ordered coffee and a breakfast sandwich from the hovering man. The table he’d selected sat in a small corner, allowing him to see every inch of the place. Even better was the fact that it had several accessible exits.
“Besides,” Allison continued after the waiter left, “how do you know what goes on in the States? You haven’t been back there in what, two years?” Her hands waved about.
“National men’s awareness month doesn’t change,” Noah pointed out, quirking a brow. And she was right. He hadn’t been back to America in a couple of years. Staying away had been easy. When their commander offered him a pick of assignments, he always chose foreign countries. He’d only gone back once two years ago to help out a friend and to see Clair. But memories of Mac had screwed with his head, and he’d stayed away ever since. Thankfully, the team had understood. And there was so much shit needing to be handled in foreign affairs, the team could spend a lifetime over here and never run out of bad shit to take care of.
Allison snorted delicately and snatched up the coffee the waiter brought. The man lingered, placing Noah’s plate on the table.
Allison watched him over the rim of her coffee, and the waiter walked away.
He frowned, lifting his own cup to take a sip. “What?”
“You, mon ami, are oblivious.” She tossed her sleek hair over one shoulder.
“About?” Noah casually scanned the room. He didn’t miss much, if anything, so she had him curious.
“Oh, you’re so clueless,” she said, exasperated.
“Hey!” Noah scowled when she stole a bite of his sandwich. He took it back when she placed it down, minus a large bite.
“That waiter was making love to you with his eyes, mon cheri!”
Noah looked after the disappearing man. “He’ll get over it,” he said, shrugging.
“I swear, Noah, you’ll never get a lover.”
“Who says I don’t already have one?” he asked, affronted.
“Mon dieu! Do tell?” She leaned forward, suddenly eager.
“Stick to the facts,” Noah said around a bite of food and smirked when Allison pouted. “You were doing me a favor, remember?”
Her voice dropped and she leaned forward. “There’s something fishy happening at the Marshals office.”
“What kind of something fishy?” Noah swallowed the piece of bread stuck in his throat and took a hasty swallow of his coffee.
“The kind that gets people dead.”
“Elaborate,” Noah ordered, finishing his sandwich in three bites.
“Ew, gross,” Allison complained, watching him devour the food. “Anyway, someone has loose lips and an even looser watch on classified information.”
“The fuck you say.” Noah frowned, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Oui, looks like your man Ricky Stevenson found someone on the inside to give him the goods on one Noah Brown aka Noah Bradford. I saw this with my own eyes yesterday.”
Noah sat stunned. A year ago, and with Allison’s help, they discovered Ricky Stevenson living under a different name. Noah had sworn Allison to secrecy and together they began searching.
He didn’t know how Allison had done it, but she’d found one of the men that had eluded him, the FBI, and the US Marshals for years.
Several times over the past year, he’d been on the verge of calling Mac, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d kep
t the knowledge of Stevenson’s alias to himself and would use the information to hunt down his mother’s killers.
Who could blame him? Not that he gave two shits about being blamed. Through the years, he’d been accused of way worse things than withholding information. Besides, Mac had been the one to cut all ties. Noah was only doing what the man had wanted. Now, it seemed the Marshals office had a leak.
Irritated at his trip down memory lane, Noah glanced over at Allison. She sat there with her mouth hanging open, watching him.
“What?” He blinked.
“Where did you just go?” She eyed him curiously.
“You don’t even want to know,” Noah said, shaking his head.
“Whatever.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“I need to get back to the States.” Noah bent and kissed her cheek.
Allison sighed. “Want me to call the team?”
He thought about it for a minute. “No, I told you this is personal.”
“That was before, what about now?”
“No, I’ll handle this.”
She hesitated and pressed her lips together. “Be safe. I have a party at home this month, so I’ll be around,” she informed him. Party was code name for assignment, and home meant on US soil.
“I’ll call you when I can,” he said. “I may need you to join my party if shit goes south.” He wouldn’t commit to coming home.
“Be careful, Ghost,” she replied.
Noah nodded and left her then, hurrying through the back door of the bistro, heading down a walkway filled with vendors before disappearing into the busy weekday crowd.
Mac
On impulse and before he left San Jose, he found himself driving down an old familiar street and knocking on an equally familiar door.
“Robert!” Leslie Tanner, or rather Auntie, as Mac called her, cried in surprise when she opened the door.
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