THE WOMAN HE HIRED

10

They moved fast.

The rental was quiet, anonymous in the way Hall loved—ordinary enough to disappear into, familiar enough to be dangerous now. Ramsi unlocked the door, already mentally inventorying what stayed and what burned.

“Ten minutes,” Tate said, stepping just inside but keeping one eye on the street. “Then we’re ghosts again.”

Sage was already heading for the bedroom. “I knew it. I knew we wouldn’t get to sleep here again.”

Ramsi dropped her duffel on the couch and started packing with efficient precision—weapons, gear, burner tech, documents—nothing sentimental. Nothing that lingered.

Sage emerged with an armful of clothes and tossed them into a bag. “Okay, I’m putting in my formal request now.”

Ramsi didn’t look up. “Denied.”

“I haven’t even said it yet!”

Tate leaned against the counter, watching them with mild amusement. Dominic and Enzo stood near the doorway—Dominic scanning the street through the window’s reflection, Enzo checking angles, already coordinating with his people.

Sage pointed a finger dramatically. “New place. I would prefer somewhere Ramsi can’t hack the TV. I want to watch my killer documentaries in peace.”

Dominic’s mouth twitched faintly.

Ramsi paused mid-pack, then sighed. “That was one time.”

“One time?” Sage scoffed. “You hijacked the TV, rerouted the Wi-Fi, and replaced my documentary with a loop of grainy surveillance footage.”

“For training purposes,” Ramsi said calmly.

Tate looked at her, brow raised. “You hack the TV?”

Ramsi didn’t even try to deny it. “She did stupid stuff as soon as I wake up. Especially before coffee.”

There was a beat.

Then Tate laughed, sharp and genuine. “Oh, that one’s on you, Sage.”

Sage groaned. “Unbelievable. Betrayed on every front.”

Enzo glanced at Dominic. “I’ll make sure the new place has a dumb TV.”

Dominic nodded. “Analog, if possible.”

Sage brightened instantly. “See? They get me.”

Ramsi zipped her bag and slung it over her shoulder, eyes flicking briefly to Dominic. “You say that now.”

Their gazes held for half a second—charged, unspoken. Something between challenge and promise.

Tate cleared his throat. “Alright, comedy hour’s over. Two minutes.”

Ramsi scanned the room one last time, already mentally erasing herself from it. “Done.”

They moved out together, door locking behind them, the rental already becoming irrelevant.

As they stepped into the street, Sage bumped Ramsi’s shoulder lightly. “Next place, I’m labeling the TV ‘off-limits.’”

Ramsi smirked. “No promises.”

Behind them, Chicago shifted—patterns broken, trails erased, and Hall’s hunt made just a little harder.

And this time, Ramsi wasn’t doing it alone.

The building Dominic brought them to didn’t advertise power.

No flashy signage. No obvious guards. Just clean lines, reinforced glass, and the kind of quiet that came from money that didn’t need to announce itself.

Ramsi clocked it instantly.

Private. Controlled. Layered.

Dominic led them through the secured entrance, keying in access codes that changed as they passed. The elevator opened without a sound.

“Underneath my penthouse,” Dominic said calmly as they stepped inside. “No listed residents. No public access.”

Sage’s brows lifted. “Of course it is.”

The elevator rose—then stopped one floor below the top. The doors slid open to a wide, modern space already lit, furnished, and unmistakably fortified.

Ramsi’s eyes swept the room, cataloging exits, blind spots, angles. “You live above this?”

“Yes,” Dominic replied. “Which means anything that happens here reaches me first.”

That earned him a look—sharp, measuring. Something warm flickered behind it before she masked it again.

Enzo stepped forward, already in his element. “Alright. Quick rundown.”

He moved through the space with precision, pointing as he spoke.

“Walls are reinforced. Not obvious, but rated. Doors are biometric—voice, print, and passcode. All internal locks can be sealed from three points: here, upstairs, and my tablet.”

He gestured toward discreet panels near the ceiling. “Cameras cover every corridor, entry, and exterior angle. No blind spots. Feed goes to Dominic, me, and a secure offline server. No cloud.”

Sage nodded appreciatively. “I like a man who hates the cloud.”

Enzo continued. “Elevator is private. Requires authorization from this floor or the penthouse. Stairwell access is locked and alarmed.”

Ramsi’s gaze lingered on one of the panels. “Signal bleed?”

“None,” Enzo replied immediately. “Room within a room. Faraday mesh layered in the walls. You want to disappear digitally? This is as close as it gets.”

Tate let out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding when you said secure.”

Dominic’s eyes flicked briefly to Ramsi. “Hall won’t find you here unless we want him to.”

Sage dropped her bag on the couch, looking around. “Okay. I retract my earlier complaints. This place might actually let me watch my documentaries.”

Ramsi walked toward the window, testing the glass with a knuckle. Solid. “You’re putting us directly under you.”

“Yes,” Dominic said simply.

She turned, meeting his gaze. “Why?”

There was a pause—not hesitation, but choice.

“Because Hall won’t come at you indirectly,” Dominic said. “He’ll come straight at the thing he wants most. And I prefer him to do that where I control the ground.”

Something tightened in Ramsi’s chest—recognition, respect, something dangerously close to trust.

Enzo clapped his hands once, breaking the moment. “I’ll sync your comms, add your biometric access, and scrub any residual trail from your old location.”

Tate nodded. “Good. Then we plan.”

Ramsi exhaled slowly, grounding herself. “Alright. We reset. We wait. And when Hall moves…”

Dominic finished it quietly. “We’re ready.”

Above them, the penthouse lights glowed softly.

Below, the city carried on—unaware that a predator had just lost his advantage, and the Ghost had stepped into the safest place she’d been in years.

Right under a king.