THE WOMAN HE HIRED

9

The door closed softly behind them, the warehouse behind them dark and empty—but the weight of what wasn’t inside hung in the air.

Ramsi exhaled slowly, stretching her shoulders. “He’s gone dark. No trace. Hall’s hiding better than we expected.”

Sage muttered, brushing dust from her jacket. “Better hiding than your average city rat. Impressive… annoying.”

Ramsi pulled out her phone and dialed Tate’s secure line. The familiar crackle came through immediately.

“Tate,” she said evenly. “I need you in Chicago. In person.”

“Tate here,” his voice was calm but sharp. “For Hall?”

“Yes. Enough of the shadows, enough of guessing. We need you on the ground—eyes, instincts, everything. You’re the only one who can give us an edge.”

There was a pause. Then Tate’s voice, faintly amused but serious. “Chicago? I’ll come. You sure you’re ready for this level?”

Ramsi didn’t hesitate. “I’m never ‘ready.’ Just… make sure you’re quick. And thorough.”

Sage leaned close to Ramsi, grinning. “And he better bring food with him. I don’t negotiate well on empty stomachs.”

Ramsi gave her a side-eye. “Sage, focus. This isn’t a picnic.”

“Exactly,” Sage said, smirking. “So he must bring food.”

Ramsi’s jaw tightened. “Fine. Fine. Food is negotiable… but the rest isn’t.”

Dominic and Enzo waited a few yards back, shadowed but alert. Dominic’s dark gaze met hers briefly, sharp and calculating, but something unspoken flickered in the tension between them. Protective. Intrigued. Constant.

“Copy that,” Dominic said through the earpiece. You call him in. I’ll keep eyes on the building and street. Nothing moves unnoticed.

Enzo’s voice followed, clipped and precise. Rear and side secured. Extraction ready. No surprises.

Ramsi slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Tate’s on his way. We wait. We watch. Hall will show himself when he thinks we’re guessing.”

Sage shook her head, still smiling. “I swear, every time we deal with your past, it’s a circus. I just hope the Ghost likes spaghetti.”

Ramsi ignored her, already scanning the streets, calculating, and waiting. Every nerve alert, every instinct sharp.

Outside, Chicago hummed around them—unaware that shadows were moving, obsessions were stirring, and the Ghost wasn’t just back… she was ready.

And soon, so would Tate.

Tate arrived just before dawn, Chicago still wrapped in that quiet, restless hush that came before the city fully woke.

Ramsi and Sage waited near the curb outside a nondescript terminal exit, steam curling from coffee cups in their hands. The moment Tate stepped through the sliding doors, his gaze swept the area—automatic, practiced—clocking sightlines, reflections, exits.

Then his eyes landed on Dominic and Enzo.

He slowed a fraction, brow lifting. “Well,” he said mildly, stopping in front of Ramsi, “that answers one question.”

Sage snorted. “Let me guess. The sharply dressed one with the predator stare?”

“The two of them,” Tate corrected, nodding once toward Dominic and Enzo. “We working with the mafia king now?”

Ramsi didn’t dodge it. “Yes.”

That single word hung between them.

Tate studied her face for a beat longer, then exhaled through his nose. “Huh. Guess Hall really did escalate.”

Dominic met Tate’s look without flinching, calm and assessing. Enzo stayed silent, arms crossed, already reading Tate like a map.

Tate shifted his attention back to Ramsi, tone turning sharp. “Alright. First thing—we’ve got a problem. Your rental. And the car.”

Sage frowned. “What about them?”

“They’re both tied to Ramsi’s alias,” Tate said bluntly. “Hall’s obsessive, not stupid. He’s going to start with patterns, and aliases are patterns. You stay where you are, drive what you’re driving, he’ll know you’re in Chicago before sunset.”

Ramsi’s jaw tightened. “Already assumed.”

“Good,” Tate said. “Then you’ll also assume you’re moving. Today. New place, new vehicle, no digital trail. I’ll handle it.”

Dominic’s voice cut in, measured. “My people can assist with relocation. Quietly.”

Tate glanced at him, assessing, then gave a short nod. “Good. Because speed matters.”

He turned back to Ramsi, eyes hard now—not tactical, but personal. “And before you argue with me—no solo stuff. Not right now.”

Ramsi’s gaze flicked up, cool but alert. “I wasn’t planning—”

“Yes, you were,” Tate cut in flatly. “That’s what Hall wants. You alone. You moving ahead of the plan because you think you can outpace him.” His voice dropped, sharp with warning. “Next thing we know, you vanish. And this time?” His jaw clenched. “We don’t find you.”

Sage sobered instantly, stepping closer. “He’s right, Ramsi. Hall’s obsession isn’t about winning. It’s about owning the hunt.”

Ramsi held Tate’s stare, something cold and controlled flickering behind her eyes. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Fine. No solo moves.”

Tate searched her face another second, making sure, then nodded once. “Good. Because this isn’t just your fight anymore.”

Dominic’s gaze met hers—steady, unyielding. “You won’t be alone,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a promise. It was a fact.

Enzo added, calm and lethal, “Anyone watching will see noise. Not you.”

Ramsi exhaled, grounding herself. “Alright. We move. New place. New car. New pattern.”

Sage cracked a faint grin, trying to break the tension. “As long as the new place has a decent kitchen. Tate already owes me food.”

Tate huffed a dry laugh. “I walked into Chicago knowing this would be a mess.”

Ramsi’s mouth twitched. “You always do.”

The city began to wake around them, unaware that lines had just been redrawn—alliances forged, obsessions sharpened, and the Ghost had officially stopped running alone.

And somewhere in the shadows, Hall was going to notice.