Page 39 of Collateral Damage
All I hear is his breathing before the line goes dead.
Silas
The second I step back inside, I see my mistake.
Ava's standing in the middle of the room, trembling, face drained of color.
Her phone.
I forgot to take it with me.
Sloppy.
I strip off my gloves, the snow from my coat melting onto the floor as I bridge the gap between us. I don’t wait for her to find her voice. I take the phone from her hand, my thumb already swiping to the call log.
The "Unknown" entry stares back at me. A ten-second connection. Ten seconds was all it took for him to reach through the storm and touch her.
"Ava." I grip her shoulder, grounding her. "Look at me. What did he say?"
She finally meets my eyes, her breath coming in shallow hitches. "He’s in my house, Silas. He’s standing in my bedroom."
The air in the cabin suddenly feels as cold as the wind outside. He's taunting us with how easily he can dismantle the life she left behind.
"He told me I left my Bible on the nightstand," she whispers.
I scroll past the missed call and use the tracking device to see if he stayed on the line long enough for us to get a location.
Not even close. Not a carrier hit. Just a handshake—fragmented, dirty. The kind you get when someone routes through disposable layers and bounces before the system can settle.
Whoever called her didn’t want to stay long enough to be seen.
The sat phone buzzes. Caleb’s name fills the screen.
Timing couldn’t be worse—but ignoring him isn’t an option. Not now.
“I have to take this,” I tell her. “Sit down. I’m right here.”
She lowers herself onto the couch, arms wrapped tight around her middle, eyes never leaving me.
I answer. “Talk to me.”
“We found someone who matches the profile,” Caleb says, voice clipped, all business.
“Tell me.”
Caleb's voice crackles through the speaker, each word precise and clipped. "Name's Reagan Mitchell. Former Special Forces—5th Group. Combat tracker, trained in SERE, advanced surveillance, and counter-surveillance. He was part of a direct action team—specializing in close target reconnaissance and high-value target elimination." Caleb's voice drops. "Multiple confirmed kills."
A cold weight settles in my chest. I glance back at Ava, then at the receiver still blinking on the console. "Go on."
"He's got explosives training, knows how to breach and clear, and here's the kicker—he was cross-trained with the CIA's Ground Branch before his discharge. 'Other than honorable' separation three years ago after a psych eval flagged him for violent ideation and obsessive behavior patterns."
Caleb’s words aren’t just information. They’re a threat assessment. SERE. CIA. Fifth Group.
And I’m standing between him and the woman three feet behind me.
I tighten my grip on the radio. I’ve fought men like this before. Just never on my own ground.
"After that, he went private. Black contract work. Delilah found sealed records connecting him to a kidnapping case and two assaults where witnesses recanted. He knows how to isolate targets, disable security systems, and operate in hostile territory without leaving traces."
