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My jeans had coffee stains from the motel. My Stanford hoodie smelled like that dingy motel room's questionable air freshener. And here I sat in a Gulfstream G650 with pristine white leather seats that were used to people sipping champagne. I was used to being one of those people, but right now I felt like a vagrant who'd stumbled onto a movie set.

Snap out of it!

Sophie sat at a window seat toward the back, staring out at the clouds, probably not seeing them. I needed to go talk to her, make sure she was all right. Well, as all right as she could be under the circumstances. Code sat across from me, laptop open, his attention locked on the screen. Lines of code scrolled past—actual code, not the Hollywood version. Simon paced the aisle with his phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and controlled as he coordinated something I couldn't quite hear.

I was just getting up to talk to Sophie when Code’s phone buzzed. I sat back down.

"Thompson, what do you have?”

He paused.

“No, that’s not it. I need updated tracking on Viktor's plane," Code said, clearly frustrated. "The second he crosses into Tennessee airspace, I need to know."

Simon's plane had every technological advantage money could buy—satellite internet, encrypted communications, the works. When I'd asked if we were allowed to use phones on a private jet, Simon had actually smiled. "My plane, my rules. Plus, Onyx Security pays for military-grade secure comms. We're not interfering with navigation systems, and these calls are encrypted. FAA's got no issues with it."

Made sense for a security company that handled sensitive clients. Still felt surreal to be hurtling through the sky at 600 miles per hour while planning a defense against Russian operatives.

"Did Thompson find out Viktor’s flight plan?" Simon asked, dropping into the seat beside Code.

Code’s phone buzzed, and he looked down and grinned. “Viktor took his plane, left LAX two hours after we did. He’s flying into Knoxville, same as us.”

Two hours to prepare for eight Russian operatives and their psychopathic boss.

Two hours to save a town that had protected me without question.

"So we have two hours. Time to loop in the team." He hit speaker and dialed.

Jase answered on the first ring. "Tell me you're close."

"Two hours out from Knoxville. Viktor's another two hours behind us." Simon's voice shifted into commander mode. "Got Nolan with you?"

"Right here." Nolan's voice came through. "Cut the honeymoon short. Mary is not happy with me right now. You owe us another vacation."

"Put it on my tab." Simon's attempt at levity fell flat. "Roan and Hart?"

"Still in DC," Jase said. "Won't make it back in time."

"Then it's what we've got." Simon exhaled slowly. "Viktor Sokolov is inbound with eight Russian operatives. Military-trained, probably FSB or ex-Spetsnaz. They know Kit was in Jasper Creek. They're coming for her, hoping that if they grab her, they can use her as bait to draw out Russell Dunlap and get the deepfake technology."

The silence on the other end stretched too long.

"Jase?" Code leaned forward.

"Yeah, I'm here." But something in his voice had changed; contained, but I still heard it. Fear. These men who'd faced down terrorists and survived impossible odds—they were scared.

"We need to talk about contingencies," Jase said carefully.

"Such as?" Simon asked.

"Should we evacuate families?" The question came out rough. "My twins are nine years old, same as your Bella, Simon. Then there’s your son Drake, and Nolan, you have Iris.”

My chest tightened. I'd heard about Simon's daughter Bella and his baby son Drake who'd just turned one. Nolan's daughter Iris was only four. Children who had no idea their fathers had spent years walking into danger, who thought daddy just worked at a normal office now.

"If it comes to town," Jase continued, his voice strained.

"Bonnie could take the twins to the orchard," he continued. "Mary could take Iris there too, same with Trenda with your kids, Simon.”