Always a Step Ahead

**Ronan**

I stare at the empty chair across the marble counter. A soft, uneven banging shatters the quiet. I freeze. The wine glass hovers inches from my mouth. The kitchen remains silent, heavy with the scent of roasted garlic and warm rosemary. I lower the crystal glass to the counter. The sound comes again. Weak, frantic knuckles rapping against thick wood. It echoes from the walk-in pantry.

I cross the massive kitchen. I reach the pantry door and grab the handle. It refuses to turn. I yank it. Jammed tight. A rough, low laugh claws its way up my throat. This is her signature move. Always one step ahead, always leaving a mark behind. I step back and scan the frame. Down at the base, an unfamiliar dark metal dagger is wedged deep into the wood, pinning the door shut. I crouch, grip the hilt, and rip the blade free. The wood groans. I shove the heavy door open.

The pantry lights are off. Shadows drape over the shelves of canned goods and vintage wine. On the cold concrete floor, a body lies sprawled in the dark. Kael. One of my perimeter guards. His breathing is shallow and ragged. Severe bruises already paint his jaw and cheekbone black and purple. His uniform is covered in dirt. I drop into a crouch beside him. His eyes flutter, glassy and unfocused. "What happened, Kael?" I ask, my voice sharp. He coughs, a wet, rattling sound, and drags oxygen into his lungs. "Boss," he rasps, his hand trembling as he reaches out to brace himself against a lower shelf. "I heard something. I thought I could catch the intruder before she escaped the estate."

I stare at my battered guard. "You didn't catch her," I say bluntly. "You just got in her way. You are lucky she didn't finish the job." I grab him by the harness of his tactical vest and haul him up. He lets out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his ribs. I guide him out of the dim pantry and into the bright, warm kitchen. I steer him toward the massive marble island and shove him onto one of the heavy wooden stools. I walk over to the massive steel refrigerator, pull out a bottle of cold water, and toss it onto the counter in front of him. He fumbles with the cap, gets it open, and downs half the bottle in three massive gulps.

"Give me a full report," I demand. I lean against the edge of the counter, crossing my arms. Kael lowers the plastic bottle. He wipes his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand. "I was heading through the back doorway," Kael says, his breathing erratic. "I stepped through the frame. No warning. No sound. She hit me with a brutal right hook the exact second I cleared the threshold." He blinks hard, as if the impact is still ringing inside his skull. "It was fast. Too fast. I went down hard."

"What did she look like?" I ask. My grip tightens on my forearms. Kael swallows. "She wore a black hood, pulled tight over her head. She had a dark mask covering her nose and mouth. But her eyes..." He shudders. "I caught a flash of piercing green eyes. They looked like they could cut straight through a man." Green eyes. I lock that detail into my brain. "What else?" I press. "Her hair," Kael says. "Some of it spilled out from under the hood. It wasn't blonde. It was a striking silver. Almost white. It caught the security lights."

Silver hair. Piercing green eyes. A lethal right hook. The phantom taking shape in my mind finally has color. "Did she say anything?" I ask. Kael shakes his head. "Not a single word. She just stood over me for a split second. She gave me this cold, silent warning with those green eyes, telling me to stay down. Then she vanished into the shadows." I turn away from him, my jaw clenched. She knows every inch of my estate. She knows the blind spots, the patrol routes, the exact timing of my guards. She moves like a ghost.

I leave Kael at the island and stride straight down the hall to the security control room. I push the door open. The wall of monitors hums, casting a pale, unnatural glow across the dark room. I drop into the leather command chair and pull the keyboard toward me. My fingers fly across the keys. I pull up the surveillance logs for the past ten hours. I scrub through the exterior cameras, the hallway feeds, the kitchen angles. I watch the timecodes speed past. Nothing. I rewind. I play it back at half speed. Still nothing. She left clean cuts in the video files. She seamlessly smoothed the footage together to bypass the sophisticated system. There is not a single glitch, not one digital breadcrumb left behind. The frustration burns hot and heavy in my chest. She walks straight through my fortified walls, cooks me dinner, beats my guard to a pulp, and wipes her footprints on the way out. She hacked a multi-million-dollar security grid without breaking a sweat.

My earpiece crackles to life, breaking the silence of the control room. Declan's voice comes through, tight and urgent. "Boss. We have a severe situation." I sit up straight, the ghost in my kitchen pushed aside. "Report." "Purgatory," Declan says. "One of our men clashed with a local crew. It turned into a massive, messy riot. We have a violent brawl on the main floor. Bottles flying. Weapons drawn. The venue is packed." I stand up, immediately patting my pockets for my car keys. "Is the situation contained?" I ask, striding out of the control room. "Negative," Declan replies. "We have police officers swarming the outside perimeter. We have an undercover cop trapped inside. Dante is unreachable. The dancers are panicking and trying to evacuate through the back." I walk down the long hallway toward the front foyer. "Keep everyone breathing until I arrive. I am on my way."

I cut the comms. I grab my long dark coat from the hall closet. I slide my arms into the sleeves. I pull my Glock from my waistband, check the chamber, and slide it into my holster on pure muscle memory. I secure my combat knife at my hip. My body prepares for a violent gang war at my club, but my mind remains anchored in the kitchen. The plates of cooling pasta. The two crystal glasses of wine. The haunting image of silver hair and striking green eyes. She is getting bolder. She is stepping closer to the light. I desperately need her to slip up just once so I can finally wrap my hands around her. I push through the heavy front doors and step out into the freezing night. My driver has the car waiting, engine running. I slide into the backseat and pull the door shut. As I settle into the leather, the lingering scent of rosemary drifts up from my shirt collar. I pause. Did she plan this sequence? Did she time the meal, the assault on Kael, and the flawless hack just to keep me in a perpetual state of chasing her? I look out the tinted window into the dark trees surrounding the driveway. I hope she is out there, watching me from the unseen shadows. I hope she can see the genuine smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. I love a good chase.