Page 131 of A Violet Obsession

“Do you know—?” she mouths, pointing at his retreating back.

I lift one shoulder. No idea.

It’s a lie. I don’t know who or how, but I’d bet my favorite gaming chair that it’s a woman eating him up.

I know the signs.

We settle in around the table—Brady, Sera, who lowers herself into a chair with an exaggerated groan, Vincent, Rhodes, and Callum—who is staring blankly into space.

“Virtual client,” Brady says, and a table appears on the wall screen with people in suits, one of them in a jacket with actual elbow patches, seated around it. They introduce themselves as the Board of Trustees for Cascadia Pacific University.

Across the table, Rhodes rolls his eyes.

I tune out most of it. Something about a military extraction—escorting a group from their archaeology department out of Colombia. Government on one side, a cartel on the other. A job that’s guaranteed to be messy. But it won’t be mine.

Brady won’t put me on something like that unless there are no other options, when my skills are better used here.

I’m already plotting how soon I can be in my truck and parked outside Lily’s lecture hall.

“Finn,” Sera hisses my name, and I realize I’ve missed something.

“I said, patch their team in.” Brady glares at me.

“Right.”

A few clicks and the right side of the screen fills with a group of dirty, exhausted people. A man stands in front—older, gray at the temples, plainly the one in charge. Two others to the side. And behind them is an attractive woman with her hair coming out of a messy ponytail, dirt smudged on her cheek.

“Can you hear us?” the older man asks.

“Loud and clear,” I tell him.

“We need to get out of here.” His voice is steady, but it’s obvious it’s costing him. “I’m doing my best to appease Colonel Vasquez, but he’s growing impatient, and I don’t trust they’ll honor their promises once we’re moving.”

“Don’t worry, Alistair,” one of the suits says from his screen on the left, leaning too close to their group’s mic. “These men will get you out.”

The feed glitches.

The image on the right stutters and freezes. The archeology team locks in place mid-frame, the older man’s mouth half-open, the woman behind him caught looking straight down the lens of the camera.

“Lost the live feed in Columbia,” I say.

“Okay.” Brady’s already moving to end the call. “We’ll start a preparatory plan and contact you tomorrow.” I end the call. Brady talks to the room. “With the government and cartel implications, we need to choose carefully who goes. We’ll revisit⁠—”

“I’m going,” Rhodes says in a hard voice.

For the first time all meeting, I actually look at him. He’s not looking at any of us. He’s on his feet, eyes locked on that frozen frame—on the woman behind the others, with her hair coming loose.

“No,” Brady says. “We need you on the Hargrove detail. It’s already⁠—”

“Fire me, then.” Rhodes doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t have to. I’ve never seen him so deadly serious.

The table goes quiet.

Brady studies him for a long moment. Whatever he sees, he doesn’t argue with it. “Then let’s talk logistics.”

“I leave tonight.” Rhodes’s jaw flexes.

Vincent shakes his head. “Not likely. Now sit down. You can’t go charging in there like Rambo. You’ll get yourself and Merritt killed.”