Always a Step Ahead.

Conner

A soft, uneven banging comes from the walk-in pantry. At first, I think I’m imagining it. Maybe it’s the old pipes or a raccoon outside. Perhaps it’s the house settling the way it always does after dark. Then it comes again, weak, frantic knuckles against wood. I freeze with the wine glass halfway to my mouth. The kitchen is quiet otherwise, warm with the lingering smell of garlic and rosemary. I set the glass down carefully and move toward the sound, towards the pantry. I try the handle, but it doesn’t turn. I try again, but it’s jammed tight. A slow laugh slips out of me. Of course. She’s always one step ahead and always leaves a signature, even when she’s gone. I step back and glance down. A dagger is jammed into the base of the door, wedged hard into the wood. Not one of mine, but I pull it out, and the door groans when I force it open. The pantry is dim, packed tight with shelves of canned goods and wine bottles. On the cold concrete floor, Jason is sprawled out, breathing shallow, face bruised and dirty. His eyes flutter open, unfocused. “Jesus, feckin’ Christ, Jason,” I mutter, crouching beside him. “You okay?” He coughs, dragging air into his lungs. “Boss… she… she was here.” His hand shakes as he reaches for the wall. “I heard something. I thought I could catch her before she got out.” I glance back at the door. “You got in her way,” I say. He nods, swallowing hard. “Damn it.” I haul him up, ignoring the sharp hiss of pain when he moves. “You’re lucky she didn’t finish the job.” Jason looks up at me, eyes wide now, fear cutting through the haze. “What the hell is she? Boss, that woman… she’s not normal.” A low chuckle leaves me, rough around the edges. “You’re telling me.” I watch his face closely. “Did you see her?” Hope sparks before I can stop it. His throat works. “I saw a bit.”

I grab his arm and pull him out of the pantry, guiding him to the kitchen island. He sinks onto a stool, shoulders slumping. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and shove it into his hands. He drinks like it’s keeping him alive. “Tell me everything,” I say, leaning in. Jason steadies himself on the counter. “I was heading out back to relieve Johnny. I cut through the kitchen because I was running late.” He exhales slowly. “She must’ve heard me. The second I stepped through the doorway, she hit me with a bloody right hook. No warning.” His eyes flicker, unfocused, like he’s replaying it. “I only caught a flash of green eyes that looked like they could cut straight through you. She had a black hood pulled tight and a mask over her mouth and nose, but those eyes…” He swallows. “Couldn’t forget them if I tried. Oh, and her hair wasn’t blonde… more like silver, almost white, it shone under the lights.” My chest tightens—silver hair and green eyes. I mentally log that into the image in my mind. “Did she speak?” I ask. “Did you hear her voice?” He shakes his head. “No. She just gave a cold look, like a warning. Like she was telling me to stay out of her way with her eyes.” I straighten, fists clenching. “Goddamn ghost.”

Jason watches me as I run my hand through my hair and pace the length of the kitchen. “Boss… she knows this place like the back of her hand. Whoever she is, she knows everything.” I move past him and head toward the control room just off the kitchen. He’s right, she knows the house, she knows us, she knows what we do probably better than half the men here. The lights flick on, and the wall of surveillance monitors hums to life with black-and-white feeds, a few in colour. Every corner of the estate lay bare. I drop into the chair and pull up the logs—ten hours of footage. “Come on,” I mutter. I drag the timeline back to when dinner would’ve been prepped. Just before I wrapped up with the Italians. I flip through the back entrance and the kitchen, but there’s nothing, not even static or glitches. The screen plays as if it’s paused. “Sneaky little ghost,” I breathe. It’s the same trick every time. Clean cuts through the footage, smoothed so perfectly they never trigger the system. She strips the evidence out like she’s carving meat. “Couldn’t even leave me a breadcrumb,” I say quietly, pushing back from the desk. Frustration burns hot in my chest. She walks straight through my walls and wipes her footprints on the way out.

The earpiece at my collar crackles, getting my attention. “Boss?” Liam’s voice comes through tight. “You’re gonna want to hear this.” I straighten. “Talk.”

“There’s trouble at Inferno. One of our guys clashed with a local crew over some territory bullshit. Maybe a bad deal. It’s messy. There are bottles flying, weapons are coming out, and the place is packed.”

“Is it contained?” I ask, already checking for my keys inside my pocket.

“Not yet. There are five officers outside, one undercover inside, trying not to blow his cover. The floor manager’s losing it, and I can’t reach Matteo. The girls won’t keep dancing if blood hits the floor again.” I grind my teeth. “I’m on my way,” I say. “Keep everyone breathing until I get there.”

“Got it, boss.” The line cuts, and I grab my coat from the hall, slipping the holster over my shoulders as I walk. I check for my gun, knife, and burner phone; muscle memory takes care of the rest while my mind stays in the kitchen. The pasta is cooling on the counter, and my ghost has silver hair and green eyes. She’s getting bolder. I need her to slip up, just one time, so that I can catch her. The scent of rosemary clings to my clothes as I get into the car, and for a split second, I wonder if she planned it this way. Maybe she wants me chasing her and never catching up, while she watches from somewhere unseen. If she is watching, I hope she sees the smile pulling at my mouth. I do love a good chase.