Memory was worse.

Six years earlier, Thomas had been the team leader of a federal tactical recovery unit.

Their assignment had been simple.

Protect a witness.

Extract him from a compromised location.

Leave before the hostile team arrived.

But someone had leaked their position.

They were ambushed.

Mercer died first.

Two others followed.

Thomas survived.

The official report blamed communication failure.

Thomas never believed it.

Because twenty minutes before the operation, someone had changed their route.

Only four people knew about that change.

One was dead.

Two had disappeared.

Thomas had spent six years trying not to care.

He had changed his name.

He had taken a maintenance job.

He had watched his daughter grow up.

He had learned how to live quietly.

But now someone had found him.

At 9:15 that evening, Thomas returned home.

His daughter, Emma, was sitting at the kitchen table.

She was fifteen.

Smart.

Observant.

And far too good at recognizing when her father was lying.

"You look weird."

Thomas removed his jacket.

"I'm tired."

"No."

He stopped.

"No?"

"You look scared."

Thomas looked at her.

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not."

Emma stared at him.

"You always say you're not scared when you are."

Thomas smiled.

"You're getting too smart."

"Mom said I got that from her."

Thomas smiled.

Her mother had died when Emma was six.

A heart condition.

Another wound he never discussed.

Emma stood.

"Something happened."

Thomas looked away.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"That's what people say before something happens."

He almost laughed.

Then his phone rang.

Unknown number.

Thomas answered.

"Hello?"

A man's voice spoke.

"You should leave Apex."

Thomas froze.

"Who is this?"

"You know who I am."

"No."

"You really don't?"

Thomas said nothing.

The man continued.

"They found the records."

Thomas's heart stopped.

"What records?"

"The ones you buried."

"Where?"

"Not where."

A pause.

"Who."

Thomas tightened his grip on the phone.

"Who are you?"

The call ended.

Emma stared.

"Who was that?"

Thomas looked at her.

For six years, he had protected her by becoming invisible.

Now invisibility was no longer enough.

"Pack a bag," he said.

Emma's face changed.

"Why?"

"Because we're leaving."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet."

"Are we in danger?"

Thomas hesitated.

Then he told her the truth.

"Yes."

Emma stood.

Thomas walked toward the window.

Across the street, a black SUV sat beneath a streetlight.

The headlights were off.

Thomas watched it.

He knew immediately.

Someone had found him.

But what he didn't know was that the people watching his apartment weren't interested in killing him.

They wanted him alive.

Because Thomas Decker was the only man left who knew who had betrayed the team.

The Fight They Shouldn't Have Started

The next morning, Thomas did not go to Apex.

He drove Emma to school.

Then he went directly to the police station.

Not because he trusted the police.

Because he needed information.

Detective Laura Bennett met him in an interview room.

She was forty-three, careful, and immediately suspicious.

"You said someone is following you."

"Yes."

"Do you know who?"

"No."

"Threats?"

Thomas handed her his phone.

She read the messages.

Her expression changed.

"Who's Mercer?"

Thomas looked at her.

"How do you know that name?"

"The message."

She looked at him.

"You didn't mention it in your report."

Thomas stared.

"I didn't file a report."

Bennett leaned back.

"Then why come here?"

"Because I want to know whether there's an active investigation involving me."

She studied him.

"There isn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then someone is using information that should be buried."

Bennett frowned.

"What did you do for the government?"

Thomas said nothing.

"Military?"

Silence.

"Federal?"

Nothing.

"Intelligence?"

Thomas finally looked at her.

"Something like that."

Bennett exhaled.

"I don't know what game you're playing."

"I'm not playing one."

She slid his phone back.

"Then go home."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because my daughter is involved now."

Bennett's expression softened.

"Take her somewhere safe."

"I intend to."

Before Thomas could stand, the door opened.

An officer entered.

"Detective?"

"What?"

"There are people outside asking for Decker."

Thomas looked up.

"Who?"

"Two men."

"Names?"

"They won't give them."

Thomas stood.

"Where?"

The officer pointed.

Thomas looked through the glass.

Two men stood in the lobby.

One wore a dark suit.

The other wore a gray jacket.

Thomas recognized neither.

But he recognized the posture.

Federal.

The gray-jacketed man looked directly at him.

Then touched his ear.

Thomas stepped back.

"They're not here for me."

Bennett frowned.

"Then who?"

The lobby doors opened.

Preston Harrington walked inside.

His father behind him.

Richard pointed toward Thomas.

"There."

Bennett looked at them.

"Mr. Harrington, this is a police station."

"I know."

"Why are you here?"

"My son wants to press charges."

Bennett looked at Preston.

"For what?"

"Assault."

"Yesterday?"

"Yes."

"You've already spoken to your attorney."

Richard stepped forward.

"This is not a complicated matter."

Bennett looked at him.

"It is if you want me to arrest someone."

Thomas watched silently.

Richard smiled.

"You'll arrest him."

Bennett didn't smile.

"No."

Richard's face hardened.

"You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly."

"This man attacked my son."

"Your son attacked him first."

Richard stared.

"Who told you that?"

"The witnesses."

"What witnesses?"

"Dmitri Gray."

Richard's jaw tightened.

Thomas stood.

"Detective."

Bennett looked at him.

"Yes?"

"I'll handle it."

Richard laughed.

"You'll handle nothing."

Preston stepped forward.

"You think yesterday was funny?"

Thomas looked at him.

"No."

"Then fight me."

Bennett said:

"No."

Preston ignored her.

"Right here."

Thomas shook his head.

"I'm not fighting you."

Preston smiled.

"Because you know you'll lose."

Thomas looked at him for a long moment.

"No."

Preston frowned.

"Then why?"

"Because winning against you wouldn't mean anything."

The room became silent.

Preston's face flushed.

He swung.

Thomas moved.

The punch missed.

Preston swung again.

Thomas stepped aside.

A third punch.

Blocked.

Thomas never struck back.

He simply moved.

After six years of hiding, his body still remembered.

Angle.

Distance.

Timing.

Pressure.

The men in the lobby watched.

Detective Bennett shouted:

"Stop!"

Preston lunged.

Thomas caught his arm and pinned it behind his back.

He applied just enough pressure to immobilize him.

"Stop."

Preston struggled.

"Let me go!"

Thomas released him.

Preston turned.

His face was humiliated.

Then he smiled.

"Now I have you."

Thomas frowned.