Between the Lines - Chapter One

 

Chapter One: The Words That Weren’t There

Cassidy Waters always had a knack for pulling stories out of thin air. Words danced in her mind, characters whispered their secrets, and plots unfolded like clockwork. But tonight, staring at the half-finished manuscript on her laptop, she felt something she never had before.

Unease.

She frowned at the last paragraph. She didn’t remember writing it.

The operation was compromised at North Pine Station. The package was never recovered. Code: Pietrie.

Cassidy’s pulse skipped. That wasn’t from her book. Her story was a romantic suspense novel—fictional spies, fabricated missions, and make-believe danger. But those words felt…wrong. Like they had weight, like they meant something.

And she had no idea how they got there.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the eerie silence of her home pressing in. Maybe she had sleep-typed? Maybe she had picked up those words from research and forgotten? Or maybe—

The knock at the door nearly sent her heart through her ribs.

Cassidy twisted in her chair, staring at the front door of her quiet, small-town rental. It was past midnight. No one should be here.

Another knock, harder this time.

She moved slowly, grabbing the metal letter opener from her desk before padding toward the door. “Who is it?” she called, her voice steady despite the icy ripple of nerves in her stomach.

Silence.

She swallowed. “I’m not opening it unless you tell me who—”

The door swung open before she could finish.

A man stood there. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence so commanding it felt like he filled the entire doorway. He had the kind of face you didn’t forget—sharp, shadowed by a hint of scruff, and eyes that had seen things she probably wouldn’t want to know about.

He didn’t blink.

“You need to come with me,” he said.

Cassidy gripped the letter opener tighter. “Excuse me?”

The man—whoever he was—exhaled like he didn’t have time for this. “Your book. Your latest draft. Where did you get the intel?”

Her stomach flipped.

“Intel?” she repeated. “I made it up.”

His jaw tensed, and for the first time, she noticed the faint scar near his temple. Military. Or something worse.

“No, Cassidy,” he said. “You didn’t.”

And just like that, the fiction she’d built her career on wasn’t fiction anymore.