Novels by rolakewrites

The SUV tore down the dark road, trees blurring past the windows.Ziva pressed her forehead against the cold glass, trying to breathe. Trying not to think about the gunshot. The silence that followed.He saved me. Again. And I let him.Her hands were shaking. She clenched them into fists, nails biting into her palms.What if he was dead? What if the last thing she'd ever said to him was "I don't know if I can love you back"?What if she never got the chance to tell him she'd been wrong?"Where are we going?" Her voice came out hoarse.Marcus didn't take his eyes off the road. "Safe house. Two hours north.""We can't leave him.""We're not." Marcus glanced at the rear-view mirror. "I'm tracking his phone. Once we're clear, we regroup and extract him.""What if there's no time?"Marcus' jaw tightened. "Then we make time."Ziva stared at her hands. There was dirt under her nails, scratches on her arms f

James Keene stood in the driveway like he owned it, hands in his pockets.Six armed men flanked him, weapons trained on Ziva and Tyrell. Timothy hovered at his father's elbow, looking pale and hollow-eyed.Ziva's heart slammed against her ribs. Every muscle screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. They were surrounded.James took a step forward. "Ziva, darling. It's time to stop this charade and come home."Ziva's voice shook, but she forced it steady. "I don't have a home with you."James's smile didn't waver. "You've always had a home with me. Since the summer you turned sixteen. You just didn't know it yet."Bile rose in Ziva's throat.Tyrell's gun came up, aimed directly at James’s head. "Take one more step and I'll put a bullet in your head."James laughed. "With six men aiming at you? Bold. I admire that about you, Mr. Smart. Really, I do. But we both know how this ends."Timothy stepped for

Ziva stared out the upstairs window, heart hammering against her ribs. Judy was walking up the driveway.Her best friend since high school. The girl who'd taught her how to do winged eyeliner, held her hair back when she was drunk for the first time.Judy looked disheveled. Hair falling out of its ponytail. Mascara smudged. She kept looking over her shoulder, sharp and restless.But she was alone."Don't go down there." Tyrell's voice came from behind her.Ziva turned. He was standing in the doorway, gun in hand."She's my best friend.""She's been working with James Keene."The words didn't make sense. Her brain rejected them. "What?"Tyrell pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, held it out to her.Bank statements. Wire transfers from an account registered to James Keene to Judith Alvarez. Multiple payments over two years. The last one four days ago. Fifty thousand dollars.Below that, emails. Short. Clinical.Subject at coffee shop on 5th. Met with male, mid-20s. Appe

The sunlight hurt.Ziva woke to it streaming through dusty windows. For one blissful moment, her mind was blank. Empty. Safe. Then memory crashed back like cold water.James Keene. Timothy's father. Ten years of surveillance. The man from Maine who'd groomed her at sixteen, watched her grow up, sent his son to reel her in like a fish he'd been baiting all along.It was always a trap.Ziva lay still, staring at water-stained plaster above her head. The bedroom was small. Sparse. A twin bed with sheets that smelled like mothballs. Furniture covered in white sheets like ghosts.Tyrell's childhood home.She sat up slowly. Her body ached, muscles sore from tension she'd been carrying for days. How many days had it been since the auction? Three? Four? Time had become a blur of terror and exhaustion.She was still wearing Tyrell's clothes. The sweatpants. The t-shirt that hung off one shoulder.The house was quiet.What if Tyrell had left? What if she was alone here, abandoned in this Gothic

Ziva sat on the floor of Tyrell's childhood home, back pressed against the wall, staring at nothing.The house was quiet. Too quiet. Marcus had left an hour ago to run surveillance checks, leaving them alone. Dust motes drifted through shafts of early morning light filtering through boarded windows. The air smelled like abandonment.She should move. Should do something. Anything.She couldn't.The footsteps they'd heard earlier had been nothing but a raccoon in the attic, Marcus said. “The estate had been empty for fifteen years. Animals got in through broken windows, made nests in the walls.”Not a threat.Just her paranoia.Except it wasn't paranoia when people were actually hunting you, was it?Ziva pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. She was still wearing Tyrell's oversized sweatpants and t-shirt. The clothes hung on her like a costume. Like she was playing dress-up in someone else's life.Summer. Maine. Sixteen years old.The memory surfaced without permi

The phone felt like a live wire in her hand.Ziva stared at the photo on the screen of herself asleep, taken from inside what was supposed to be the most secure building in the city.Someone had been here. Watching her. Close enough to touch.Whoever it was hadn’t left.The realization shook her.She dropped the phone, stumbled backward. "Tyrell."He was already moving, fast. A hidden panel in the wall clicked open and he pulled out a gun."Stay behind me." His voice was calm. The kind of calm that comes when instinct has burned out fear, leaving only precision.Ziva's heart slammed against her ribs as she followed him through the penthouse.Tyrell moved systematically, checking the rooms, behind the furniture, and even the balcony forty stories up.Nothing.He spoke into his phone, never lowering the gun. "Marcus. Full sweep, there’s been a breach."Marcus' voice crackled through. "That's impossible, sir. All entry points are monitored.”"Then explain this." Tyrell stopped at the bat