Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“That was five years ago,” she says, not unkindly. “You’re different now. He’s different too. People don’t go through life in this line of work and stay the same.”
I want to argue. I want to insist I know how this ends, because control is safer than possibility. But before I can, movement shifts my attention.
Cole walks into the community area from the gym corridor and for a second, everything in me stills like my body has recognized him before my mind can do anything about it.
He’s sweaty, shirt clinging to him, forearms corded as he drags a towel across the back of his neck. His hair is damp, his face scruffy with the kind of roughness that makes him look less polished and more dangerous, and the sight of him hits me with a jolt I refuse to name as anything other than irritation.
He stops when he sees me seated at the counter, and surprise flickers across his face before it hardens into alertness. “You’re up,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning me like he’s making sure I’m intact.
“I found something,” I say immediately, because if I don’t lead with work, I’ll lead with feelings, and I’m not ready to be that exposed. “In the financials. RainVest has repeated payments to an outfit called Strategic Asset Protection Group, and the dates line up exactly with the red flag advisories and ignition windows. It’s too precise to be coincidence.”
His entire demeanor shifts, his expression alert but hardening. “Show me.”
“I will,” I promise. “And I also need to go into my office today. I need to meet with my editor and bring him up to date. He’s going to want to know why I’ve vanished.”
“Just a visit,” he says with a level of high-handedness I don’t bother arguing against. “Gather whatever you need to continue working here.”
“Agreed,” I say, hoping to appease him. “I won’t be gone more than an hour.”
“I’ll drive you,” Cole corrects me.
“I figured you’d say that,” I mutter.
He ignores it. “Let me shower.”
“I need one too,” I blurt, because my brain chooses idiocy when I’m flustered. The words register as the corner of Cole’s mouth lifts and heat floods my face. “I mean—separately. Not together. Obviously.”
Anna makes a quiet sound that might be a laugh, but she covers it by turning back to the pantry.
Cole’s mouth curves fully, slow and satisfied, like he’s enjoying watching me trip over myself. “Be ready in thirty,” he says, already turning away.
I blink. “Thirty?”
He glances back over his shoulder, smirk deepening. “You’ve got thirty.”
“I need an hour!” I call after him, panic and indignation tangling.
He doesn’t stop walking, but his voice carries back, warm with amusement. “Make it a quick hour.”
He disappears down the hall toward his apartment, and I stand there for a moment, cheeks hot, pulse entirely unhelpful. When I look back at Anna, she’s leaning on the counter, eyes bright with knowing. It makes me want to both laugh and flee.
“Second chances,” she says lightly.
I shake my head, but the denial feels thin even to me. “This isn’t—”
“Sure,” she says again, the same gentle skepticism she had earlier. “Go shower, Tessa. Try not to overthink everything.”
Overthinking is my profession, but I don’t say that.
Instead, I head back toward Cole’s apartment, mind already splitting into compartments the way it does when I’m under pressure—one labeled evidence, one labeled risk, one labeled Cole.
The first two I can handle.
It’s the third one that’s starting to feel like the most dangerous part of this entire case, because I realize with a clarity that makes my stomach dip that I never stopped loving him. I just learned how to build discipline around it, how to keep it in a locked room inside myself where it couldn’t interfere with my work or my choices.
Being this close to Cole again—sleeping in his home, drinking coffee from his mug, watching him walk into a room like he still owns a piece of me, makes that discipline feel less like strength and more like a bad choice.
CHAPTER 7
Cole
The smell of baked cheese and garlic has my mouth watering. For a brief second, I forget that half the people gathered here tonight can kill with their bare hands and the other half can dismantle a foreign intelligence network from a laptop.
Anna stands at the head of the long farmhouse table like a general of domestic warfare, sliding a heavy ceramic dish onto a trivet.
“Don’t even think about touching it yet,” she warns Reid without looking up.
Reid, already holding a fork, lifts his hands in surrender. “I was assessing structural integrity.”
“Of the lasagna?” Josie asks dryly from the island, where she’s leaning against the counter with a glass of red wine in one hand.
“Of my patience,” he shoots back.
There’s easy laughter, more jokes and ribbing, and I take it in for a moment before moving deeper into the room. The long table seats ten, and it’s nearly full tonight—agents who live here, others who’ve drifted in because Anna made lasagna and no one in their right mind ignores that invitation. A few guys perch at the island with plates already loaded from a second pan resting there, while two of the younger operatives have claimed spots on the sectional couch with their food balanced on their laps, arguing over whatever is on the muted television.