"I don't know yet," I admit. "But you stopped being just another rescue the second you made that joke about my scowl."
The corner of her mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "That wasn't a joke. You do scowl a lot."
"Occupational habit."
"Along with going rogue and ignoring orders?"
"That, too."
The almost-smile fades. "What happens when your team finds out what you did? Going unauthorized. Solo op. No backup."
"CJ will have my ass." I think about the ignored calls, the unanswered texts. "Probably suspend me pending review. Maybe terminate my contract."
"Because you saved my life."
"Because I broke protocol." I run my hand through my hair. "Caracas put me on thin ice. This might break it."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I made my choice. I'd make it again."
She studies me for a long moment. "You really would, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah."
"That's either really brave or really stupid."
"Probably both."
Lightning flashes outside, closer now. The thunder follows three seconds later—less than a mile away. The overhead light flickers once. Twice. Then dies.
The generator kicks in with a grinding protest, and the light comes back on, but dimmer now. Unreliable.
"Great," Maggie mutters. "Are we going to have power?"
"For a while. Generator's got fuel. But it's old. Storm might kill it completely."
"And then?"
"Then we're in the dark until morning." She drops into the opposite side of the couch, tucks her knees tight to her chest. Looking lost. Vulnerable.
And—Jesus—fucking amazing.
Even like this, curled small in the flickering light, her haira wild tangle from the fight, smudges of dust on her cheeks, those wide eyes shadowed but sharp... she's got this raw pull, all curves and fire under the worn tank top and jeans that hug her just right, the kind of beauty that hits like a gut punch—strong lines in her jaw, full lips pressed thin, a body built for survival and something softer, warmer, if you'd let yourself imagine it.
My mind flashes there unbidden: peeling away the layers, tracing the strength in her thighs, the give of her against me. Heat stirs low, uninvited, but I shut it down hard.
Not now.
Not here.
Not when cartel shadows are closing in, her brother's betrayal is still bleeding fresh, and one wrong move could get us both killed. She's a survivor—not a distraction I can afford. I drag my gaze to the window, force it on the storm instead.
Another flash of lightning. The temperature's dropping fast—desert nights get cold quick, especially when storms blow through.
Her arms cross tight over her chest, fingers digging into the thin cotton of her t-shirt sleeves as if to anchor them, but the chill wins out—a subtle tremor starts in her shoulders, rippling down to her elbows, the fabric pulling taut with each involuntary shudder that rocks her frame against the draft seeping through the shelter's cracks.
Goosebumps prickle along her exposed collarbone where the shirt dips, and her knees draw up a fraction as she curls inward, chasing warmth that isn't there.
