"Sarah's funeral. You stood next to me at the grave, and you didn't say anything. You just stayed. Everyone else was full of platitudes and condolences, but you were just... there." His thumb strokes my cheek. "I didn't understand what I was feeling then. I do now."
Tears prick my eyes. "Will..."
"I love you, Gemma Holloway. Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever comes after, that's not going to change."
I kiss him, soft and slow, pouring everything I feel into it.
When we finally leave The Forge, the night air is cool and sharp with salt from the ocean. Will's hand is warm in mine, our fingers intertwined.
The day after tomorrow, I face Craig. Tonight, I have this—Will's hand in mine, salt air on my skin, and a strength I didn't know I had.
13
WILL
I've been in combat. I've held dying men in my arms, felt the life drain out of them while I tried to keep pressure on wounds that couldn't be closed. Nothing in my life has ever scared me like watching Gemma walk across that parking lot, knowing he's watching too.
Two days of waiting, and now it's finally happening.
The waterfront restaurant was Shaw's idea. Better sight lines than the coffee shop we originally planned, multiple exits, and a patio that gives us clear visual from three different positions. Gemma is sitting at a table near the railing, the harbor stretching out behind her, sunlight warm on her dark hair. She looks relaxed. Confident. Like a woman enjoying a late lunch alone.
I know better. I can see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curl around her water glass a little too tightly. But to anyone else, to him, she looks exactly like what we need her to look like. Vulnerable. Accessible. Alone.
My earpiece crackles. "Eyes on the target." Tate's voice is calm, professional. "Black sedan, just turned onto Harbor Drive. He's circling."
"Copy," I murmur, barely moving my lips. I'm seated at a bench fifty yards from her table, a newspaper open in my lapthat I haven't read a single word of. Close enough to reach her in seconds. Far enough that Craig won't make me as a threat.
Cole's voice comes through next, tight with barely contained anger. "I've got him. He's parking in the lot across from the marina."
"Everyone hold position," Shaw says. "Let him come to her. We need him to make contact first."
The waiting is its own kind of torture. I watch Craig's sedan pull into a spot, watch the door open, watch him step out and scan the area with the careful attention of a predator assessing the terrain. He's wearing khakis and a polo shirt, like he's here for a casual lunch date. Like he's a normal person doing normal things.
The rage that rises in my chest is familiar. I've felt it before, in situations where the rules of engagement kept me from doing what needed to be done. I breathe through it now the same way I did then. Slow and controlled, four counts in, four counts out.
He doesn't see me. His attention is fixed on Gemma, on the way she's sitting with her back partially to the parking lot, seemingly unaware of his approach. I watch him smooth down his shirt, adjust his posture, and paste on a smile that turns my stomach.
"He's moving," I say quietly. "Approaching from the east side of the patio."
"Copy. Everyone hold."
Gemma doesn't turn around as he approaches. We talked about this, rehearsed it. She needs to seem surprised when he appears, needs to give him the satisfaction of catching her off guard. It goes against every instinct I have to let this play out, but this is her choice. Her moment. I'm just here to make sure she triumphs.
The tiny transmitter hidden in her bracelet picks up their conversation, feeding it directly into my earpiece. Tate'srecording everything on his end—audio and video from the camera he set up in the flower shop across the street. Whatever Craig says, whatever he does, we'll have it all.
Craig's voice crackles through the earpiece as he reaches her table, warm and friendly, like he's greeting an old friend. "Gemma. What a surprise. I was just in town visiting some colleagues and thought I'd grab lunch. Never expected to run into you here."
The lie is so casual that it makes my jaw tighten. He came a long way to stalk her, and he's playing it off like a coincidence.
I watch Gemma look up, her carefully constructed expression of shock perfectly timed with the surprise in her voice.
"Craig." Her tone is steady through the earpiece, but I can hear the undercurrent of tension. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you. Business trip." He gestures to the empty chair across from her. "Mind if I sit? We should talk. Clear the air about how things ended."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Come on, Gem." The nickname makes my jaw clench. "We were married for four years. The least you can do is have a conversation with me."
