“It terrifies me,” she admits.
“Me too,” I say. “Good. That means it’s real.”
She huffs, cheeks wet, and finally not fighting it. I thumb away a tear with the back of a knuckle, careful. She lets me.
“Come here,” I say and fold her against me. Her lips mold to mine perfectly, and she rises on her toes, fingers fisting my shirt. I brace a hand at the small of her back and feel the last of the tremor leave her shoulders.
It’s not long and it’s not gentle, but it’s careful. When I break away, I press my forehead to hers and just breathe with her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
“I know.” She swallows, eyes closing once, opening again. “I just—”
“I’ve got you,” I say, and I mean the words in every way.
We stand like that for another beat, then I ease her back into the rocker. She sits, palms flat on her knees, eyes on me. The storm is still there, but the edge has dulled. This is the moment to give her the thing I’ve been holding.
“There’s something you need to hear,” I say.
Her spine straightens an inch. “What?”
“The hit,” I say. “It didn’t start with the Russos.”
She blinks. “What?” she says again.
“It came out of your office,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen. “My office? What do you mean?”
“Someone named Noah Akers.”
For a second, she looks as if I’ve spoken nonsense. She lets out a little laugh of disbelief, then her jaw tightens. “Akers?” She shakes her head. “No. That’s not possible.”
“Yes,” I say. “Antonio traced the tip to your boss back to Akers. Webform token, server logs, a timestamp from his personal phone while he was on a coffee shop Wi-Fi three blocks from the courthouse. He fed Hart the ‘anonymous’ tips. And he contacted the Russos.”
Color leaves her face and returns in a flush. “One of my colleagues tried to have me killed?”
“Yes.”
She shakes her head, smaller and smaller. “Noah isn’t on my case. He’s… he’s in the office, yes, but he’s not on my team. We’ve been in meetings together. We— I barely know him.” She spits the last part out. “He contacted the Russos?”
“He did,” I say. “Or he used someone who did. Either way, it’s him.”
Her eyes are on me and through me and beyond me at once. “Do you think… does he work for them?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It could be that. Or it could be simpler and uglier. He might have something against you and knew the Russos would jump at a chance to make me bleed. He calls, he gives them your routine, he gives them timing, he tosses a plate of raw meat in front of wolves and walks away. No loyalty required. Only malice.”
She pushes out of the rocker and starts pacing.
“Why?” She says it to herself, then stops and faces me. “What would he have against me? I barely know him!” It’s louder and angrier this time.
Then her shoulders drop, and a considering look crosses her face.
“What is it?” I ask sharply. “Something about Akers?”
She exhales, sharply. “He was slated to work your case. Before I transferred in.”
I tilt my head. “A case? That’s all?”
