“Grace,” I said, keeping contact with her knuckles, “I want you to hear something.”
She blinked at me, waiting. Fragile, furious with herself, and trying not to come apart.
“My first real firefight,” I said, “I threw up.”
Her eyes snapped to mine, startled. “You… what?”
I shrugged, deadpan. “All over my vest. And my boots. And Voodoo’s boots. He still brings it up if he wants to win an argument.”
A tiny breath escaped her. Almost a laugh. Almost.
“I mean,” I added, “I hit the guy attacking me, but I’d already puked on myself. There’s a photo. Alphabet found it. He pretends he’s going to use it as blackmail bait.”
Her grip eased a little. Color warmed her cheeks—something that wasn’t shame this time.
“You?” she whispered. “You got sick?”
“Threat level, high,” I said dryly. “Nausea, higher. Bodies do things under stress. Doesn’t mean shit about who you are.”
Her shoulders slowly—very slowly—unclenched.
I kept talking as my hands moved to the waistband of her skirt, giving her every chance to stop me. “I didn’t feel strong then. Didn’t feel capable. But I still did the job.”
“And I…?” she asked, voice small.
“You did more than the job,” I told her. “You survived a man who thinks he owns you. Then you threw things at every bastard who came for you. I call that an A-plus performance under pressure.” I would keep telling her, over and over, until she heard it and believed me.
Her breath trembled, but her chin lifted. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I echoed. “I’m going to undo this now.”
She nodded.
I unzipped the skirt. Fabric loosened. She didn’t stop me. Didn’t flinch. When I helped her to her feet, she just breathed. It was slow, if shaky, as I peeled the panties down with the skirt and when she stepped out of both. Her top and bra went next. I kept my eyes on her face the entire time. Not because I didn’t want to look at her—I wanted to. God, I wanted to—but because she needed to see respect reflected back at her right now.
Once she was out of the soiled clothes, I wrapped a clean towel around her, tucking the ends in over her breasts gently.
“You’re safe,” I said again, softer. “And you’re clean enough to move. We’ll finish the rest in the shower once you’re steady on your feet.”
She nodded, leaning the slightest bit toward me. Not much. But enough that I shifted closer and braced a hand against the counter so she could lean if she needed.
I stood, gathering the ruined clothes, rolled them up, then pulled a bag out of one of the pouches on my belt. I sacked up the clothing. I wasn’t leaving her clothes here. I also wasn’t leaving them where she could see them. “I’m going to find you some fresh clothes. The housekeeper’s closet probably has something neutral. Sit here. Don’t move until I’m back.”
She nodded again.
Before I could take a step, the comm crackled.
“Bones? Grace? Status check.”Alphabet’s voice. Tight. Edges controlled. He worried about us like other people worried about their own heartbeat.
I clicked my comm on. “We’re good,” I said, but she hadn’t said anything and that was a tell more than anything else. “Grace is with me.” He needed to know.
“Copy that,” Alphabet said—but I could hear the tension. “Goblin and I are two rooms out. Bringing him in.”
Grace straightened at that. Not panic—anticipation.
A moment later, the door creaked open and Goblin—the massive Staffy who loved Grace as he only ever had Alphabet—padded inside like he owned the place.
Grace made a tiny, broken noise as he went straight to her. Not sniffing. Not cautious. He walked up and pressed his big head against her thigh like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.
