At four PM, my phone rings. Lana's number—the burner Blackwood provided.
"Everything okay?" I answer immediately, already running through threat scenarios.
"Everything's fine. I just—" She pauses, and I can hear the faint hum of the office in the background, Maya answering a call at reception, the coffee maker running. "I wanted to hear your voice. Is that pathetic?"
"That's not pathetic. That's normal for people who are figuring out what they are to each other. How's work?"
"Productive. Solange and I finalized partnership agreements for the expansion cities, reviewed program outcomes from our current community partners, and startedplanning the donor cultivation event for next month." Her voice carries tension underneath the casual update. "But being here, doing normal work, it's helping. Makes me feel like I'm still me instead of just the woman being hunted by her dead husband's associates."
"You're both. You're allowed to be both." I'm still at my apartment, but already reaching for my keys, making the decision to head back early. "When are you heading back to the safe house?"
"Probably around six. Derek said rush hour traffic will be terrible, so earlier departure makes sense." She's quiet for a moment. "Will you be there?"
"I'll be there. Leaving now, actually." The admission is easier than pretending I can focus on anything else today.
"Good." Her voice shifts, becomes warmer. "I don't want to spend tonight alone."
"You won't. I'll see you at six."
"Okay. Drive safe.”
“I'll be waiting."
The drive to The Gateway takes thirty minutes through the early evening traffic. When I arrive at the safe house, I let myself in with the key Brandon provided, the space is empty, just signs of her presence—a coffee mug on the kitchen counter, her laptop closed on the dining table, and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
At six-fifteen, I hear the key in the lock. The door opens and Lana enters with Derek behind her, both looking tired but unharmed. Derek does a quick visual sweep of the apartment, nods to me, then leaves without ceremony.
The door closes, and suddenly we're alone.
I'm crossing the distance between us before I can second-guess the impulse. "Couldn't really focus on anything today, except wanting to see you."
"That's either really romantic or deeply codependent."
"Probably both." My hands are already reaching for her, pulling her against me, needing physical confirmation that she's actually here and safe. "We'll figure out which one later."
She kisses me before I can say anything else, her mouth hungry and demanding in ways that suggest she spent the afternoon thinking about this as much as I did. I kiss her back with equal intensity, hands already working at her clothes, needing skin contact more than conversation about co-dependency or crisis-manufactured intimacy.
Her hands are already at my belt, getting it unbuckled with the kind of efficiency that suggests she's been thinking about this for hours. I help her get my jeans open while simultaneously working on hers, both of us moving with urgency that has nothing to do with actual danger and everything to do with having spent the day apart after spending the night together.
"Bedroom?" she asks, but she's not moving toward it, just pulling at my jeans and boxers with hands that are already past patience.
"Here." I lift her onto the kitchen counter, the cold granite making her gasp against my mouth. "Can't wait."
"Good." She's working her jeans and underwear down her hips, and I help her get them off one leg while leaving them tangled around the other ankle because taking time to fully undress feels like wasted seconds. "Condom?"
"Wallet." I'm already extracting it from my back pocket, tearing open the packet with teeth while she watches with eyes that are dark with want.
I roll it on with hands that aren't quite steady, then pull her to the edge of the counter, position myself between her legs. She wraps them around my waist, pulling me closer as her heels dig into my lower back.
"Now," she says, and there's no hesitation in it, no second-guessing or overthinking. Just want and the decision to act on it.
I push inside her in one motion, both of us groaning at the sensation. She's ready for me, has been ready since I pulled her against me, and the ease of it makes something in my chest feel tight with feelings I'm not prepared to name.
I start moving, thrusting into her with a rhythm that's faster than exploration requires but not quite the desperation of first encounters.
"Yes," she breathes against my neck, her hands fisted in my shirt because neither of us bothered to actually remove clothing. "Just like that."
I grip her hips, pull her harder onto me with each thrust, the angle perfect for hitting deep while the counter provides stability we wouldn't have standing. Her mouth finds mine, kissing me with the same urgency as our bodies, her teeth catching my lower lip hard enough that I taste copper.
