He turned and looked down at her and saw it.
She was scared, but completely determined, and already moving ahead in her mind.
“You made up your mind before you walked in,” he said quietly.
She nodded once. Then she reached into the box and pulled out a worn notebook. She opened it to a random page and held it out to him. Notes covered the margins. They were Ethan’s—sharp, frantic, familiar.
“You haven’t moved on either, Knight,” she murmured. “But if we stop this and uncover all the answers, maybe we’ll both get to breathe again.”
Dev cleared his throat, in control when he stated, “Rhys and Mateo will work logistics. Leland and Callan will oversee tech. She’ll never be alone. Not for a second.”
Leland nodded. “We’ll have eyes on her the whole time. Audio, visual, GPS. If she sneezes, we’ll know.”
Alec’s hands curled into fists. “I don’t want you doing this.”
Emily touched him, her hand flat on his chest this time. “I know. But I need to.”
He heard Rhys’s voice in his head. When he sought him out after the almost-kiss gone wrong, when he’d acted like a complete asshole.You don’t get to choose how she heals.
Alec closed his eyes.
Dammit! He wanted her whole, but not like this.
But how did he stop her? He could only stand between her and the danger.
When he opened them, his voice was raw. “Fine. But if she’s going in, everything goes by me. The second anything looks wrong, I pull her.”
Dev considered—long, tense—then nodded. “Done.”
Emily inhaled, shaky but resolved. “I have an event with Regina tonight. Wire me up, and I’ll start right away.”
“Callan will—” Dev began.
“No,” Alec cut in. “I’ve got her.”
Despite the unease knotting his gut, he took her hand and led her out of the conference room, down the hall, to the equipment room. It smelled of gun oil and adrenaline as he laid out the gear she’d need: wire mic, GPS tracker, panic button. Each piece felt like surrendering her to danger.
Emily perched on the edge of the table, looking around the room, eyes wide as she took in the tools of his trade. Weapons, ammo, and nonlethal things—pepper spray, transmitters, and tactical gear.
She had said little since the meeting. He knew her well, though. Her silence wasn’t retreat—it was resolve.
“I think I’ve seen this in a spy movie,” she murmured.
“It’s not Hollywood, Em. It’s very real. We do domestic cases, but Dev also contracts with local, state, and federal agencies, including the FBI’s trafficking division.”
Her eyes flicked up. “Somehow I thought this job was less dangerous than being a cop.”
“Most cases are, but when dealing with criminals, even white collar, there is always risk. Which is why I don’t want you involved.”
“I don’t want to be involved either. I need to be,” she repeated. “Can you understand that?”
“I do,” he said with a sigh. He clipped a micro-transmitter to her bra strap, fingers steady despite the panic clawing at his chest. “This is only one way. We can’t risk your cover with white noise or artifact. We’ll be able to hear everything. It’s sensitive, so you can whisper if needed.”
“Who’s on the other end? The command center?”
“We’re sticking close. Someone will be monitoring from the van outside. The range is solid, but stay within the venue perimeter,” he stated.
She nodded.
