He waited, letting the silence hold space between them.
“It’s not easy,” she went on, voice quiet, almost distant. “Killing a man. Even when he deserves it.”
Eli didn’t argue. Because she was right. And because she wasn’t asking for comfort. Just release. Still, he reached over and rested his hand on the arm of her chair. Not touching, just close. A quiet offer.
“We’re not built to walk away from things like this without carrying some of it,” he said. He knew because he had killed two men today.
Her fingers stilled. Then she looked at him. Really looked. And for a flicker of a second, the weight in her eyes eased. Just a little.
It hit him harder than he expected. That flicker. That damn softening. Something cracked open in his chest before he could brace for it. Just a glance, just a breath of vulnerability, and it pulled at him like a current he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Eli swore silently and looked away, jaw tightening.
Not the time. Not the place. And definitely not the woman.
Delaney was his partner. She had a sharp mind, a dead-eye shot, and a storm of trauma still chasing her shadow. The last thing either of themneeded was distraction. Especially the kind that came with a hell of a lot more risk than reward.
He shoved the pull down deep, buried it under instinct and duty. Where it belonged.
They had a job to do. A team to report to. A girl to protect.
And no room for anything else.
His attention shifted when he heard the footsteps echo down the hall. Eli rose automatically, Delaney just behind him, both of them instinctively shifting into alert posture.
But it wasn’t Noah. Or the medical staff.
A tall woman in a cream-colored blazer and dark jeans rushed into the waiting room, her heels clicking sharply on the tile. Her hair was a sleek, controlled curtain of chestnut waves, but the panic in her eyes made it clear control had been abandoned the second she got the call.
Vivian Camden.
Behind her came a man in his forties, trim and clean-shaven, with a hard line to his jaw and a watch that probably cost more than Eli’s truck. He moved with the same tension Vivian radiated, though his grip on her elbow was steadying, not urgent.
“This is my fiancé, Grant Maddox,” Vivian said breathlessly, barely glancing at Delaney or Eli as her eyes swept the room. “Where’s Olivia? Where is she?”
Eli stepped forward. “She’s in the exam room. Banged up, but alive.”
Vivian’s knees buckled, and she dropped into the nearest chair like someone had cut her strings. She covered her face with both hands, shoulders shaking with a quiet exhale that sounded too close to a sob.
“Thank God,” she whispered.
Grant stayed standing. “We stayed away from the safe house like we were told. We were told it would put her at risk if we got too close. And now I want to know what the hell happened.”
Eli met his stare without flinching. “We’re working on that. The team was already in the field when the attack happened. We responded fast. Got Olivia out.”
Grant didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded once, his jaw still clenched.
Vivian looked up at Eli, eyes rimmed in red. “Can I see her?”
“Soon as the doctor clears it,” Eli let her know and then added, “She’s in good hands.”
Delaney remained silent beside him, watchful. Eli could feel it in his gut. The chaos wasn’t over. And neither were the questions.
There was the sound of more footsteps, and several moments later, Noah stepped inside, tall and broad, his gait steady despite the slight hitch from the prosthetic. He wore jeans and a dark field jacket, his face set with the calm control of a man used to walking into crisis.
Vivian stood quickly, brushing her hands down the front of her blazer. “You must be Mr.Riggs.”
“Noah,” he offered, nodding once. “You’re Olivia’s mother.”
