The truth settled between them, comforting and sharp all at once. Outside, the others planned for tomorrow, but in this cramped office, the world had narrowed to just the two of them—closer, quieter, strangely steadying.
He rubbed the back of his neck, the movement weary. “I don’t know how to do… any of this. I tried once, and I failed. I broke Callie’s heart, and that’s another thing I haven’t been able to forgive myself for.”
“I don’t know how to do this, either.” Fallon took a step closer, meeting him without hesitation this time. “I’m great at surviving. Terrible at letting anyone get near me. I’ve made a career out of being the last one standing in my own life. Kind of like you. But I don’t want to do that anymore.”
His gaze lifted. It wasn’t hungry or wild or broken. It was honest. That frightened her more than anything—even more than the possibility of him walking away.
“I told myself caring about someone would get me killed—or worse—them,” he said. “I spent so many years believing feelings were a liability. That walls were strength and part of what made me so good at what I did.”
Fallon’s chest tightened—not with fear, but recognition. “Maybe strength isn’t shutting everyone out. Maybe it’s letting the right person in.”
He went still at that—like she’d touched something he kept hidden away.
She'd gotten through. Actually gotten through. And the look on his face—raw, exposed, like he was seeing her see him—that terrified her more than any threat lurking in the Everglades. Because this was real. This mattered. And if she screwed this up, if she ran now, she'd regret it for the rest of her life.
They were the same. Both punishing themselves. Both convinced they didn't deserve good things. Both so damn sure that caring about someone would destroy them.
But standing here, watching him break open in front of her, Fallon realized something else—maybe they could save each other. Or maybe they'd just crash and burn together. Either way, she was done running.
She raised her hand, giving him plenty of time to step away. He didn’t. Her palm settled over his chest, the steady, heavy thrumming beneath her fingers.
“You don’t have to choose between protecting people and letting someone care about you,” she said. “You’ve been punishing yourself for so long, you don’t know the difference anymore.”
His breath hitched, warm and uneven.
He lifted his hand and brushed her jaw with his thumb—tentative, reverent, almost disbelieving. “I never meant to drag you into the parts of my life that still hurt.”
“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” she said. “I walked in. Willingly. Maybe stupidly. Definitely stubbornly.” She leaned into his strong body “More importantly, I’m not walking out.”
A faint, cracked laugh escaped him, the first she’d heard all night. He leaned his forehead against hers. Somehow, the simplest touch was the most intimate thing they’d ever shared.
She breathed him in—warmth, tension, quiet devastation—and let her fingers curl lightly into his shirt.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, steady and warm. “I didn’t expect you. I wasn’t looking for anything like this.”
“Neither was I,” she said. “But maybe that’s why it matters.”
His eyes met hers again—clearer, softer, and for the first time, she saw acceptance in them. Not of her, but of himself. Of what was happening. Of what they were.
The room seemed to still around them. No grand declarations. No promises they couldn’t keep. Just two people who’d spent years hiding finally stepping out of the shadows to find each other.
He exhaled, the sound low and raw. “I’d kiss you again if I knew I could control myself, but I can’t, and we have a house full of guests.”
She smiled. “They’ll go home eventually.”
When he leaned in and took her mouth in a tender kiss, it wasn’t desperation.
It was choice. It was connection.
And for the first time in years, Fallon didn’t run from it.
The heat in the house settled into everything, thick and permanent like it owned the place. Buddy stood near the kitchen island where Dove had left the hard copies of Mia’s findings, the edges of the pages curling slightly in the humidity. He’d read them twice. Maybe three times. They still didn’t feel like anything concrete—just fragments of someone else’s life scattered across too many counties.
Dawson dropped into the stool next to Buddy, rubbing a thumb along the edge of his badge before tucking it away, a habit he’d gotten into when he wasn’t on duty. Sterling remained standing, one shoulder against the wall.
Buddy pushed the top file forward. “Seven companies—all tied to the same fucking thing.”
Dawson drummed his fingers on the counter. “All with the same naming pattern.”
