She wraps her hands around the mug, inhales deeply, eyes closing for a second in appreciation. “You made it exactly how I like it.”
I shrug, but my voice comes out lower than intended. “I pay attention.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, soft, searching, a little too long. “Dangerous habit.”
The air between us thickens again. I lean one elbow on the island, closing the distance just a fraction. “You saying I shouldn’t?”
She smiles slowly, teasing. “I’m saying it makes a girl wonder what else you pay attention to.”
My pulse kicks. “Keep wondering.”
She laughs, soft and breathy, and takes a sip, her lips wrapping around the rim of the mug in a way that’s entirely too distracting. “You’re good at this, you know.”
“Coffee?”
“Flirting.”
I raise a brow. “Who says I’m flirting?”
She sets the mug down, leans forward until her face is inches from mine. “Your eyes do.”
I hold her gaze. Don’t back away. The tension is palpable, humming like a live wire. I can smell her shampoo from here. “Careful, trouble. You’re playing with fire.”
She doesn’t blink. “Maybe I like the burn.”
I step back before I do something reckless. Clear my throat. Records are from the county clerk’s office. Public filings, zoning variances, and transfer deeds. Nothing classified. Yet.”
She slides onto the stool beside me, close enough that her knee brushes mine under the table. Neither of us moves away.
We work.
I pull contacts I still have from my time in the military—old intel guys, retired clerks, a PI in Austin who owes me a favor. Quiet inquiries. Nothing that leaves a digital footprint. Megan explains what she’s uncovered as we go. She describes how Ramsey’s shell companies bought up distressed ranches on the cheap, how variances were fast-tracked through the county commission, how Tate’s name appears on too many approval stamps for coincidence.
She’s brilliant.
The way her mind works, sharp, fast, connecting dots I didn’t even see, makes me want to listen to her talk for hours. Makes me want to do a lot of things.
She leans over to point at a line in the records, her shoulder pressing against mine, hair brushing my arm. The contact is innocent. The heat it sends through me isn’t.
“See this?” she says, finger tracing the paper. “Tate signed off on the variance the same day Ramsey wired the money. It’s too clean.”
I nod. “We need the bank trail.”
She looks up at me. Her face is so close, her eyes bright. “You have someone who can get it?”
I smile. “I have people.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a spark in it. “Of course you do. Big bad bodyguard with all the connections.”
“Jealous?”
“Of your connections?” She tilts her head, smile turning teasing. “Or of the fact that you get to play hero while I sit here in your borrowed clothes?”
My eyes drop to the T-shirt she’s wearing. It clings to her curves perfectly. “You look good in my clothes.”
Her breath catches. “Careful, Jenkins. That really sounded like flirting.”
I lean closer. “Must be your imagination.”
