Dangerous thinking. The kind that leads to hoping for things that can't last. To wanting someone who's probably going to leave when the threat is neutralized and his assignment is complete.
The dead fish is still on my windshield. The threat is still real. Crime scene techs are still photographing evidence of someone's promise that I'm next.
But standing here with Holden's hand light on my back, guiding me toward safety I didn't ask for but desperately need, I make a choice.
I'm too tired to keep running. Too tired to carry this alone. And for the first time in years, I'm going to trust someone enough to let him help.
Even if trusting him means giving him the power to destroy me the way Bruce did.
Even if he's just doing his job.
Even if this ends the moment the threat does.
6
HOLDEN
She cried in my arms. Game over.
Morning light filters through the guest quarters window while I'm on the phone with Devlin Porter, comparing notes on our respective protection details. His situation at Ridgeway mirrors mine at Tidewater with uncomfortable precision.
"Started with notes and moved items," Devlin says, Duke barking in the background. "Escalated to direct property damage. Yesterday someone poured motor oil over all her documentation."
"Same pattern here. Boat explosion, apartment ransacked, research stolen." I drain my coffee, already cold. "How's Andi handling it?"
"She's fierce. Refuses to back down." A heavy exhale crackles through the line. "But I can see it wearing on her. These women are so damn strong they forget they're allowed to lean on someone."
Fallon's face flashes through my mind. The way she fought accepting comfort until exhaustion won, how she fell asleep on my couch last night while I kept watch.
"Listen," Devlin continues. "I've been doing this dance for weeks. Trying to keep professional distance while wanting to break the neck of anyone who looks at her wrong. You feeling that yet?"
"Is there supposed to be a line between professional and personal?" I ask. "Because if so, I crossed it the moment I pulled her out of the ocean."
"Yeah, figured." Papers rustle. "Word of advice from someone neck-deep in the same situation? Trust your gut. And brother? Don't wait until she's almost dead to tell her how you feel."
The call disconnects just as footsteps approach. I open the door before Hartwell can knock.
"Morning, Lieutenant Commander." She's already in professional mode, tablet in hand. "Security briefing at oh-eight-hundred. Captain Caine from MARSOC will consult on the explosive device." Her expression hardens. "And we have another incident. Dr. McKay's lab was broken into overnight. Vandalized, samples destroyed."
Every muscle goes tight. "When?"
"Maintenance discovered it at oh-six-hundred. Professional job—chemicals spilled, equipment damaged, research targeted specifically." She pauses. "There's more. Detective Bruce Tanner arrived at Tidewater this morning. Official capacity, joint task force coordination with Seattle PD. Base commander approved his presence."
The protective fury that hits me is immediate and absolute. "He doesn't get near her. She doesn't need that on top of everything else."
"I can't block him without cause. He's got credentials and official backing." Hartwell meets my gaze directly. "Which is why you're sticking close during the briefing. We ranpreliminary checks—he's got alibis for both incidents. But that doesn't mean he's not involved."
"I want him kept away from her."
"Noted. But he has a right to be present." Her voice sharpens. "Keep your head clear, Holden. I know your feelings for Dr. McKay have evolved past professional interest. Don't let Tanner bait you into something that compromises the investigation."
She's gone before I can deny it.
I knock on Fallon's door minutes later. She opens it already dressed, dark circles shadowing her eyes.
"Briefing," I say. "There's been another incident. Someone broke into your lab overnight."
Her face drains of color. "My lab?"
