"Hartwell will brief everyone together. And Fallon?" I pause, making sure she hears this. "Bruce Tanner is here. At Tidewater. He'll be at the briefing."
She goes completely still. Not frozen—locked down. Every defense slamming into place.
"Of course he is." Her voice comes out flat, emotionless. "Let's get this over with."
The walk to Conference room B is silent. I stay close, hyperaware of her breathing, the tension radiating from her rigid posture.
Thatcher Caine is already seated when we enter. Hartwell stands at the front of the room near the screen, tablet in hand, running the briefing.
Thatcher stands, offering his hand. "Dr. McKay. I'm sorry you're dealing with this."
"Thank you, Captain." Fallon's handshake is brief, professional.
Thatcher pulls up schematics on the screen. "The explosive device was professionally constructed. Military-grade components, timer-triggered, designed for maximum damage tothe engine housing with minimal collateral. Whoever built this had training and access to restricted materials."
"So military or former military." Fallon's hands clench in her lap.
"Most likely." Thatcher's expression is grim. "The placement was precise. Someone who knew boats and your routine."
My hand finds her knee under the table, grounding without crowding. She doesn't pull away.
"We have another incident to discuss." Hartwell stands at the front near the screen. "Dr. McKay's lab was broken into overnight. Chemicals spilled, samples destroyed, equipment damaged. The pattern differs from the others—this one targeted her research specifically."
"Can I see it?" Fallon asks.
"After we cover all the briefing items. We have one more person joining us for this discussion."
A knock, then the door opens. Commander Bradford enters, followed by a man who makes every protective instinct I have snap to full alert.
Bruce Tanner looks exactly like his file photo. Average height, stocky build going soft, thinning brown hair, cold blue eyes that lock immediately on Fallon. He's wearing civilian clothes but carries himself with the kind of authority some cops use to intimidate people. I guess he doesn't understand where he is in the pecking order on a military base with a SEAL and a Marine Raider in the room. He has the confidence of a man who's used to getting his way, used to people backing down when he applies pressure.
Fallon's entire body goes rigid. Rage and old hurt flash across her face before she locks it down, rebuilding composure with visible effort. But I feel the tremor that runs through her, the way her breathing goes shallow and controlled. Fighting the instinct to run or freeze or fight.
"Fallon." Tanner's voice carries false warmth, intimate familiarity that assumes permission never given. His gaze travels over her like he's inventorying changes, noting differences, marking what he still considers his. "God, when I heard about the boat explosion, I was so worried. Are you alright?"
Fallon gives him a look that could freeze hell. "Commander Hartwell," she says, voice ice-cold and directed at Hartwell without acknowledging Tanner at all. "For the record, I have nothing to say to Detective Tanner. I will not cooperate with him in any capacity. I took out a restraining order for a reason."
Tanner's expression shifts—surprise, then irritation flickering beneath the concerned mask. He opens his mouth to respond, but Fallon cuts him off without even looking at him.
"I'm here to discuss the threats against my life and my work. If Detective Tanner has information relevant to that investigation, he can provide it to you or Lieutenant Commander Lange. But I will not speak to him directly, answer his questions, or acknowledge his presence beyond what's legally required." She looks at him, dismissive and final. "We're done, Bruce. We've been done. The restraining order should have made that clear."
I stand slowly, positioning myself between them. Physical barrier, deliberate message. "Detective Tanner. You're here in an official capacity. Keep it professional."
"Of course, Lieutenant Commander." Tanner's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "When Seattle PD mentioned the joint task force, I got on the first flight out. Fallon and I have history, and I'm invested in making sure she stays safe."
History. Like it was mutual. Like he didn't stalk her across Seattle for months. Like she didn't have the restraining order.
"Dr. McKay's safety is my responsibility," I say, voice level and hard. "Any coordination regarding her protection goes through me or Commander Hartwell."
Tanner's attention shifts back to Fallon. "You look good. Virginia agrees with you."
Fallon ignores the familiarity, but I can feel her shoulder tense beneath my hand.
"Detective Tanner," Hartwell interjects smoothly. "We've run preliminary background checks. Your whereabouts during both incidents have initial corroboration. However, we need to discuss the possibility of hired individuals. Do you have knowledge of anyone who might target Dr. McKay?"
"Absolutely not." Tanner's expression shifts to offended innocence. "I would never hurt Fallon. We had our difficulties, but I've moved on. I'm here in a purely professional capacity."
Bullshit. He moved on so completely he flew across the country the moment he heard she was in danger? I don't think so. Fortunately I don't think anyone else in the room is buying his load of crap.
