"Do you think these incidents are connected?" Hartwell asks. "Break-in and boat explosion on the same day—that's not coincidence. Which brings me to my next question: who would want to harm you, Dr. McKay?"
His name sits on my tongue, ready to be spoken. But saying it out loud makes it real. Makes him real. Makes the possibility that he found me real.
Lange watches me, waiting. Dr. Abernathy has stopped her work, attention focused on the conversation.
"I have an ex-boyfriend," I say finally. "Seattle PD. Things ended badly. There was a restraining order, but it’s expired. I thought by moving across the country and changing my name, I wouldn’t need it anymore."
Hartwell's expression doesn't change, but she makes a note. "What’s his name?"
"Bruce Tanner. Detective, Seattle Police Department." The words taste bitter. "He didn't take the breakup well. Stalked me for months before I filed the order. That's why I took the contract here. To get distance."
"And you think he found you?"
"I don't know." Honesty is all I have. "I changed my name back to my mother's maiden name. Took a contract position under that name. But he's a cop with resources." I pause. "Bruce is vindictive and obsessive. But planting explosives on a military base? That's either a massive escalation or this isn't him at all."
"We'll look into Detective Tanner," Hartwell says. "In the meantime, I'm assigning a protection detail. Lieutenant Commander Lange has volunteered to provide security until we determine the nature of the threat."
My head snaps toward Lange. "You volunteered?"
He meets my gaze without flinching. "Someone blew up your boat. Until we know who and why, you need protection."
"I can handle myself." The protest is automatic.
"Clearly." Lange's tone is dry. "That's why your boat's at the bottom of the Atlantic, your apartment was ransacked, and you swallowed half the ocean."
Anger flares hot in my chest. "I didn't ask for your help."
"No," he agrees. "You were too busy drowning."
Dr. Abernathy clears her throat. "Perhaps we can table the sparring match until after I finish my exam?"
Lange has the grace to look slightly chagrined. I just glare at him, which probably doesn't help my case.
Hartwell closes her tablet. "The protection detail isn't optional, Dr. McKay. Until we clear you, you'll have an escort. Lieutenant Commander Lange is qualified and available."
Every instinct tells me to refuse. To handle this myself, the way I've handled everything since leaving Seattle. But someone blew up my boat. Someone stole my laptop, or at least broke into my apartment. Someone is targeting me specifically.
And exhaustion settles deep. Tired of treading water, of keeping everyone at arm's length, of being constantly vigilant against threats that might or might not materialize.
Maybe accepting help doesn't make me weak. Maybe it just makes me practical.
"Alright," I say. "Lange can stay."
Something shifts in Lange's eyes. Satisfaction, maybe. Or relief.
"Good." Hartwell nods. "I'll have his things moved to the vacant apartment next to yours. We lease it to use for off-base visitors. He'll be with you until we resolve this."
Until we resolve this. Meaning he'll be sleeping next door. Meaning I'll see him every day. Meaning there's no escape from the attraction I've been trying to ignore for three months.
This is going to get complicated.
Hartwell leaves with a promise to keep me updated. "Crime scene team is finished processing your apartment. You're clear to return, but I'd recommend staying somewhere else tonight."
Dr. Abernathy discharges me with prescriptions for pain medication and strict orders to rest.
"Your lungs are clear enough for now," she tells me. "But another minute underwater and the damage would've been permanent. You were lucky. Rest, take the medications as directed, and if you have any trouble breathing, come back immediately."
Lucky. That word keeps coming up.
