Blake’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m wounded. You’re my partner and my equal.”
She had no doubt he believed that, but if he had an opportunity to toy with a woman’s emotions, he wouldn’t pass it up, so she ignored him, tossing her bag onto the couch. The faint scent of salt and mildew rose as it landed. “Too bad Jensen didn’t have an off books fallback.”
Blake’s expression shifted, the light flattening in his eyes. “Exactly why we tell no one about this place.” His words landed sharp, final. “And if Laurel Tide sticks to their MO, Jensen won’t be found. Let’s not let this lead be wasted since it cost Jensen his life.”
For a heartbeat, everything inside her went still. The air thickened, heavy with the weight of what he didn’t have to explain. Jenson hadn’t just vanished — he’d been erased.
Vivian swallowed hard, her throat tight and dry as salt air. A flash of Jensen’s grin hit her. The way he’d stood in Maddox’s doorway, joking that he’d be back by Christmas. That was over a year ago. The memory cut deeper than she wanted it to. Too many good agents lost to Laurel.
She turned away, pretending to check the window, but quick, shallow beats fluttered against her ribs. “So we’re walking into the same shadow that swallowed him.”
Blake’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. And this time, we don’t get to miss a step. Our cover is our only defense, Viv.”
Vivian nodded once, forcing the air back into her lungs. They both knew what that meant. No backup. No clean exit. Just two agents walking blind into the kind of deep-cover operation that shredded careers, and sometimes people.
The silence between them thickened, full of things neither of them dared to say.
“Let’s get to work. You got the latest brief?”
He reached into a folder and slid a photo across the table. A trawler gleaming white under a dull Maine sky. “Meet theWindward Lady—our new home.”
Vivian studied the photo, skeptical. “Not bad. Bureau splurged for once.”
Blake scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah… about that.”
She glanced up sharply. “About what?”
He unlocked his phone, swiped, and turned it toward her.
The same boat—only this one leaned against the dock like it was too tired to float. Rust streaked the hull. One of the windows looked punched out. The paint peeled in curls like dead skin.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Would I ever?”
Her jaw tightened. “You said the Bureau vetted the purchase.”
“They did. Photos must’ve been... aspirational.”
Vivian exhaled slowly. She stared at the image, irritation sharpening into focus. A shell corporation, most likely. On paper, it would’ve looked clean—too clean. That was Laurel Tide’s style. Dummy owners. Disposable assets. Boats that changed hands without leaving fingerprints.
He didn’t answer.
Vivian pinched the bridge of her nose. “All right. We adapt. The cover still holds. Laurel Tide’s network won’t question a fixer-upper.”
He nodded, trying to look serious.
“Part of your cover is being handy,” she said, voice flat. “Blake… you barely know one end of a wrench from the other.”
“That's what you were meant to think,” he murmured, not looking at her. “People talk more when they underestimate you.” He flashed a grin. “Besides. How hard can it be?”
She exhaled through her teeth. “Once we reach Winter Harbor, we stay on mission. No improvising. We’re not losing another lead to your shortcuts.”
“You wound me, Viv.”
“Agent Durand to you,” she muttered, grabbing her bag. She wouldn’t let him blow this opp. She needed this win. Needed that promotion. Needed away from Thomas Blake and his dive straight into trouble before it got her killed. Or worse, dismissed before she ever got her chance. Supervisory Special Agent—that was the next rung on the ladder. One more successful operation and she could finally bury the stain on her record that clung like leeches to blood.
Blake slung his duffel over his shoulder, grin lazy, like this was a weekend getaway instead of a high-risk undercover op. He whistled once, low and off-key, before tossing the bag into the SUV.
