“I didn’t plan on dying,” he murmured. “Not with you still out there.”
Her knees buckled. He held her up. His heartbeat thundered against her cheek—proof. She pressed a hand to his chest as if to make sure it stayed beating. “Don’t youeverdo that again,” she said, fierce and breathless, her words trembling against his collarbone.
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it,” he whispered, and somehow that crooked, half-dead humor made her want to laugh and scream.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes burned, her throat raw. The photograph was still crumpled in her hand, damp with rain and sweat.
“They tried to convince me you betrayed me. I couldn’t make myself believe it. Not really. Not for more than a heartbeat.” She shoved it against his chest. “The picture’s fake. Dan wasn’t with you. They built this, framed you, to make me believe you were dirty.”
Blake’s gaze dropped to the photo. The lamplight found the salt on his lashes and the split along his lip. He took it, thumb brushing over the image with a reverence that felt too fragile for a war like theirs.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
Blake quirked a brow. “Why didn’t you believe them? I mean, you did say you didn’t trust me because I don’t play by the rules.”
She let out an exasperated chuckle. “Because you are many things: impossible, irrational and irresistibly irritating.”
“I knew you thought I was irresistible.”
She shoved him away. “You…you.”
“Care about me. I knew if I kept working at it, I’d win you over.”
“Like all the other women,” she groaned out and rolled her eyes.
He tucked her into him, fierce, protective, wanting. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever made an effort for, the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
He kissed her. Soft, sensitive, devastating. It wasn’t a reunion; it was a confession, everything they’d never said written into the press of lips and breath and the tremor that ran through her when his hand cupped the back of her neck. She leaned into it, into him, letting the storm in her chest break open just once.
Then he exhaled against her skin, and the world started bleeding back in along with the truth that the danger hadn’t passed. His hand lingered on her jaw, but duty clawed its way between them like it always had.
“They’ve been laundering evidence,” he said quietly, voice rough from exhaustion. “Planting stories so neat they could bury the truth inside them.”
Vivian’s pulse was still wild, but her voice steadied. “Who did this?”
He met her eyes. The exhaustion fell away, leaving only defiance. “Not who,” he said. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Vivian drew a shaky breath. “Why? What’s the play?”
He stepped back, just enough to meet her eyes, and the shift in his body told her he was sliding back into soldier mode. “Thirteen’s deep cover. He’s inside the missionary contractor network Laurel Tide hired. They’ve been recruiting ex-military under the guise of humanitarian ops—stabilization fronts, crisis zones, disaster relief. Only half the missions ever existed.”
Her stomach tightened. “And the other half?”
“Smuggling routes. Weapon laundering. Child extraction.” He swallowed, jaw locking. “Thirteen’s people pulled me out of the water. He’s been deep undercover with the missionary contractors Laurel Tide hired—feeding intel from the inside to Maddox.”
Vivian’s pulse spiked. “He saved you?”
He hesitated, eyes flicking to hers. “There was never a leak in the FBI, Viv. That was the story they fed us—to smoke out the missionary contractors. They were the top priority all along, not Laurel Tide. We were bait. A small group of higher-ups found us expendable and now want us to disappear. Maddox was pulled into the op and has been working to figure out a way to keep you safe.”
Vivian’s stomach turned. “They used us.”
He nodded once. “And when they’re done, they planned to clean the board.”
She looked away, jaw tight. “Thirteen’s daughter—she’s safe. I made sure of it. I wasn’t going to let another child pay for what we didn’t see coming.”
Blake’s expression softened, pride threading through the exhaustion. “You saved her.”
