He jerked mid-stride, the sound leaving his throat half-formed. He hit the dock hard, blood spilling dark in the rain.
“Dan!”
Vivian slid on the slick planks and dropped beside him. She pressed both hands against the wound—center mass, too much blood for any field dressing to matter. “I told you not to get involved, to stay out of sight.”
Blake crouched low, firing short bursts over their heads, shouting for her to move, but she couldn’t—not yet. Dan’s eyes fluttered open, cloudy but trying to focus. He grabbed her wrist with surprising strength.
“Always knew there was dirty money here,” he rasped, rain mixing with the blood on his chin. “Didn’t know how deep until tonight.” His breath rattled. “I kept my head down and ignored the signs. But I—” He coughed, and it came wet. “I really believed you two were married.”
Vivian blinked hard against the sting behind her eyes. “Dan, don’t?—”
He managed a grin, crooked, familiar. “At least tell me I was right… that you love each other.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her throat was raw from smoke and grief and all the things she couldn’t admit—not here, not while he was fading in her arms.
Blake’s voice came low beside her, rough and certain. “You’re right.”
Dan’s hand eased from her wrist, the tension leaving his fingers like breath leaving the world. The light in his eyes went still.
For a second, all sound blurred—the gunfire, the waves, the wind. Just her pulse and the warmth cooling under her palms. What had she done, asking him to spy for her on the docks?
Then Blake’s hand was on her shoulder, firm, urgent. “Viv. We have to move.”
She wiped the blood from her fingers, stood on shaking legs, and looked down at the man who’d believed in something simple and good—even here, in all this ruin.
Another round cracked overhead, splintering the crate behind them. The spell shattered. She met Blake’s eyes—grief, rage, love, all in one breath—and nodded.
“Let’s finish this,” she said.
They reached the end of the dock—thick fog rolling in from the water, waves hammering the pylons beneath. The outline of the boat waited at the slip—low, dark, familiar.
Only it wasn’t empty.
Figures waited at the stern—five, maybe six. One of them stepped forward, calm amid the chaos, the muzzle of his weapon pressed lightly against Mara’s small shoulder.
Vivian swallowed down her need to put a bullet where it would count.
Mara’s hair clung to her face, soaked. Her blanket was gone, her arms bound. Her eyes met Vivian’s across the stretch of dock and water—frightened, yes, but steady. Trusting.
A man’s voice carried over the wind. Smooth. Confident. “You’ve caused us a great deal of trouble, Agent Blake.”
Laurel Tide’s insignia gleamed faintly on his chest armor.
Vivian’s grip tightened on her weapon. Blake shifted beside her, taking half a step forward before she caught his arm.
Her mind was a machine of options—angles, numbers, the rhythm of gunfire closing behind them. No clean path out. No cover. Mara one twitch away from gone.
“Trust me,” she said, eyes still on the man with the gun.
Blake didn’t look at her. “I always do.”
“This one costs us everything,” she said. “Our careers. Our names.”
His laugh was low, bitter, almost a relief. “They already took those.”
The wind ripped between them, carrying the smell of cordite and salt and the electric taste of fear. She raised her weapon. The leader of Laurel Tide smiled faintly, as if amused.
Vivian’s pulse steadied into something cold and clean.
