"Yeah. Which means Cascade Services is still our primary suspect." I move to stand behind her chair, looking at the spreadsheet on her screen. "How's the analysis going?"
"I've mapped every cash withdrawal against every fire. The correlation is too precise to be coincidence." She pulls up a timeline. "Cascade Services is paying Hartley. We just need to prove it."
"Tomorrow we take this to Marshal Davis. Build the case for a warrant." I knead the knots from her shoulders. "But tonight, you need to stop working."
"I'm close?—"
"You're exhausted." I turn her chair to face me. "Take a break. Eat something. Get some sleep."
She studies my face for a long moment, then nods. "Okay. But only because you're right about the exhausted part."
I order takeout while she showers. We eat at the kitchen counter, conversation easy despite the investigation weight hanging between us.
"I should head back to my hotel," she says eventually. "Get some actual sleep in my own bed."
"You could stay. The guest room's available."
"Shaw—"
I meet her eyes directly. "You're exhausted, it's late, and you'll be back here first thing tomorrow anyway. Not pushing for anything. Just offering a bed."
She studies my face for a long moment, then shakes her head. "I need some of my own things. Tomorrow, maybe."
"You've got a toothbrush in your purse and you're wearing my shirt." I cross my arms. "What else do you actually need tonight?"
"Shaw—"
"Someone's targeting Brotherhood businesses. You're investigating those fires. Anyone paying attention knows you're connected to this." I keep my voice level. "Driving back to that hotel alone, late at night, when you're this tired—that's not practical. That's risky."
"I can take care of myself."
"Never said you couldn't." I step closer. "But you don't have to. The guest room has clean sheets and me down the hall if anything goes wrong. Your hotel has thin walls and no backup."
She wavers. I can see it in the way her shoulders drop slightly, the way she glances toward the hallway. Then she straightens.
"I need my laptop charger. My work files. Clean clothes for tomorrow's interviews." Her voice is steady. "I'm not being stubborn, Shaw. I'm being practical. I can't show up to interrogate suspects wearing your shirt and yesterday's jeans."
Fuck. She's right.
"Tomorrow night then. You pack a bag, bring what you need, stay here while we're working this case."
"We'll see." But there's a softness in her expression that wasn't there before.
"Not a suggestion, Mira. We're having this conversation again tomorrow." I walk her to the door. "Text me when you get back to the hotel."
"I will."
I watch her drive away, that uneasy feeling settling in my gut. Something feels off about letting her leave, but I can't force her to stay without crossing lines we just established we're not crossing.
Sleep doesn't come easy. I lie awake thinking about the case, about Mira alone in that hotel, about how quickly things shifted between us. The sheets still smell like her—coffee and something floral I can't name. When I finally drift off, it's shallow and fitful.
Morning drags me back to consciousness before I'm ready. I'm at the station reviewing evidence, third cup of coffee doing nothing for the exhaustion, when my phone rings. Mira's name on the screen.
"Hey—"
"Shaw." Her voice is tight, controlled fear bleeding through. "I'm in my hotel room; someone broke in."
Cold fury floods my system. "Are you hurt?"
