"Maybe." She shifts through more files. "Cascade Services shows similar patterns—revenue dropping steadily, debt increasing. Summit Contractors is more stable financially, but they've lost significant market share to Brotherhood-preferred vendors."
We compile data for over an hour, building profiles on each suspect showing financial desperation, business failures, rejected proposals. Everything points to motive. Nothing gives us the smoking gun proving which one crossed the line.
Mira stretches, rolling her shoulders back. Movement makes her sweater slip again, exposing the curve where neck meets shoulder.
"Shaw." Her voice pulls my attention to her face. "We need to talk about the Forge."
I shift my chair to face her fully, giving her room to say what she needs.
"What about it?"
"I've been processing it." She meets my gaze without flinching. "What happened there. What it meant. How right it felt to surrender control when I've spent years building my life around maintaining it."
"And?"
"It scared me." Honesty without apology. "Not you. Not what we did. But how easily I gave in. How much I wanted to keep giving in. How good it felt to stop fighting and just follow your lead."
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "That's not weakness. You chose to trust me. Chose to let go. Takes more guts than most people have, especially for someone who's been through what you have."
"I know that intellectually." She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "But knowing it and accepting it are different things."
I reach across the space and find her hand. "You responded honestly to something that felt good instead of overthinking yourself out of experiencing it."
Her hand turns in mine, palm pressing against palm. Contact grounds us both in this moment instead of whatever spirals her brain has been running.
"I want more." Quiet but firm. "Not necessarily another scene at the Forge. Just more of you. More of whatever this is between us."
I stand and pull her up with me. "We move at your pace. But you should know that having you in my house, watching you inmy kitchen making coffee this morning, makes it damn hard to maintain professional distance."
"Good." She steps closer, eliminating the gap. "Because I'm done pretending I don't want this."
Having her here, in my space, makes me want her to understand where I came from. What the Brotherhood really means. I reach for the photo album I keep in my office drawer, pulling it out and opening it to the first page.
I show her images of younger versions of Will, Cole, and myself. "This is how it started. Before we were the Iron Brotherhood. When we were just friends trying to build something that mattered."
She studies photos, asking questions about faces she doesn't recognize. I point out founding members, explaining who stayed and who left as the club evolved.
I tap a photo showing a man with Will's build and my intensity, grinning at the camera with his arm around Will's shoulders. "Will's best friend from the service. They deployed together, survived hell together, came home together. Max was supposed to be President before Will."
Her voice goes soft, recognizing loss. "What happened?"
"Fire. Eight years ago." The words still carry weight even after time dulled the sharpest edges. "Apartment complex, old wiring, went up fast. Max lived on the third floor with his girlfriend and their kid. I was first on scene." I pause, my jaw tightening. "Couldn't reach them in time. Building was already too far gone. Will got there right as it collapsed. Watched me fail to save his best friend."
She doesn't offer empty platitudes. Just listens while I explain how Max's death shaped everything that came after. Will stepped into leadership he never wanted, accepted it because Max believed in what the Brotherhood could become. Clubbecame tighter, more protective, more serious about the bonds we built. Family instead of just friends who rode together.
I close the album. "Club was partly built in his memory. His belief that we could create something better than what military life offered. Family we chose instead of one assigned to us. Brothers who picked each other deliberately."
"That's beautiful and painful at the same time." Her hand finds mine, fingers threading together. "Family of choice. That's what you've built here."
I meet her eyes directly. "Which is why you're staying here until we catch whoever's targeting Brotherhood-connected businesses. You're under my protection now, whether the threat is direct or indirect."
Over the next hour, we go through the album together. She asks questions about different brothers, about how the club operates, about what it means to be Sergeant-at-Arms. I answer honestly because she's not a threat anymore. She's family. Each story I tell weaves her deeper into understanding what the Brotherhood means, why we protect our own with such fierce dedication.
Eventually, the work waiting pulls us back. The investigation doesn't pause for personal connection, no matter how much understanding we build between us. Mira settles back into her chair, pulling up files on Cascade Services. She focuses completely on the screen, mind already shifting back into investigator mode.
This woman fits because she challenges me professionally, matches me personally, and trusts me intimately. Finding all three in one person is rare enough I'm not letting her slip away once this case closes.
She leans forward, highlighting a section. "Cascade Services has been making unusual cash withdrawals over the pasthalf year. Large amounts, no clear business purpose. Pattern suggests they're paying for something off the books."
