"I meant what I said before. I want you to stay," he says finally. "Here. In Whisper Vale. With me. I know that's selfish. I know you have a life in San Francisco, a career, people who?—"
"I don't have anything in San Francisco. Not anymore." I cut him off. "My apartment is a crime scene. My career is in ruins. The few friends I had have probably forgotten my name by now. The only thing waiting for me there is my mother, and she doesn't even know who I am most days."
"So you'd stay?"
"I'd consider it." I hold up a hand before he can respond. "I'm not making promises. We're in an intense situation, and I know that can distort feelings. But if I'm being honest with myself, the thought of leaving here, leaving you, feels worse than anything the Castellanos could do to me."
"That's dramatic."
"I'm a prosecutor. We're trained in dramatic."
He laughs, and the sound loosens something in my chest. "Fair point."
"I'm just saying, whatever happens, I don't want this to end when the trial does. I want to see what we are when we're not running for our lives."
"We might be boring."
"You could never be boring."
"I live alone in the mountains and check my perimeter four times a day. That's the definition of boring."
"That's the definition of careful. And I happen to find careful very attractive." I reach across the table and take his hand. "Whatever comes next, I want to face it with you. That's all I'm saying."
His thumb traces circles on my palm. "I want that too."
"Then we're agreed."
"We're agreed."
We finish lunch in comfortable silence. Outside, the first flakes of snow begin to fall since I’ve been here, dusting the trees in white. The world feels quiet, peaceful, suspended in a moment of calm before whatever storm is coming.
That night, we make love slowly, taking our time, learning each other's bodies with a patience we didn't have before. Deck traces every curve of me like he's memorizing the map, and I do the same, cataloging his scars and planes and the sounds he makes when I touch him just right.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his hand stroking my hair while I drift on the edge of sleep.
"I never thought I'd have this," he says quietly. "After Kandahar, after everything, I thought I'd spend the rest of my life alone. It's what I deserved."
"Nobody deserves to be alone."
"I thought I did. I thought it was penance for the people I couldn't save." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "Then you showed up in your heels and your attitude, and suddenly penance didn't seem like enough anymore. Suddenly I wanted to live, not just survive."
"Is that why you've been so resistant? All the 'we can't do this' speeches?"
"Partly. I was also terrified of losing you. Still am." His arm tightens around me. "But being without you feels worse than the fear of losing you. So here we are."
"Here we are," I echo.
I fall asleep in his arms, warm and safe, the snow falling silently outside the window. For the first time since this nightmare began, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.
I should know better than to believe in fairy tales.
CHAPTER NINE
DECK
The call comes at three in the morning.
I'm awake instantly, years of training overriding the deep sleep Vivian's presence has finally allowed me. She stirs beside me as I reach for the satellite phone, but I press a hand to her shoulder.
