"I want to. I used to. But watching good people die for doing the right thing..." He shrugged. "Makes it hard to believe there's someone looking out for us."
Sarah was quiet for a moment, picking at the bottle’s label. "My dad used to say that faith isn't believing everything will work out. It's believing that whatever happens, you're not facing it alone."
"Tank would have liked that."
"I think I would have liked him."
They sat in comfortable silence, the basement's training equipment surrounding them. Sarah didn't belong here. She belonged in boardrooms and conference halls, using her brilliant mind to build things instead of destroying them. She belonged with someone who could give her stability, security, a future that didn't involve learning how to dislocate her own thumb.
Griff watched her examine her hands—soft, clever hands that should be typing reports, not practicing combat techniques. Everything about her spoke of a life carefully built around intellect and order. Georgetown educated. FBI credentials. Probably had a nice apartment in a safe neighborhood, friends who discussed fine art and weekend plans, not weapons and warfare.
"What's your life like?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, your real life. Before all this."
She looked surprised by the question. "Real life? I work too much, order takeout too much, and talk to my spider plant more than actual humans. Not exactly glamorous."
"No boyfriend waiting for you to come home?" He clenched his fists as the query slipped out. Oh, man. Not where he wanted to go at the moment.
He set his jaw and waited for the inevitable.
"No boyfriend. There was someone—Derek from the Treasury Department. We dated for six months." She made a face. "He dumped me for being 'too intense about work' and having 'no work-life balance.' Apparently, staying late to solve financial crimes isn't considered 'fun.'"
"His loss."
"Is it? I mean, look at me. Learning to fight, hiding from assassins, planning to break up a conspiracy. This is exactly the kind of intensity that drives normal people away."
Griff studied her profile, noting the way she held herself—strong despite everything, competent despite being terrified. "You're not too intense. You're exactly intense enough."
"For what?"
For someone like me,he thought but didn't say. Instead: "For this mission. For justice. For making sure Tank's killers don't win."
She smiled, small but genuine. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in months."
The words hit harder than they should have. Here was this incredible woman—brilliant, brave, loyal, beautiful in ways that had nothing to do with appearance—and some Treasury Department bureaucrat had made her believe she was too much. While Griff sat beside her thinking he was nowhere near enough for her.
Because that's what this was really about. Not that their lives were incompatible—they were, completely—but that she deserved so much better than what he could offer. She deserved someone who could give her the stability she'd built her life around, not a broken operator who lived mission to mission with no real home, no real future beyond the next target.
After Charleston, she'd go back to her world. Write reports about the conspiracy, probably get commended for her work, maybe transferred to a better position. She'd find someone worthy of her—someone safe, stable, who'd appreciate her mind and her courage without asking her to duck bullets or learn combat techniques.
And Griff would go back to his world—the shadows, the missions, the endless cycle of hunting bad guys until one of them finally got lucky. It was the only life he knew, the only one he was good at. Tank had been trying to find something better when he died. Griff wasn't naive enough to think he'd be more successful.
"We should get some rest," he said, standing abruptly. "Long drive tomorrow."
"Right. Thank you. For teaching me, I mean. I know it wasn't easy."
"You're tougher than you think."
"I hope so. I have a feeling Charleston is going to test that theory."
As they headed upstairs, Doc appeared with a travel bag and car keys. "Your chariot awaits," she announced. "Clean vehicle, untraceable to any of us. GPS disabled, communications encrypted. I've taken the liberty of packing supplies you'll need."
"What kind of supplies?" Sarah asked.
"The useful kind. Weapons, medical equipment, cash, documentation. Everything one needs for a proper road trip." Doc's smile was sharp.
Griff pocketed the keys, studying the woman who'd rescued them with a food truck and enough firepower to outfit a small army. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
"Wise policy. Now, off with you both. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we change the world."
