I want a life standing beside this man, not just behind my badge.
I breathe in, let the decision anchor itself in my chest. “Let’s just say this conversation never happened.”
He closes his eyes briefly, and the exhale he lets out comes from a breath he’s been holding all night.
I’m unsettled by how much that release tells me—how serious this was, how carefully he’d been holding himself together until I spoke.
I didn’t just agree to help. I took on a part of what he’s been carrying. If we’re doing this life together, it’s how it should be.
Still, the fallout could be brutal if this ever leads back to me.
And I don’t know which scares me more—that, or what they might find.
32
By the timeI reach the station that morning, my body goes back on high alert. The second I push through the glass doors, a familiar prickle crawls up my spine.
The station smells the same—burnt coffee and floor cleaner—but today the air feels…watchful.
Even though no one here knows a thing.
My shoulders lift the slightest bit before I force them down. A quiet pulse of awareness runs through me, sharp enough that I feel the weight of my badge in a way I didn’t before, as if I’m stepping into two worlds at once—the one I swore an oath to and the one I crossedinto this morning.
Only two people are in. Ingram’s desk is empty. From what I’ve seen, he’s never in at this time, but still, it sends an eerie question through my veins. Where is he?
Probably at home.
He knows nothing, Freya.
Callum is in his office with the door half-open, riffling through paperwork. Luke stands by the printer, cursing at it because it only seems to jam for him.
“Morning,” he mutters, glancing up.
I lift a hand in greeting and head for my desk, dropping my bag with a soft thud. A stack of blank daily reports sits waiting—equipment checks, patrol rosters, vehicle logs. I have highway patrol today. Hours in a cruiser with nothing but a radar gun and my own thoughts for company.
I’m not up for being alone today with Ingram knowing I am. I keep reminding myself two things. One, Ingram still thinks I haven’t found Andy. And two, Anton said he could join me on patrol. Sit in his truck behind.
It would be goddamn embarrassing though for any of the officers to see him “babysitting.”
Worse than that is that I have all day to think myself in circles. To think about who Mace is. About the money. And now…Mariana.
I sit at my desk, log into the system, and start filling out the duty sheet.
And then the door opens behind me.
I glance up.
Ingram walks in.
He’s not in uniform. No badge clipped to his belt. Just jeans, a charcoal-gray quarter-zip, and a travel mug in his hand.
Instinct moves first—a quick scan of his hands, hisstance, the relaxed expression that doesn’t match the knot forming in my gut.
“Morning, Johnson,” he says, voice light,as it always is.
“Good morning,” I reply, equally even.
He strolls over, leaning his hip against the corner of my desk. He’s not close enough to invade my space, but still, my pulse ticks upward. My grip on the pen tightens without me noticing.
