"Emily Callahan, Jake Walsh." Ray gestured between them with the calm authority of a man who was either oblivious to what had just happened in his office or understood it completely. "Jake's our contract investigator. He's going to find Costa."
"Jake Walsh." She said his name like she was testing it for structural integrity. She set her coffee on the edge of Ray's desk and extended her hand. "AUSA Callahan."
Jake stood. Took her hand. Her grip was firm and professional and the contact traveled through his entire nervous system like a message he'd been waiting to receive.
"He didn't mention you were beautiful."
The words left him before any reasonable filter could intervene. Not because Jake Walsh was reckless, not because he was unprofessional, but because Emily Callahan was standing three feet from him and his brain had apparently decided that honesty was more important than strategy.
Nobody moved. Jake registered it without any shift in the room's atmosphere, automatically, with the same instinct that had kept him alive in places where stillness meant something was about to go wrong. Except nothing was going wrong. It was going very right, and he had absolutely no plan for it.
Emily's hand was still in his. Her eyes had widened by a fraction, enough that someone who hadn't spent seven years reading micro-expressions might have missed it. The woman behind her, Claire, made a sound that was trying very hard not to be a laugh.
"Excuse me?" Emily said.
"Ray." Jake released her hand but didn't step back. Didn't break eye contact. "He told me about your case record. Your conviction rate. Your clerkship. How you build a RICO case from the ground up." He held her eyes. "He left that part out."
"That part isn't relevant to the case."
"Probably not." Jake smiled. He couldn't help it. "But it's relevant to everything else."
Emily stared at him. Jake could see her running the assessment behind those hazel eyes:Is he competent? Is hetrustworthy? Is he going to be a problem?The answers, he knew, were yes, yes, and absolutely.
Claire had sat in the other chair. Jake noticed how she'd positioned herself, close enough to Emily to support, far enough to observe. A woman who understood spatial dynamics.
"Ray mentioned you're former military," Emily said. "Special Operations."
"Delta." Jake said it in the same manner he said everything about his service. Like a fact, not a credential. "Seven years."
"And before that?"
"Rangers. And before that, college. And before that, high school. You want my kindergarten records?"
"I want to know who's looking for my witness."
"Someone who finds people." Jake didn't look away. "Someone who's going to find him, bring him back safe, and make sure your case stays on track. And if that's not enough for you, ask Ray. He'll tell you the rest."
Emily glanced at Ray. Whatever she saw in his expression was apparently sufficient, because when she turned back to Jake, the look on her face had shifted. Not her walls. Those were still up, still reinforced. But behind them, in the place where she made decisions, she was considering.
"Fine," she said. "Walk me through your approach."
"I'll need everything you have on Costa. Financial records, family contacts, patterns of behavior. Last three months of check-in reports." Jake paused. "And I'll need to work with you directly. Not through channels. Not through intermediaries. You and me."
"Is that how you typically work?"
"It's how I work when the case matters."
"All cases matter."
"This one matters to you." Jake watched her face. "I can tell by how you’re holding that file."
Emily looked down at her hands. She was gripping the folder tighter than a case file required, and the fact that he'd noticed traveled across her features like weather she hadn't checked the forecast for.
"You read people," she said.
"Occupational habit."
"Is that what this is? Professional observation?"
