"Don't know yet." That was the thing. Most people advertised their reasons, wore their motivations where anyone could see. Emily kept hers close. Walls everywhere, but walls with framing. Built with intention, not panic.
Gator was turning his coffee mug in slow circles on the bar top. When he looked up, his eyes had that intensity Jake remembered from mission briefs. The look that said whatever came next mattered.
"You may be the best damn operator I've ever seen, kid, but you ain't bulletproof." He took a long sip of his coffee. "Just cause you ain't in the sandbox anymore doesn't mean there aren't enemy threats."
Jake knew what he meant. It was the conversation they'd had a dozen times over the years, going back to selection. Gator had flagged it before Jake's first deployment and kept flagging it every time Jake walked into anything sideways with a grin on his face.You're too easy with risk. Too confident it'll work out. One day it won't.
The thing was, it always had. Every firefight, every extraction, every situation that should have gone wrong. Jake moved through the world like the odds didn't apply to him, and so far they hadn't. He wasn't reckless. He was good. But Gator had never quite trusted the distinction.
"I'm not running an op," Jake said. "I'm having coffee with a pretty lawyer."
"You're running full speed at something you can't outshoot." Gator set his mug down. "I've watched you walk into firefights calmer than most men order breakfast. Never once saw you worry about yourself. Didn't matter if you came home because you didn't have anything to come home to." He paused, let that land. "Maybe it's time you found someone worth protecting. Including yourself."
Jake didn't have an answer for that. The silence stretched between them, comfortable in the way only decades of trust allowed.
"She's not going to be easy," Gator said. "Woman like that, she's going to have questions. She's going to want to understand how you work, where your information comes from. Whether it's clean."
"I've already started that conversation. Everything I run is sourced. FBI contacts from joint ops, DEA liaisons, people I served with who landed in three-letter agencies. I don't cut corners that would blow up in a courtroom."
"You're thinking about her courtroom."
"I'm thinking about not being the reason her career falls apart."
Gator nodded. "Good. That's good." He reached under the bar, pulled out a folded piece of paper, slid it across. "Speaking of things that might blow up. Word came through the network this morning. Vance is getting impatient."
Jake unfolded the paper. A list of names, dates, locations. Vance's people, making contact with Costa's known associates over the past week. Pressure visits.
"He's looking for Costa," Jake said.
"Hard. And he's not being subtle about it. Three of Costa's former clients have gotten visits. Friendly conversations, but the kind where someone mentions your daughter's school by name." Gator set down his mug with more force than necessary. "Window's closing. You find Costa before Vance does, or Vance finds him first."
Jake folded the paper, tucked it into his pocket. "Emily got a warrant for Costa's office. We're hitting it today."
Gator picked up the coffee pot, topped off Jake's mug one more time. "And Jake? Whatever you're feeling about this woman? Don't let it make you stupid. You've got good instincts. Trust them. But keep your head in the game."
"Always do."
"No, you don't. That's what worries me." But the hard edge had left his voice. "Go on. Get out of here. Go find your accountant."
Jake stood, grabbed his keys from the bar. At the door, he turned back.
"Gator. Thanks."
"For what?"
"Giving a damn."
Gator waved him off, but Jake caught the look on his face as he pushed through the door into the morning light. Pride and worry, braided together the way they'd always been.
The federal building's lobby was all marble and metal detectors, flags and formality. Jake had been through enough government buildings to know the architecture was intentional. Impress upon visitors the leverage of the institution. Remind them who held the power here.
He spotted Emily through the glass before she noticed him. She was talking to a younger attorney, someone from her office. Her posture said authority without effort. Shoulders back, chin level, hands moving with precision as she made a point. The other lawyer was nodding, clearly deferring to her read.
Jake watched her work. This was her element. Legal briefs and evidentiary standards and the language of federal prosecution. She moved through it how he moved through tactical problems. Fluent in a way that couldn't be taught.
When she turned and saw him waiting, her expression shifted. Not the professional mask she wore for colleagues. The real thing underneath, quickly contained.
She spoke briefly to the other attorney, who nodded and retreated. Then she crossed the lobby toward him with her bag over her shoulder and a manila folder in her hand.
