Ray was watching the water. "Whatever's happening between you two, it's real. I can see that." His voice carried no judgment. No warning. The assessment of a man who'd spent his career reading people and his whole life watching out for this particular one. "It's moving fast, and I'm not going to pretend I'm not paying attention."
"I wouldn't expect you not to."
"He's a good man, Emily. One of the best I know." Ray turned to look at her directly. "Just don't make me regret saying that."
"I won't."
Ray studied her, then nodded. "Yeah. I believe you."
He walked back toward the cabin, and Emily stood alone at the edge of the lake and let the afternoon settle around her.
Jake appeared a few minutes later, coming to stand beside her the way Ray had. But where Ray had kept a professional distance, Jake stood close enough that their shoulders touched.
"Ray had something to say?" he asked.
"He did."
"About us?"
"About you, mostly." She turned to look at him. "What you told me in there. About Syria. That wasn't just a pep talk."
"No."
"That was real."
"Yeah. It was."
Emily reached over and took his hand. Simple, but it felt like a declaration.
"Thank you," she said again.
They stood there for a while, watching the light shift on the water. The cabin behind them, empty. Costa in the wind. The case stalled.
But somehow, standing here with Jake's hand in hers, it didn't feel like failure.
"So what now?" she asked finally. "Costa's gone. Vance is hunting him. We're back to square one."
Jake looked at her, and the serious expression gave way to that familiar warmth.
"Only one thing left to do now," he said.
Emily nodded, already shifting into work mode. "Dig deeper into his financials? See if there's another property we missed?"
"No."
She frowned. "Reinterview his associates?"
"Em." He waited until she looked at him. "The Anchor. Tomorrow night. All of us. We need to reset — physically, emotionally, and alcoholically."
"Alcoholically isn't a word."
That smile. The one that had been dismantling her defenses since they met. "Yes ma'am, it most certainly is."
The Anchor on a Friday night had its own rhythm. The jukebox playing The Killers, the bar comfortably full without being packed, and Tommy holding court in the big corner booth like he'd built the place himself.
Emily walked in beside Claire, both of them having made an effort without quite admitting it to each other. Claire had suggested the sundress; Emily had agreed without argument. Sometimes you wanted to look good for no reason other than feeling good.
Jake was already there, standing at the bar with Ray and Gator. No cap tonight — just faded jeans and a worn gray Florida shirt that somehow made him look more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. When he caught sight of her coming through the door, his whole face changed.
