He'd parked in the covered parking lot and walked in an hour early, unable to sit still in the truck. Now he scanned every face coming up the escalator, looking for hazel eyes and long, dark-blond hair pulled back in that practical ponytail.
There.
Charlie appeared at the top of the escalator, Flo on a leash beside her. Even from here, Ben could see the exhaustion in her shoulders, the way she carried herself like someone who'd been running on fumes for too long. Her tactical backpack was slung over one shoulder, her other hand gripping Flo's lead.
She looked tired. Drawn. Beautiful.
Charlie's eyes swept the crowd, searching. Professional habit, probably—assessing threats, locating exits.
Then she found him.
The transformation was instantaneous. Her face lit up—not the polite smile she gave strangers or the professional mask she wore for clients. This was pure, unguarded joy. Her whole body seemed to brighten. Her shoulders lifted as if her exhaustion melted away as she stepped off the escalator.
Ben's chest went warm.
She was still searching his face as she followed the crowd through the roped-off security area, like she couldn't quite believe he was real until she was standing in front of him, looking up into his eyes. Flo wagged her tail, recognizing him immediately.
“Hey,” Charlie said, her voice soft.
Ben didn't answer with words. He just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She came willingly, easily, like she belonged there. Her backpack hit the floor besidethem. Her arms went around his waist and she pressed her face against his shirt.
She smelled like the recycled air from the plane, but underneath it, he smelled warm, sweet ponderosa pine bark and that distinctive scent that was justCharlie.
“I've missed you, Princess,” Ben murmured into her hair.
He felt her shiver—actually shiver—at that word.
“I missed you, too.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “So much.”
They stood like that for a long moment, the crowd flowing around them like water around stones in a river. Flo sat patiently at their feet, tail thumping against the sparkling white floor.
Finally, Charlie pulled back just enough to look up at him again. “Thanks again. You didn't have to drive all the way down here.”
“Yes, I did.” Ben picked up her backpack and slung it over his shoulder. It barely weighed anything. That was his efficient Charlie. “Your coach awaits.”
That got a tired laugh out of her. “My coach?”
“Big blue pickup truck. It doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, I'm afraid.”
“Good. I can use some normal.”
She slipped her hand into his as if she’d done it a hundred times. That sent his heart pounding in his chest and his cock twitching in his pants.
She was smiling as they walked toward the parking garage, Flo trotting beside her. They didn't talk much on the walk. Ben kept stealing glances at her—the shadows under her eyes, the tight set of her jaw that said she was holding something back. Worry, probably. Maybe guilt. He’d have to fix that.
“You got them home safely,” Ben said as they reached his truck.
“I know. And if anyone can protect them, it’s Malcom McCoy.” Charlie opened the back passenger door for Flo, who hopped in without hesitation.
“Malcom McCoy?”
“Former black ops, built like a tank, could kill you with a look.” Charlie's mouth quirked. “And completely wrapped around his wife Annalie's little finger. He's the best there is. They're in good hands.”
“But you're still worried.”
“Even though he wasn’t my client, someone tried to kill Rowan on my watch.” Charlie closed the back door and leaned against it, her eyes on the concrete floor of the parking garage. “I should have caught it earlier. Should have seen?—”
“Charlie.” Ben stepped close, bracketing her against the truck with his arms. “You did catch it. We both saved him. That's how it works.”
