Safe.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? She felt safe with Wolf in a way she hadn’t felt safe with anyone in fifteen years.
Claire opened the door.
He stood in the hallway, ten feet away. Grizzly was in full bodyguard mode beside her door.
“Commander,” Grizzly said.
“Get some sleep,” Wolf replied. “I’ve got her for tonight.”
Then it was just the two of them in the dimly lit corridor. Something about the way he’d said that—I’ve got her for tonight—made Claire’s pulse skip.
He wore tactical pants and a black T-shirt that showed off the kind of build a man gained from years of hard training. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d been lying down. His weapon was holstered at his hip. He still looked professional, but...softer somehow than during the day.
“Agent Dawson.” His voice was quiet in the stillness.
“It’s after midnight, Wolf. I think we can skip the formalities. Call me Claire.”
The corner of his mouth almost twitched. Almost. “This way.”
He moved down the hallway with that controlled grace she’d noticed earlier. Always aware. Always assessing. Eyes tracking corners, checking sight lines, never fully relaxed, even in his own compound.
But he slowed his pace for her, keeping just slightly ahead but not so far she’d feel like he was leading her. When they came to the stairs, his hand hovered near her lower back without actually touching it—protective but respectful of her space.
Claire noticed all of it. Filed it away. She told herself it was a habit—she’d been this way since her encounter with Lily’s killer.
Or maybe she was just a woman noticing a man who made her pulse spike.
The cafeteria was industrial but comfortable—stainless steel appliances, long tables, that particular smell of a commercial kitchen. Dim security lighting cast everything in soft shadows.
Wolf moved to a cabinet and pulled it open, revealing an impressive selection of tea. “Chamomile? Earl Grey? Green?” He glanced back at her. “Or do you need something stronger? I think Hawk hides the good stuff somewhere.”
“Chamomile’s fine. I’d like to sleep eventually.”
He pulled down a box, filled an electric kettle with water, and set it to boil. His movements were efficient, economical. He knew exactly where everything was.
Then he opened another cabinet, rummaged for a moment, and emerged with a package of cookies.
“Chocolate chip.” He set them on the counter. “Hawk’s personal stash, but don’t tell him I raided it.”
Claire found herself smiling. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
She watched him work—this man who’d been all tactical assessment and clipped commands during the day was now casually making her tea and stealing cookies. The shift was... surprising.
Appealing.
He caught her staring. “What?”
“Nothing. I didn’t peg you for the domestic type.”
“I can make tea without burning down a building.” He grabbed two mugs from another cabinet. “Low bar, but I clear it.”
“Impressive résumé.”
Was that almost a smile? Hard to tell in the dim light.
The kettle whistled. Wolf poured water over the tea bags and brought both mugs to the nearest table. He set the cookies between them and sat down across from her—close enough to feel intimate, far enough to maintain distance.
