"A sting operation," I say.
"A trap," Hayes corrects. "With you as the bait."
The table goes quiet.
"Not bait," Deck says firmly. "You stay at Guardian Peak. The trap operates through digital channels."
"Kane sent people to this compound three days ago," I say. "He knows where I am. If we feed Whitfield false data and Kane realizes it's a setup, his next move isn't digital. It's physical. He'll try to extract me or eliminate me as a witness."
"Which is exactly why you stay here," Hayes says. His voice has an edge now that wasn't there a moment ago. The operator and the man who shares my bed are colliding, and the operator is winning. "This compound is the most secure location available. You don't leave. Period."
"I can't run my company from a cabin indefinitely."
"You can run it from here until the threat is neutralized."
"And if the threat isn't neutralized before Kane makes his bid? If my stock hits forty-two while I'm hiding in the mountains? I lose everything, Hayes. Everything I built."
His jaw tightens. I see the struggle. The protector who wants to lock me in the cabin and stand guard with a rifle versus the man who respects me enough to know I'm right.
"Three days," Deck says, cutting through the tension. "We set the trap, feed the data, and give the FBI seventy-two hours to act. If Kane accelerates, we adjust. But Lex stays on compound, and Hayes stays on her."
I look at Deck. The commander. The man who built this team and this place and has the scars to prove he understands what's at stake when you protect someone who matters.
"Three days," I agree.
Hayes doesn't look at me when the briefing ends. He walks out with Deck and Mace, already discussing perimeter reinforcements, and the professional distance he puts between us in front of the team is so seamless that no one would guess he woke up in my bed this morning.
That professionalism should reassure me. It doesn't.
By evening,the compound is in motion. Sully built the false data package and routed it through a channel Whitfield monitors. Deck doubled the perimeter patrols. Mace coordinated with the FBI's San Francisco field office. Warren and my legal team are drafting the SEC filing.
I've been on calls for eleven straight hours. My voice is hoarse. My eyes burn from screen time. But the gears are turning, and for the first time since this started, I'm not reacting. I'm attacking.
Hayes knocks at twenty-one hundred. I open the door and he walks in carrying two plates covered in foil.
"Cade's roast chicken. Natalie's potatoes." He sets them on the counter. "You didn't eat lunch."
"I had a protein bar."
"A protein bar is not lunch." He uncovers the plates and the smell makes my stomach growl loud enough that he hears it and raises an eyebrow. "Sit."
I sit. He sits across from me. We eat in a quiet that feels earned after the chaos of the day. The chicken is tender, the potatoes are buttery, and Hayes eats with the focused efficiency of a man who's been fed by military mess halls and appreciates home cooking on a cellular level.
"You were good today," I say. "In the briefing."
He glances up. "Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm impressed. You challenged Deck's containment strategy and you were right about the accelerated timeline. You saw the tactical picture before anyone else at that table."
"Careful. That sounded like a compliment."
"It was a compliment."
He sets his fork down. Looks at me across the small table, dinner between us, the lamp casting warm light across his face. The playful charm is there, but underneath it, something serious.
"You were better," he says. "Watching you in that room, running scenarios, strategizing in real time, managing a multi-front operation while your company's under siege? That was something, Lex."
"That's just what I do."
