My name tears from his throat—raw and broken and desperate. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to bruise as he holds me in place, keeping himself seated as deep as possiblewhile pleasure crashes through him. I feel the shudders that wrack his powerful frame, the way his abs flex and release with each aftershock.
His face is buried in my neck, breath coming in harsh gasps against my skin. I feel the racing of his heart where our chests press together, the slick heat of sweat between us. He's shaking, this controlled Marine completely undone, and the knowledge that I did this to him sends a final ripple of pleasure through my oversensitive body.
We collapse together, sweaty and spent. His weight pins me to the mattress for a long moment before he rolls to his side, pulling me against his chest. Our breathing slowly evens out, hearts gradually returning to normal rhythms.
Fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip. The room smells like sex and sweat and us. Outside these walls, Garrison's out there somewhere. Briggs is hunting. The investigation continues.
But right here, wrapped in Thatcher's arms with his heartbeat steady under my palm, I let myself have this. Just for tonight.
His breathing deepens first, evening into the steady rhythm of sleep. Mine takes longer—body still humming from what we just did, mind cycling through everything that's happened.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Thatcher stirs, reaches for it with one arm while keeping me anchored against him with the other. He squints at the screen in the darkness.
Goes completely still.
"What?" I ask, pushing up on one elbow.
His jaw tightens as he reads. When he looks at me, something dangerous flashes in his eyes.
"They lost her. Garrison slipped through the roadblocks." He sits up, already reaching for his clothes. "And Briggs just pinged a cell tower three miles from here."
9
THATCHER
The call came just after we'd fallen asleep. Garrison slipped the roadblocks. Briggs pinged a tower three miles out.
I had my team mobilized before Rivera finished talking. Sullivan locked down the perimeter of my building, Garcia and Santos positioned on the main access roads with eyes on every vehicle approaching the neighborhood, Hayes coordinating with base security. Rivera's NCIS team swept a five-mile radius while I stayed with Gwen, sidearm within reach, watching the door and windows like they were firing positions.
"How long do we wait?" Gwen asked around midnight, curled on the couch with her laptop, pretending to work while she checks the window every few minutes.
"As long as it takes."
The hours crawled. Sullivan checked in every thirty minutes with the same report: nothing. Garcia and Santos tracked every vehicle that came within two miles of my place. None matched Briggs's vehicle description. Hayes coordinated with gate security, reviewing every entry and exit from base since the ping.
By the time Rivera called off the alert in the early hours of the morning, we had nothing. Either Briggs spooked when he realized we'd mobilized, or he'd never been planning a move in the first place. Maybe just passing through. Maybe testing our response time.
Either way, by the time we stumbled to bed, exhaustion had won. We crashed hard, too tired for anything except collapsing into each other.
Now sunlight cuts through the blinds, painting stripes across Gwen's bare shoulder. She's pressed against my side, one leg thrown over mine, her breath soft and even against my chest. My arm went numb a while ago but I haven't moved. I don't want to move. I don't want to break whatever this is.
Suzy would have liked her. The thought comes unbidden but doesn't hurt the way it used to. Suzy would have appreciated Gwen's stubborn streak, her refusal to be protected like some fragile thing. Would have laughed at how thoroughly Gwen's dismantled every defense I spent years building.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Group text. I reach for it carefully, trying not to wake her.
Sullivan: Captain finally sealed the deal. About damn time.
Garcia: How do you know? Maybe they just slept.
Sullivan: Come on. You see the way they look at each other? No way they just slept.
Santos: About time.
Sullivan: SANTOS SPEAKS. Mark the calendar. Also, I told you he had it in him.
Garcia: You also said it would take two weeks. You lost the bet.
