She smiled against his shoulder. "Who said I wanted to get clean?"
His hand caught her wrist, stilling her movement. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and hungry. Then he spun her gently until her back was against the tile wall, the cool ceramic contrasting with the hot water still spraying down.
His hand caught her wrist, stilling her movement. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and hungry, then spun her gently until her back was against the tile wall, the cool ceramic contrasting with the hot water still spraying down.
"Logan," she breathed.
"I've got you, baby."
His fingers moved against her with purpose, finding the rhythm that made her hips roll into his touch. His thumb found her clit and she moaned, the sound echoing off the tile. The pleasure built fast and sharp, coiling tighter in her belly with every stroke.
When she came, it was with his name on her lips and her nails digging into his shoulders. Her whole body trembled, her legs barely holding her up. He held her through it, one arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her steady against the wall.
When she could breathe again, she looked up at him through the steam and spray. "Your turn."
She reached for him again, wrapping her hand around his hard length. He groaned, his head falling forward, forehead pressing against the tile beside her head. His hips rocked into her touch, seeking more friction, more pressure.
She stroked him the way she'd learned he liked, firm, steady, her thumb brushing over the head with each pass. His breathing grew ragged, his body tensing. His hand braced against the tile beside her head, muscles flexing in his arm.
"Rachel," he groaned. "I'm close."
"Good. I want to watch you."
That did it. He came with a groan that was half her name, his release spilling over her hand and being washed away by the spray. She watched his face as he fell apart, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes squeezed shut, the way his whole body shuddered.
When he could move again, he kissed her. Deep and thorough, tasting like gratitude and possession and something more tender.
"Come on," he said quietly, his voice rough. "Let's actually get clean now."
They washed each other for real this time. Shampooed hair, fingers massaging scalps. Rinsed soap. Small, intimate touches that felt more meaningful than the orgasms had. The casual intimacy of knowing someone's body, of being comfortable in shared space.
When they got out, Ghost wrapped her in a towel and dried her off carefully. Her hair. Her back. Between her toes. Like she was precious. Like she mattered.
Then he dried himself quickly and they got dressed, her in clean clothes that smelled like Target and new fabric, him in fresh sweatpants and a faded Navy T-shirt.
Rachel felt different. Lighter somehow. Like something had shifted between them in that shower. Like they'd crossed another invisible line toward something more permanent.
***
By evening, they were at the dining table again. The sun was lower now, casting long golden shadows across the room. Rachel was cross-referencing convoy routes, her laptop screen reflecting in her glasses. Ghost sat across from her, working through encrypted reports, his expression focused and intense.
The house was quiet except for the tap of keys and the occasional rustle of paper. Outside, she could hear someone's sprinkler system cycling on, the rhythmic tchk-tchk-tchk of water hitting pavement.
Ghost's phone rang, the sound sharp in the quiet. He glanced at the screen.
"Echo."
He answered, putting it on speaker. "What've you got?"
Echo's voice came through, tinny through the phone speaker. "Ran that trace on the number that texted Rachel. Burner phone, but I got a location ping. Downtown San Diego. Near the Gaslamp Quarter."
Rachel's stomach dropped. Her hands stilled on the keyboard.
"They're close," Ghost said. His voice was calm, controlled, but she saw his jaw tighten.
"Yeah. And they're moving. I'm tracking cell tower hits. Looks like they've been canvassing the area. Hotels. Rentals. Anywhere someone might lay low."
Ghost's knuckles went white where he gripped the phone. "How long do we have?"
