He studied her for a moment, gray eyes softer now. “Why law enforcement?” he asked. “Instead of teaching? I would’ve thought that’d be your first choice.”
She met his gaze. “My mom was the typical dance mom,” she said simply. “She pushed me every step of the way.”
His arms tightened around her.
“Teaching… I would’ve loved it,” she went on. “But I needed distance. Breathing room.”
He nodded once. “And now?”
She slipped her hand into his hair without thinking, loving the contrast, hard body, soft silk beneath her fingers. “I miss it,” she admitted. “Immensely. But I have my duties. The rescues and troublesome Navy SEALs to deal with.”
His mouth curved. “That so?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing softly. “One particular SEAL is going to make me late, and I’m already in the doghouse.”
His expression sharpened. “If he gives you?—”
“You going to take him out?” she teased.
“I could,” he said easily. “Say the word.” A chill traced her spine. “Better to let him live and suffer, knowing he lost you out of weakness and ambition. That feels like poetic justice, and I’m fucking selfish. Makes me feel good.”
Her fingers brushed his bottom lip. “Kelly,” she whispered, then kissed him, soft, unhurried. “Does it make me a bad, bad girl that I melt at the thought that you’d kill a man for me.”
“Hmm,” he rumbled. “Bad, bad girl. I like that.”
“You’re so beautiful.”
He snorted, deflecting her words immediately. She saw she was going to have to work on him a little more. What a hardship. “Didn’t you say something about being late?”
She groaned and grabbed her jacket. “Come on.”
The drive to TOC was quiet, in the way that wasn’t empty. Her thoughts churned as the road came back into focus. Her body leaned toward him every time he shifted in the seat. Her hand found his thigh at a stop sign without permission.
They’d barely stepped out of the car when a familiar voice cut through the air.
“Blair.”
Ayla Locklear stood beside her jeep, expression unreadable, eyes sharp. “I’ve got something.”
Blair felt the shift immediately. The pull back into duty. Into reality. Whatever this was between her and Breakneck, whatever it might become had to be left alone for now.
She straightened, heart still racing, and turned toward Ayla.
Ayla had already pulled the footage up when they stepped into the TOC. The room hummed with low voices and electronics, the scent of burnt coffee and ozone familiar and grounding. Blair shed her jacket and moved in beside her as Ayla scrubbed back through the timeline with practiced precision.
“I’ve been reviewing the aerials from before and after the cartel cleared the ranch,” Ayla said, fingers flying. The screen shifted, freezing on a grainy overhead shot. She leaned in and pointed to a narrow dirt road cutting away from the compound. “They weren’t just running blind. They had an exit plan.”
Breakneck stepped closer, his presence at Blair’s back steady and quiet.
Ayla zoomed in. Tire tracks. Fresh. Deep. Purposeful. “These head into the mountains.”
Blair studied the screen, head tilting slightly. “So you think they went that way?”
Ayla’s mouth curved into a knowing smirk. “No.”
She flicked her wrist, pulling up another image, cleaner, sharper. A wide stretch of land unfolded across the monitors. Fencing. Outbuildings. A sprawling ranch tucked deep into rugged terrain, miles from anything resembling a main road.
“That’s the decoy,” Ayla said, satisfied. “This is where they actually regrouped.”
