Maddox glances up from whatever part he’s examining, looks between me and Mason, then goes back to his work with a smirk.
“Morning,” I say, aiming for casual.
“Morning,” Mason replies, wiping his hands on a rag. His expression stays neutral, but I catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Nikita’s fine, by the way. Fed her when I got here this morning.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing.” He turns back to the engine, but not before adding, “Good to see you and Nina working things out.”
Maddox snorts. “Working things out. That’s what we’re calling it?”
“Shut up, Maddox,” Mason says without heat.
I head for the stairs before this gets worse. Behind me, I hear Maddox’s low chuckle and Mason telling him to hand over a wrench.
The apartment sits quiet when I let myself in. Morning light streams through the windows overlooking Wilshire, casting long shadows across the open space. My suitcase still sits on the bed where I left it Tuesday night, mostly packed—I’d only pulled out essentials. Nikita’s food bowls and toys are properly arranged in the corner by the kitchen area. Everything else remains untouched from yesterday morning before I left for whatever briefings the DEA needed me for.
Was that really only yesterday?
“Nikita?” I call out, clucking my tongue.
A disgruntled meow answers from the bedroom. She’s curled in the center of my bed, looking deeply offended by my overnight absence.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry.”
She stretches, then stalks over to headbutt my hand with more force than necessary. Her way of saying I’m forgiven, but she’s making me work for it.
I scratch behind her ears, and she settles into my lap, purring despite herself.
She yawns, showing all her teeth, then curls tighter in my lap.
I sit there for a long moment, cat warm against my legs, morning light painting everything gold. My phone buzzes—a text from Chris.
CHRIS: T’s intel is solid. Moving faster than expected. Might need backup.
My spine straightens.
WYATT: Define “might.”
CHRIS: Will know in a few hours. Keep your phone close.
WYATT: Copy that. Nina’s got a client til 10.
Three dots appear, then:
CHRIS: Good. Keep her out of this for now.
Another buzz:
CHRIS: And Booth? Thanks for staying this morning.
I set the phone aside and look down at Nikita. She’s already asleep, trusting and content.
“Looks like things are about to get interesting,” I tell her quietly.
Outside, the muffled bass from Marcella’s dance studio filters up, the rhythmic thump of feet hitting the floor in unison. Normal life continuing while we edge closer to whatever Tatiana’s intel is about to unleash.
I ease Nikita off my lap and reach for the manila folder I should have reviewed yesterday. If Chris needs backup, I need to be ready.
