The relief filling me, though? That’s sharp and immediate and completely inappropriate given the circumstances.
I step onto the cold flagstone patio barefoot, crossing my arms against the cool night air. “Lucia. Darius. You can let them go.”
“Boss?” Lucia looks up from where she’s securing Chris’s restraints, her dark eyes sharp with professional assessment. “These two were conducting surveillance. Perimeter breach, deliberate avoidance of security cameras. Standard protocol is?—”
“I know them,” I interrupt. “They’re safe. Stupid, but safe.”
Darius straightens, squinting in the harsh patio light. “You want us to release them?”
“Yes. And cut the zip ties.”
“You sure about that?” Lucia’s voice carries the particular skepticism of someone who’s seen too many bad decisions disguised as mercy. “Because they look like they’ve been in a fight, and now they’re skulking around your house in the dark.”
I glance between Chris and Wyatt, cataloging the evidence she’s right to be concerned about. Between the torn clothing and bruises, they look like they’ve been through a blender.
But there’s something else in their posture as they lie there—a resigned acceptance that speaks to shared experience rather than conflict. They’re not radiating the tension of men who hate each other. If anything, they seem almost... comfortable with each other’s presence.
Interesting.
“They’re part of the team,” I say. “Darius, you met Agent Longo last week. This is Agent Booth—he just flew in from Denver.”
Recognition flickers across Darius’s features as he gets a better look at Chris’s face in the light. He nods slowly.
Lucia, however, looks distinctly unimpressed. “And they couldn’t knock because...?”
“Because they’re idiots,” I say, loud enough for both men to hear.
Chris makes a sound that might be laughter, muffled by the grass.
“Fair enough,” Lucia says, pulling out a tactical knife. “But for the record, this is exactly the kind of behavior that gets people shot in other neighborhoods.”
She cuts through the zip ties with efficient movements, then steps back as both men slowly push themselves to sitting positions. Wyatt works his shoulders, grimacing as circulation returns to his hands. Chris examines the shallow cuts on his wrists where the plastic bit in.
“You guys okay to handle this from here?” Darius asks, eyes moving between the three of us with the careful attention of someone reading a complex social dynamic.
I want to tell him I’m fine, that I can handle whatever conversation is about to happen. But my hands are already shaking, and the nausea that’s been my constant companion for days is back with a vengeance. They’re here, though, so I may as well stop putting off this conversation any longer.
“We’re good,” I manage.
“You sure?” Lucia steps closer, voice dropping to a tone only I can hear. “Because you look like you’re about to either throw up or pass out.”
Perceptive as always.
“I’m sure.”
Lucia nods once, then gestures for Darius to follow her toward the side gate. “We’ll lock up the perimeter on our way out.”
They disappear into the darkness, leaving me alone with two men who look like they’ve been through a war zone.
For a moment, nobody speaks. The silence stretches, heavy with everything we haven’t said.
“Well,” I say finally. “This is dramatic.”
A sheepish look flickers across Chris’s features. “We probably should have just knocked.”
“Probably.”
Wyatt stands slowly, wincing as his joints protest. “Are you okay?”
