"We know who you are now," Reagan said. "That's enough."
This was exposure. Risk. Everything she'd been avoiding.
This was also purpose. Community. Being part of something that mattered.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need this in my life.” Reagan crossed her arms and dropped her gaze to the newly tiled floor. “My ex-husband was DEA. Bent. Taking bribes. I turned him in and lost everything. Witsec dropped me here."
"I did signal intelligence for the Army," Tom said. "Cryptography. Electronic warfare. People like me don’t get to ‘retire’ gracefully. Haven Cove was supposed to be a way stop for Piper and me, but we like it here."
Wade was silent.
"Your turn," Piper prompted.
"Different branch. Different specialty. Different reasons for leaving." His tone said that was all they'd get. "But I'm here now. And I'm in."
Cara looked around the table. At trust freely given despite incomplete information. At family.
"Okay. Me, too," she said. The words felt like jumping into cold water. "But we need rules. We don't ask about each other's pasts unless someone volunteers. We don't investigate each other. Ever. We trust."
"Agreed," everyone said.
They spent another hour discussing logistics before heading out with promises to reconvene the next afternoon.
After the others left, Reagan stayed behind. She sat at the corner table with two fresh mugs of tea. "Sit. Now." She shoved a mug toward Cara. "We need to talk."
Cara sat and wrapped her hands around the warm mug. "If this is about the team?—"
"Are you okay with it?"
"I am."
Reagan nodded slowly. "You fit, Cara. With this. With us."
The words settled warm in her chest.
"So what about you and the hunky FBI agent?" Reagan'squestion came out of nowhere. "How are you doing with that?"
"What?" Cara nearly dropped her mug.
"I saw something between you two. The way he looked at you when you weren't watching. And the way you looked at him. That was something special."
"He's a great guy." Cara kept her voice neutral. "The kind of guy someone could build a real relationship with."
"But not you."
"Not me."
Reagan's frown carried genuine confusion.
Cara stared into her mug. "You know we don't talk about our pasts. There are reasons for that."
"I know." Reagan's tone gentled. "But Cara, whatever you're running from?—"
"It's not that simple."
"It never is." Reagan reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "But you're going to have to figure something out. Fast."
"What do you mean?"
