Copy. I'll be there.
Cole stirs beside me. "Work?"
"Debriefing this afternoon. Kline's going away for a long time." I turn to face him. "Which means the threat's over. Case is closed. No more reason for me to stay in Anchor Bay."
"Except for one reason." He pulls me closer. "If you want it."
I do want it. Want him, want this, want whatever we're building together. But I'm also a federal agent with a career and obligations and cases waiting in other cities.
"My assignment here is done," I say carefully. "ATF will reassign me. Probably within the week."
"Where?"
"I don't know yet. Could be anywhere."
Cole's quiet for several seconds. "Stay."
"In Anchor Bay?" I search his expression. "Cole, my career?—"
"I know what I'm asking." He cuts me off. "And I know it's not simple. But after last night, after everything—stay. Build something here. With me."
I want to say yes. Want to throw away protocol and career advancement and everything I've worked for, just to stay in this moment with this man who sees what I'm capable of and doesn't flinch.
But major life decisions shouldn't be made hours after surviving a firefight.
"Let me handle the debriefing first," I say. "Figure out what ATF wants from me. Then we'll talk about what comes next."
"Fair enough." He kisses me, slow and claiming. "But you'll give me an answer."
"I know." I kiss him back. "Just not today."
I shower, dress in clean clothes from my go-bag.
Coast Highway cuts through fog on the drive to the field office. Morning sun breaks pale through the gray, turning everything the color of gunmetal.
Martinez saw Cole beat Kline. Watched me stand there, weapon holstered, doing nothing to stop it. Only intervening when I needed Kline alive for prosecution, not because the violence itself crossed a line.
My report will say I assessed the situation and determined intervention would escalate the conflict. That Kline posed a continuing threat. That Cole's use of force, while concerning, remained within acceptable parameters given the tactical situation.
All of it technically true.
None of it honest.
The real truth is simpler, and Martinez already knows it: I watched the man I'm sleeping with beat a suspect half to death, and I didn't stop him because part of me didn't want to.
That's not something I can put in an official report.
My phone buzzes. Text from Cole:
You good?
I pull into the ATF parking lot and kill the engine. Text back:
About to find out.
Three years undercover taught me how to lie convincingly. How to sell a story, maintain a cover, keep my real thoughts buried deep enough that nobody could find them.
Time to find out if those skills work on my own people.
