I push off the counter and move closer, keeping my voice low. “They found a consultancy tie out of D.C. Name on some old paperwork. Contractor type. Off-book operations.”
Her grip tightens on the fork. “Sounds dirty and messy.”
“Yeah, it is. They’re chasing it now.”
Rowan’s expression hardens, then softens again, like her mind is racing but her body is tired of fear. “And my mother?” she asks quietly. “Is she helping them because of me?”
I nod once. “She said she would. She already did. Funding hit their account last night. Resources too.”
Rowan’s lips part slightly, surprise flickering. “Of course she did.”
There’s something in her tone. Complicated. Love tangled with frustration.
“She cares,” I say, because it’s true.
Rowan’s laugh is soft, almost bitter. “She cares like a general cares about a mission.”
I don’t argue. Elena Sands has that cold precision. But she’s still moving heaven and earth for her daughter.
Rowan takes another bite, then her gaze drifts to me again. Slow. Measuring. “You look… tired,” she says.
“I’m fine.”
She lifts her brows. “Liar.”
I stare at her.
She smiles around her coffee mug, smug and adorable in a way that should be illegal this early.
I shake my head once, a quiet warning to myself. Danger. Not the kind with guns. The kind with pretty brown eyes and a smart mouth and a brave heart.
Rowan sets the mug down and studies me like she’s about to poke at something sensitive. “Last night,” she starts, then stops.
My pulse ticks once, hard. “What about it?”
She swallows. “Thank you. For staying.”
I nod, because if I speak, I might say something I shouldn’t.
Her gaze drops to the table, then back up. “I didn’t have nightmares.”
A small confession. It hits me harder than it should. My chest tightens, sharp and protective. “Good,” I manage.
Rowan’s eyes hold mine, warm and open, and for a second the kitchen feels too small, the air too thick.
My mind flashes back to her asleep beside me. The curve of her mouth. The way her hair fell across her cheek. The insane urge to lean down and taste that softness.
I grip the back of the chair she’s sitting in, knuckles tightening. Control. I need control.
Rowan’s voice is quiet now. “Are you always this… intense in the morning?”
“Yes,” I say.
She smiles, softer. “I don’t mind it.”
That’s the problem. I do. Because I can feel the edge of something dangerous forming between us, something that could distract me. Something that could get her hurt if I let it.
I force my gaze away from her mouth and back to her eyes. “Finish eating.”
