“In five,” he murmurs under his breath, not looking at me, not touching me anywhere that would raise suspicion. “They’re watching.”
“I know,” I whisper back, heart hammering, nerves alive and electric. “I feel it.”
His gaze finally flicks to mine, sharp and assessing, and there’s no Jon there—no captain, no friend of my father’s, no man who tells me I’m one of the best and then looks at me like that costs him something. Just a stranger who needs to sell the lie. A dangerous man in dark clothes and colder control.
He dips his head and kisses me like it’s nothing, like it’s part of the job, like it doesn’t send a shock straight through my chest. It’s quick, convincing, practiced. His mouth is firm, controlled, his hand steady at my back, and when he pulls away, there’s no heat in his eyes, no hesitation. No sign that my knees almost gave out just from the weight of his mouth on mine.
“Good,” he says quietly. “You’re doing great.”
The mission goes off without a hitch. Afterwards, Larkin claps us on the shoulders and says our chemistry is believable enough that we should keep pairing up. And we do. Again and again. Kisses that mean nothing. Touches that are just for show. Nights spent shoulder to shoulder in safehouses, breathing too carefully in the dark.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The memory fractures, the edges blurring, and I’m yanked back into the med bay by a voice that cuts a little too clean through the haze.
“—heard her dad’s coming by today,” someone says.
My heart stutters.
“What?” another voice asks. “The retired one? The big guy?”
“Yeah. Him. Surprise visit or something.”
The world tilts.
My hands go numb, and I finish the wrap with movements that are just a little too fast before stepping back. I barely register the soldier thanking me. My pulse is roaring in my ears now, drowning out everything else.
Today.
He’s here today.
I back away from the bed and then turn, walking faster than I should, my boots echoing too loudly against the floor. I need to get out. I need air. I need time that I don’t have. I need to not run headfirst into the man who still thinks I’m in Europe, in class, building some harmless future instead of bleeding all over Greenport’s secrets.
I don’t make it far.
A hand clamps over my mouth, strong and sure, and I react on instinct, twisting my weight, elbow driving back as I reach for the wrist. My body remembers the move before my brain catches up—Jon’s voice in my head, correcting my stance, telling me where to strike, where to break, how to survive.
The person behind me stiffens—and then laughs, breath puffing warm against my ear.
“Easy,” Jon whispers, barely holding it back. “Jesus, Delilah.”
Relief crashes into me so hard it makes my knees weak.
He pulls me into a supply closet and shuts the door just as footsteps pass outside. I’m pressed close to him in the dark, the familiar solidity of his presence grounding me in a way I hate that I need. Shelves dig into my back. The smell of paper towels, bleach, and his soap closes in around me. My pulse is stillsprinting, but for the first time since I heard my father’s name, it’s not because I’m afraid I’m alone.
My father’s voice echoes down the hall, warm and unmistakable. “Captain Jonathan? Anyone know where I can find him?”
Jon bites his lip, shoulders shaking silently. It comes out anyway, muffled and breathless, the sound of too much tension finally snapping. The absurdity of it all—me half-healed and hiding in a janitor’s closet with the man who kissed me like a mistake while my father searches the base for him—feels so deranged it circles back around to funny.
The footsteps fade. The voices disappear.
The quiet that follows is thick, almost physical, pressing in on my ears until my breath sounds too loud inside my own head. I’m still pinned between shelves and his chest, the supply closet barely wide enough for both of us, and now that the immediate danger is gone, I become painfully aware of everything else instead.
Jon’s hand is still over mine where I’d grabbed his wrist. His breathing is steady—too steady, like he hasn’t just narrowly avoided running into my father while hiding his daughter in a supply closet. The absurdity of it all almost makes me laugh again, but the sound dies before it reaches my throat. Because now there’s no distraction left. Just him. His heat. The dark. The memory of his mouth on mine still sitting low and alive in my body.
He lowers his hand slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid I might bolt or shatter if he moves too fast.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
