We stand like that for several minutes. When she pulls back, the CEO armor's firmly in place.
"I need to call Henry," she says.
"Do it."
She reaches for her phone, moves to the living room. I pour more coffee and lean against the counter, listening to her voice shift into business mode.
My phone buzzes. Text from Remy:
Need to talk. Call me.
I step outside, dial.
"What?"
"You should've stayed with her instead of going to the warrant execution." His voice is flat. Direct. "That's protocol when you're running close protection."
"Needed to see it."
"Because you're thinking with your dick instead of your training. Because you care about her more than you should." He doesn't soften it. "You walked into Julien's trap thinking about protecting her instead of assessing threat probability. Got lucky he didn't kill you. This kind of sloppy shit gets operators killed."
"Immediate threat's about to be neutralized. Armand's getting arrested today."
"And the next threat? The one that comes when you're too busy thinking about her to see it?" His tone hardens. "She needs you alive more than she needs you taking stupid risks."
He's right. I've been making decisions based on claiming her, on personal investment, on shit that has nothing to do with tactical effectiveness. That kind of thinking is exactly what gets operators killed.
"Noted," I say.
"Luc—"
"I said fucking noted." I end the call.
He's right. I know he's right. I've been off my game since Dominion, since I felt her surrender for real and knew I wanted to keep her. Not for the job. Not until the threat's gone. For myself.
That kind of thinking makes operators sloppy. Makes them prioritize wrong. Makes them vulnerable.
I don't care. That's not changing whether Armand's arrested or not.
I head back inside. Simone's ending her call with Henry.
"He wants me at his office soon," she tells me. "Press conference this evening."
"I'll drive you."
My phone buzzes. Text from Andy:
FBI wants to interview you both before we hit Armand's office and residence. Can you come to Rapier Strategic?
I show her the screen. "FBI wants statements. Pre-raid interview."
"Now?"
"Soon as we can get there."
She nods, heads upstairs to change. I check security feeds. Media vans still camped outside, reporters waiting.
Within the hour we're in the armored SUV heading downtown. Simone's in full CEO mode—tailored suit, controlled polish. But the tells are there. The way her thumb presses against her wrist. The tension in her jaw.
