Zeke had been true to his word about staying close—so close that her small apartment had become an exercise in restraint and surrender, often within the same breath.
That first night after the break-in, she’d tried to maintain some distance.She’d given him a pillow and blanket for the couch with a cool efficiency that fooled neither of them.He’d taken it without complaint, settling onto the too-short sofa with that knowing look in his eyes that said he understood she needed the illusion of control.
She’d lasted exactly three hours.
She woke in the darkness to find herself reaching for him, her body remembering what her mind was still trying to sort through.And he was there—had moved to the armchair beside her bed sometime after she’d fallen asleep, his weapon on the nightstand, his eyes opening the moment she stirred.
“Can’t sleep?”he’d asked quietly.
She couldn’t.Not with him so close and yet not close enough.Not with three years of missing him pressing against her chest like a physical weight.
She didn’t answer with words.She’d stood, crossed the few feet between them, and pulled him to her bed.His arms came around her immediately, and whatever distance she’d been trying to maintain dissolved in the heat of his mouth on hers.
They didn’t talk about it the next morning.Or the morning after that.But every night, she reached for him, and every night, he was there—solid and real and exactly what she needed even if she wasn’t ready to admit it out loud.
Her body recognized him in ways her mind was still struggling to accept.In the dark, with his hands on her skin and his breath warm against her neck, all the doubts and fears quieted.There was just this—the two of them, the connection that had never really broken no matter how hard she’d tried to sever it.
But in the daylight, with the shop needing attention and the case hanging over them like a storm cloud, the questions returned.The worry.The fear that this was temporary, that he’d finish whatever operation he was running and disappear back into that world of secrets and danger that had broken them the first time.
They’d fallen into an easy rhythm over the week—at least on the surface.He’d leave at odd hours for work, or disappear for short stretches throughout the day.Then he’d show up at her shop, pitch in to help, and leave again.She remembered how it was—the erratic schedules, the missed meals and plans.The only difference was he no longer talked to her about the details of his work.That conversation still hung between them, waiting.
But at night, when they were alone and the walls came down, none of that mattered.At night, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.
She’d forgotten how comfortable they’d always been with each other—not just physically, though heaven knew that fire between them had never dimmed.But the easy conversations when they did talk, the things they had in common, the sports teams they argued over.Remembering the arguments had been the easiest thing to do over the past three years.But there’d been more good times than bad.
The problem was figuring out if the good times were enough to outweigh the secrets he was still keeping.
ChapterSix
The DEA fieldoffice in Boise smelled like burnt coffee and frustration.Zeke had been staring at the same map for three hours, tracking routes that should have brought Tina Wolfe to safety but hadn’t.Each redXmarked a checkpoint she’d never reached.Each missed contact was another nail in a coffin he was starting to believe she was already in.
“Talk to me,” Wyatt O’Hara said, dropping into the chair across from Zeke’s desk.His partner looked as tired as Zeke felt—the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from working too many angles on too little sleep.“Any word from your informant?”
“Nothing.”Zeke scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the rasp of several days’ worth of beard.“She was supposed to hit the checkpoint in Mountain Home four days ago.Then the one in Twin Falls yesterday.Radio silence on both.”
Wyatt’s expression darkened.“That’s not good.”
“I know.”
“The Vaqueros don’t let things slide.If they figured out she took that music box?—”
“I know,” Zeke repeated, his voice harder than he intended.He softened it.“Sorry.I just… I should’ve brought her in when she first contacted me.Should’ve insisted on protective custody.”
“She wouldn’t have gone for it.You know that.”Wyatt leaned back in his chair.“These women who’ve been with the clubs that long—they don’t trust cops.Can’t blame them after what they’ve seen.”
Zeke stood and moved to the window, looking out over the parking lot without really seeing it.Somewhere out there, Tina Wolfe was either running for her life or already dead because he’d asked her to steal evidence from one of the most violent motorcycle gangs in the Northwest.The weight of that responsibility sat on his chest like a stone.
“Blaze is running patrols on the back roads around Laurel Valley,” Zeke said.“Checking abandoned cabins, anywhere they might’ve taken her if they grabbed her before she could run.”
“And the music box?”
“Safe.”Zeke turned back to face Wyatt.“Mia has it.Doesn’t know what’s in it yet, but she’s kept it secure.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows rose.“You told her about the operation?”
“Not yet.”The admission tasted bitter.“She knows something’s going on.She’s not stupid.But the less she knows, the safer she is.”
“That logic didn’t work so well for Raven and me,” Wyatt pointed out.“The secrets almost destroyed us.”
