He unfolded it carefully.Chemical formulas covered the page in neat handwriting—compounds and measurements and instructions that would mean nothing to most people but everything to a cook who knew what they were looking at.
“That’s it,” Blaze said, peering over his shoulder.“That’s what they killed her for.”
“And what we’re going to use to bury them.”Zeke refolded the paper with careful precision.“This formula, combined with the evidence we’ve already gathered, is enough to take down their entire operation.Distribution networks, cooking facilities, leadership—all of it.”
“How long?”Mia asked.
“DEA will want to move fast now that we have this.My guess?Coordinated raids within forty-eight hours.”Zeke looked at Blaze.“You’ll need to prepare your department.They’ll want local support for the Laurel Valley end of things.”
“Already on it.”Blaze stood.“I’ll take that formula into evidence, get it to your field office tonight.You two—” He looked between them.“You both look like you need about twelve hours of sleep and a week’s worth of normal.Try to get some rest.”
After Blaze left, the apartment felt too quiet.Zeke stood at the window, staring out at the falling snow, his shoulders rigid with tension and grief and guilt that Mia recognized all too well.
“It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.
“Isn’t it?”He didn’t turn around.“I recruited her.Convinced her to steal from one of the most dangerous men in the state.Promised her protection I couldn’t deliver.”
“She made her choice.”Mia moved to stand beside him.“She knew the risks.She chose to take them because the life she had was worse than the danger she was facing.That’s on the Vaqueros, not on you.”
“I should have brought her in earlier.Should have insisted on protective custody.”
“She wouldn’t have gone for it.You know that.”Mia touched his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through him.“Zeke, you can’t save everyone.I learned that the hard way.You do the best you can with what you have, and sometimes it’s not enough.Sometimes people die.But that doesn’t mean you stop trying.”
He turned to face her, and the raw pain in his eyes nearly broke her heart.“How do you do it?How do you live with the ones you couldn’t save?”
“You remember them.You make sure their sacrifice meant something.And you keep moving forward because that’s what they would have wanted.”She took his hand.“Tina wanted out of that life.She wanted the Vaqueros to pay for what they’d done to her and to countless other women.In two days, they will.Because of her.Because of what she risked.That has to count for something.”
“It does.”His voice was rough.“It just doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It never does.”
They stood there in the quiet apartment, watching the snow fall outside, holding each other up the way partners do when the job takes too much and there’s nothing left but to lean on someone who understands.
“I meant what I said,” Zeke said finally.“About the house.About retiring.About choosing you.”
“I know.”
“But?”
“But I’m scared.”She looked up at him.“I’m scared that this is just guilt talking.That you’re making promises you can’t keep because a woman died and you feel responsible.That six months from now, another case will come up and you’ll convince yourself it’s just one more, and we’ll be right back where we started.”
“I filed the paperwork three days before Tina went missing,” he said.“Before any of this happened.I bought that house a week ago when things were going well and there was no crisis forcing my hand.Those weren’t guilt decisions, Mia.Those were ‘I finally figured out what matters’ decisions.
“You’re what matters.Us.Building something that lasts longer than the next operation or the next case.”He cupped her face in his hands.“I’m forty years old.I’ve spent two decades chasing bad guys and thinking that was enough.That if I just worked hard enough, sacrificed enough, it would fill whatever hole was inside me.But it doesn’t.It never did.You know what fills it?Coming home to you.Watching you build a life in this town.Imagining us in that house with the big yard and the workshop you could turn into whatever you wanted.That’s what fills it.That’s what makes me feel like maybe I’m doing something right.”
Tears burned behind her eyes.“You’re making it very hard to stay angry at you.”
“Good.”His thumb brushed across her cheekbone.“Because I’m done with you being angry.I’m done with secrets and half truths and keeping you at a distance because I think it’s safer.I want messy and complicated and real.I want fights about whose turn it is to do dishes and arguments about paint colors and lazy Sunday mornings where we don’t leave bed until noon.”
“That’s a very specific fantasy.”
“I’ve had three years to think about it.”He smiled, but his eyes were serious.“Marry me, Mia.Not today, not tomorrow, but soon.Marry me and let’s buy furniture for that house and argue about whether to get a dog or a cat.Marry me and let’s build the life we should have had three years ago.”
Her breath caught.“Zeke?—”
“You don’t have to answer now.I know I’ve got a lot to prove still.But I needed you to know—this isn’t just about guilt or grief or fear of losing you.This is about finally being smart enough to fight for what I want.And I want you.I want us.For the rest of my life.”
She stood there, looking into the eyes of the man who’d broken her heart and was now offering to spend a lifetime making up for it.The safe thing would be to say no.To protect herself.To keep that wall up until she was absolutely certain he meant it.
