Zach said nothing. Nick wasn’t finished, and he wouldn’t quit until he’d said his piece.
“Me. David. Your unit. Recently, Kate and Lena. The resort.” Nick hesitated. “It’s okay to want something for yourself. Someone.” The words were soft. Not preachy. Just observant.
Zach stared at the monitors. Green status lights blinked across all sectors. “That’s not what this is.”
Nick quirked an eyebrow.
“She’s a security concern.” The comment echoed hollow in his own ears.
“Of course she is.” Nick’s tone was neutral.
Zach shot him another icy glare. Unfortunately, Nick was immune.
Nick smiled and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the door frame. “For what it’s worth? She pushed back when you told her what to do. Most people don’t do that.”
“I noticed.”
“She’s not afraid of you. And you’re still thinking about her.”
“I’m thinking about the threat.”
“Sure you are,” Nick pulled the door open. “Get some sleep, Zach. You’ve been staring at those screens for four hours.”
“I’m fine.”
Nick shook his head, still smiling. “You really are terrible at lying to yourself.”
He left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Zach sat alone in the muted hum of the office. The monitors cycled in steady rotation—perimeter, lobby, staff entrance, beach, marina. Clean feeds. Stable systems. Everything as it should be. Everything under control.
He needed to move on. He had work to do. Overnight duty roster. Background verifications. Vendor access lists.
Routine. Manageable.
Instead, he pulled up the staff housing sector feed. Camera two. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t justify it.
Emma’s bungalow filled the screen. Lights on inside. A shadow moved past the window—quick, indistinct. The kitchen, based on the layout. He’d memorized that earlier. Entry points. Sightlines. Time to intercept.
He shouldn’t have. It wasn’t protocol. He hadn’t done the same for any other cottage. He’d added the second camera thatafternoon. Logged it as a standard upgrade. Better coverage. Cleaner angles. Necessary. That was the word he’d used.
It sounded clean. Logical. It wasn’t true.
He watched the feed for a moment longer, but the shadow was gone. He slumped back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. This was a mistake. Not the camera. The rest of it.
The focus. The attention. The way his thoughts circled back to her—her office, her voice, the calm certainty when she’d told him no.
I’m not hiding.
His hand stilled against his jaw. She hadn’t been afraid. That was the problem. Fear kept people alive. Fear made them careful. She wasn’t careless. She was something worse: confident.
He dropped his hand, eyes tracking back to the monitor without conscious decision. Still nothing. Still quiet.
“Security concern,” he said aloud. The words landed flat. Unconvincing.
He blew out a breath and reached for the keyboard. Pulled up the duty roster. Forced his attention onto names, schedules, rotations.
Work. Focus. Control. That was what mattered.
