“Sounds like fun.”
He couldn’t help the smirk this time. “It will be for me.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Zach’s attention shifted to the windows. The weather report called for storms rolling in off the Atlantic tonight. He’d already checked the storm shutters—currently open—and calculated how quickly he could secure them if wind speeds increased sufficiently.
Emma followed his gaze. “Sounds like it’s moving in fast.”
“Should hit within the hour.”
She nodded and moved to the small dining table, setting her mug down and pulling out her tablet. In moments, she was absorbed in whatever work she’d brought home, her finger scrolling down the screen.
Zach refocused on his blade.
The silence that settled between them was… odd. Not awkward. Just unfamiliar. Emma appeared content to simply exist in the same space, focused on her own tasks.
He studied her peripherally while he worked. She sat with one leg tucked under herself in the chair, a casual posture that suggested she’d already grown comfortable in the cottage. Her shoulders were relaxed, her breathing calm and level.
She didn't watch him.
Most people did, waiting for the moment he became dangerous.
She wasn’t afraid.
That bothered him more than it should have.
She should be afraid. Not of him—but of the situation. Someone threatened her. Marcus Sinclair circled somewhere inthe darkness, patient and calculating. Emma was a potential target because of her access and proximity to the principals. To them.
And she didn’t know it.
Instead, she sat drinking chamomile tea like this were any other evening.
Lightning flashed, bright and sudden. Thunder crashed closer this time. She gazed out the window at the approaching storm.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Emma breathed. “I forgot how dramatic ocean storms can be.”
“You get used to them.”
“Do you? Get used to them, I mean.” She peered over at him. “Or do you just get better at ignoring the things you can’t control?”
Zach’s hands stilled on the blade. That was… a more perceptive question than he’d expected.
“Both,” he said finally.
Her mouth curved. “Honest answer. I appreciate that.”
She resumed her work, and Zach returned to his knife, but her question lingered.
Getting used to things versus ignoring them. The line had blurred somewhere during his military years, sharpened during contract work, and solidified into something harder when he’d joined Nick and David full time.
You couldn’t afford to be bothered by storms when you were running missions in hostile territory. Couldn’t waste energy on factors outside your control. You built protocols, established parameters, executed objectives.
Lightning flashed again, and the lights flickered.
Zach catalogued the options: flashlight in his pack, candles in the kitchen cabinet Nick had mentioned, emergency lantern in the storage closet. He noted all of them during his first sweep.
The power held.
Emma’s tablet screen glowed in the gloom. She leaned closer to it, brow furrowed in concentration as she made notes on something.
