Zach crossed the room in three strides, cut a slice, and took a bite.
Emma studied his face as he chewed—all masculine angles with a nose that looked like it had been broken. His expression didn’t change, but she detected the faintest lift of one eyebrow. Approval. Subtle, but unmistakable.
The slice vanished rapidly.
He had good hands. Strong, scarred along the knuckles, nails trimmed short. The hands of someone who worked with them. Built things. Or broke things. Rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms corded with muscle and marked with a few pale scars.
“Luis Navarro,” he said, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin Morgan silently offered. “Groundskeeping.”
He placed a printed report on the table between them, pages clipped together, several sections marked with hard, precisestrokes of red ink. The handwriting—his, she assumed—was small, neat, uncompromising.
Emma picked it up, scanning quickly. Her pulse quickened as she processed the information.
“Navarro came through a regional subcontractor Gail found,” she said. “Standard procedure.”
“The ID used for clearance doesn’t match the biometric records pulled during orientation.”
Emma’s gaze sharpened as she reviewed the data again, cross-referencing dates and codes automatically. That wasn’t good.
“This passed third-party verification last week,” she pointed out, frowning slightly.
“Your third party missed something.”
Emma lifted her head, meeting those slate eyes directly.
Up close, she could see the color was a mix of blue and gray, and tiny lines creased the corners—laugh lines on someone else. She doubted this man laughed often. More likely the result of squinting into too many hostile suns. A small scar bisected his left eyebrow. Another along his jawline, barely visible beneath the stubble that implied he hadn’t found time to shave this morning.
He’d been in the field. Wherever that field had been.
Something about the way he stood—weight balanced, hands loose at his sides, utterly still—told her he could move very, very fast if he needed to.
“I’m sure that’s possible,” she replied evenly. “However, marching into my department assuming incompetence isn’t the best way to start a conversation.”
“I’m not assuming anything.” His voice was low, rough-edged. The kind that didn’t rise even when delivering bad news. “I’m identifying a problem.”
“And we’ll verify it through the proper channels before any action is taken.” Emma kept her tone calm and deliberate, the way she did when dealing with men who mistook volume for authority. “No one benefits if we escalate every discrepancy into a crisis.”
Morgan shifted in her chair behind them, doubtless sensing the rising pressure in the room. Emma glanced over at her with a raised brow and a slight nod. Morgan nodded and turned to her computer. Secondary verification started.
She returned her focus to Zach.
The air between them tightened.
Emma met his eyes. Watched the muscle tick once in his jaw. Noticed the way his shoulders stayed level, his breathing even. He wasn’t angry or upset. Just… immoveable.
It should have been irritating.
Itwasirritating.
There was also something oddly compelling about it. About him. Not in the easy, surface way she might acknowledge an attractive man in passing. This was different. Deeper. The uncomfortable recognition that Zach Steele wasn’t just physically imposing or professionally competent.
He waspresent,in a way most people weren’t, filling the room like a low-frequency hum she could feel more than hear.
His eyes sharpened. “He hasn’t shown up at his bunk in two nights.”
That gave her pause. Emma laid the report down. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
