“And now I hear,” he continues, his voice sharpening, “that you took the medic to your father’s gala last night.”
There it is.
“Paraded her in front of the city’s elite like she’s part of this,” he adds. “What the hell are you doing?”
I hold his gaze, keep my posture neutral even as my chest starts to boil. “It was a bad time for her. For her crew. It was-”
“A humanitarian gesture?” he cuts in, the worlds edged with something cold.
“Yes,” I say, trying to simplify it just to get him off my back.
“Don’t bullshit me.”
The words land hard, but I don’t flinch.
“I saw the footage; saw the way you looked at her.”
That… that hits deeper than it should. Because he’s not wrong.
“This operation is bigger than your feelings,” he continues. “Bigger than whatever you think is happening there.”
My jaw goes rigid. “She’s not involved,” I say.
“She lives in the middle of it,” he snaps.
I don’t have a response to that because it’s been at the center of my mind for weeks.
“She talks to you,” he presses. “Gives you information. That makes her involved whether you like it or not.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
“She’s a complication,” he says flatly. “One you can’t afford.”
“She’s not a liability.”
“She’s a potential target,” he snaps in response.
That hits like a blow to the sternum, leaving my chest aching uncomfortably.
Doesn’t he think I know that? That she looks just like the victims, the near grabs, and the missing persons cases? I fucking know she’s a potential target. But if she’s close to me, I can protect her. I can make a move to get her to safety before it’s too late.
“She doesn’t even know what she’s close to,” he continues, quieter now but no less cutting. “And you’re standing there dragging her deeper into it.”
That’s not-
But maybe it is.
I’ve known it before but pushed it from my mind after the fire. If she’s seen by the wrong people in her neighborhood with the detective leading the trafficking ring case, she may become even more of a target.
I exhale slowly, forcing control back into my voice. “I’m not trying to put her in danger.”
His expression doesn’t change. “You are anyway.”
The truth of it lands harder than anything else he’s said because I know he’s right.
“Get your head in the game,” he says. “Or you’re off this case.” His face gives him away. He’s not threatening it; he’s drawing a line in the sand.
“And stay away from her,” he adds. “That’s an order.”
