Page 30 of Shadow Justice

She turned onto her side and peered toward the open wedge of hallway. Blue’s body lay in a dark curve in his bed, his ears lifting at every small sound before settling again. Past him, she could see the dim edge of the living room lamp and the shape of Reid’s arm resting on the side of the couch.

She didn’t expect to fall asleep but found herself dozing off, feeling unsettled about the man on her couch and somehow also glad he was there.

Morning came too early, gray and damp at the windows, with Blue’s nose pressed under her hand and the smell of coffee drifting faintly from the kitchen.

Holly opened her eyes and went still. Reid is still here.

The thought arrived before she could stop it, clean and sharp and inconvenient. She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest for half a breath. Staying one night on a too-short couch because the FBI had made him responsible for her safety did not erase the morning he’d disappeared from her life. It didn’t promise anything. It didn’t heal anything.

And yet…it mattered.

She dressed, brushed her teeth, twisted her hair into a loose braid, and stepped into the living room. Reid stood at the kitchen counter with Blue sitting at his feet in intense expectation.

He’d moved quietly enough not to wake her, but the evidence of him was everywhere in small, disorienting ways. The folded quilt on the couch. His duffel near the wall. His boots lined up by the door. A mug on the counter. The low murmur of him speaking to Blue as if the dog were a reasonable adult and not a criminal with ears. “He thinks I’m hiding bacon,” Reid said.

“You’re standing near the treat jar.”

“That explains the optimism.”

Holly reached past him for the jar, aware of the warm scent of soap and coffee on him. He wore jeans and a dark pullover and looked far too alert for a man who’d slept on her couch. She handed Blue a small biscuit, and the dog accepted it with the solemnity of a contract signing.

“You made coffee,” she said.

“I hope that’s not a firing offense.”

“Depends. Did you use the beans from the freezer?”

“No.”

“The grinder setting?”

“I didn’t touch it.”

“Then you may live.”

His mouth curved as he passed her a mug. “Good to hear.”

The coffee was strong and not terrible. That felt suspiciously like another point in his favor, so Holly took another sip and turned away.

They took Blue out before dawn had fully committed. Sanctuary sat quiet beneath them as they went down the private stairwell and out the back, the alarm chirping softly when Holly disarmed it and reset it after they stepped outside. The air smelled like wet pavement, yeast from the bakery, and the faint mineral dampness that clung to Blackridge after a solid day of rain.

Blue pranced ahead, delighted by the hour and his own importance.

Reid walked beside Holly on the street side again. She noticed but didn’t call him on it this time. The town was still half asleep, the courthouse dome in the distance pale against the gray sky, the pharmacy dark, the bakery lit from within as Linda and her staff started the first trays of rolls. A delivery truck idled at the curb. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked twice.

Holly wrapped both hands around her travel mug. “Do you miss it?”

Reid glanced at her. “The couch?”

“The Navy.”

He was quiet long enough that she wondered if she’d asked too much. She hadn’t meant to. Not exactly. The question had slipped out because the morning was softer than the night had been, and because he was here beside her in a town he’d left, walking her dog before the shop opened as if this were something they did.

“I miss parts of it,” he said. “The clarity. Knowing the role. Knowing what was expected of me.”

“Did you like being a JAG officer?”

“Most days.” She heard the smile in his voice. “I believed in the work. Still do. People need rules when everything else goes wrong. They need someone in the room who cares whether the process holds.”