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Of course it was. Dylan followed the same practice in the huge house he stayed in with his three punks. The Bureau had made sure of the home’s security before he’d arrived in Red Grove, but he had to be the one checking for new mics on the regular. His backup team remained out of sight, only ever in the vicinity if they were in a nondescript contractor’s van, in front of their system screens, monitoring the comms between him and the stooges. Now they’d keep an eye on Frisky, since he’d made this contact.

“You’ve been quiet since Hank left.” In fact, she hadn’t spoken but two words. “Sit,” and “coffee,” pointing for emphasis.

“It’s the middle of the night, or rather, early morning, and I had to pretend I was happy to be skin-to-skin with you after you broke into my apartment without giving me advance notice. How do you expect me to react, Dylan?” Quietly spoken but with an edge he never heard in her tone before.

“I, ah, nothing.” He clamped his mouth shut and instead focused on making sure he knew exactly what he was able to admit when she started asking questions. They were on the same side, he was certain after confirming it with Callum, but that didn’t give a local police officer the need-to-know about detailed, classified, federal information.

“Still do sugar?” She set two mugs, both chipped, on the table.

“If you have it.”

She remained silent as she took a box filled with individual packets from her cupboard and removed a carton of half-and-half from the refrigerator. She didn’t speak until she sat down across from him, fully dressed in a two-piece lounge getup. There were sparkly beads or similar emblazoned across the chest, spelling out “You Can’t Afford This.”

“Thanks.” He reached for the box, pulled out two packets and tore them open, spilling the brown crystals into the hot liquid. As he stirred, he tried not to stare at her features, as alluring to him without all the makeup she wore for her cover. Something deep inside his belly tickled his conscience. His attraction to Veronica had way more to do with her character, her person, her soul, dammit, than any particular way she was dressed. He lowered his gaze to hide what he knew had to be a hungry expression, landing on her…chest. Where the words “You Can’t” were a timely reminder that he shouldn’t be imagining what was under the top. More like serendipity.

“Ahem.” He looked up fast enough to catch Veronica’s blink. “What is it, Dylan?”

Think fast, dude.

“I, uh, I never took you for a graphic sweatshirt kind of person.” The words sounded as idiotic as this incessant awareness of her.

“I’m not, not really, but Monique is all about it. She’s had a hard knock life, as far as I know it play it.”

“You’re doing a great job. It took me several heartbeats to realize it was you when you drove up. If we hadn’t come face-to-face I’m not sure I’d have figured out it was you.” Unlike when they’d worked together before and shared a collegial competitive camaraderie, he said the words with zero regret. Because he meant them. “It’s incredible how far we’ve come since—”

“We worked together. That’s what you were about to say, right?” She sighed. “Sorry—I do have a problem with interrupting people. It’s been the hardest thing to stop doing on this case. Anyone working for a drug dealer, running a night club that’s a front for trafficking would know to keep their mouth shut. Follow orders from the top, no questions asked. I’ve almost blown my cover a few times.”

“Yet you didn’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

She sipped her drink. “No. But it’s always there, the stress of being found out.”

He drummed his fingers against his mug. “Yeah. It gets old some days, doesn’t it?” He paused, searched for words. Playing Hawk, and all the other undercover roles he’d taken over the years, had made his social conversational skills dull.

Was that what this was? A social call? He mentally caught himself up short.

“I haven’t been in undercover ops as long as you obviously have.” She didn’t meet his gaze. Was it anger, resentment that caused the tiny lines around her lips as she pursed them?

“Obviously?” He scrambled for time to think, to avoid any missteps with her. They were going to have to work together and—

Don’t kid yourself. This has nothing to do with the case, with your undercover roles.

“I have to assume you went undercover for the FBI almost as soon as you were recruited by them, Dylan. That would be a good reason to totally ghost all of us back at RGPD. A decent reason.”

“Yes, I went into this work from the get-go. I didn’t know that letting go of all of you bothered you so much.” He’d convinced himself he’d been doing them all a favor, that going undercover had to be something he totally dedicated his life to, which meant letting go of his ties to Red Grove. Suddenly the theory he’d accepted wasn’t sitting well in his gut. Or on his conscience.

“You never really knew me.” Ouch. It was as if Veronica had read his mind. As if she could see into the depths of his heart.

Your heart? He needed to get a grip, fast.

“Veronica, about that—”

“Nope. Not going there with you, Dylan. That was over what, five years ago? I’m sure we’ve both gained a lot of work experience since then. Seeing that we’re both working deep undercover, I suggest that we pump the breaks on any trip down memory lane. You know as well as I do that we have to use this solo time together as efficiently as possible. I don’t know how much you have to worry about looking over your shoulder right now, but I for one never know when good ol’ Hank’s going to show up again.” Her gaze softened. “I’m not trying to bust your balls on purpose here, Dylan, but we both know the deal. We have to keep things professional, which means we forget about our past, including any ‘almosts.’”

He nodded so quickly he heard a small pop in his neck. Calm down, man. “Good idea. The keeping it professional part.” He sucked in a breath, forced his shoulders down as he sighed it out. “My observation about your clothing was because I’m actually impressed at how much you’ve thrown yourself into your role.” His cheeks burned and he struggled to swallow as his apology threatened to unfurl the myriad emotions he’d buried deep when he left North Dakota.

When you dumped Veronica.

Not really a dump, because they hadn’t yet become more than friendly and then flirty work colleagues. No one could blame him—