Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
She inhales softly, nostrils flaring and her eyes heating. Her chin lifts, head tilts. “Did you ever think about calling me?” she asks softly.
“Every damn day for a while,” I admit. “And then only about every other day after that.”
Those blue eyes light up and she chuckles. “Same.”
“But eventually, I moved on,” I say, and as expected the light in those beautiful orbs dims a bit. “You moved on too.”
“Yeah,” she says softly, like a pained admission, turning toward the wall and layering her arms on it again. “I did.”
We stand there longer than we should, cold seeping through our clothes, neither of us moving away.
Finally, she draws in a breath, and we are back to business. “Okay,” she says. “Next step is financial tracing and metadata analysis. I’ll reach out to an old contact in the state insurance office and see if they’ll talk off the record.”
“And I’ll have Josie start building deeper profiles on RainVest’s executive board,” I say. “If there’s a weak link, we’ll find it.”
She nods, professional again—but closer now. Aligned instead of opposed. For the first time since she walked back into my life, the tension between us doesn’t feel like unfinished business.
It feels like it could be a new beginning.
And that unsettles me more than any fire ever has.
CHAPTER 6
Tessa
Iwake in that thin, disorienting space between sleep and awareness where my body knows I’m safe but my mind hasn’t caught up to where I am. It’s my second morning waking up in a strange place, but oddly… not that strange. I think that has to do with being here with Cole, who just naturally brings a home-like familiarity because of our past. Regardless, between the security of the building, having a former Special Forces guy looking after me, and a host of other trained agents within feet, a girl couldn’t feel safer.
I throw on a pair of sweatpants to go with the tank I’d worn to bed to allow some modesty and head into the living area. I can immediately tell Cole isn’t in the apartment by the stillness. He has a natural energy surrounding him at all times and it’s noticeably absent.
The space looks exactly like Cole—clean, spare, functional. There’s nothing decorative to soften edges. His boots are lined up near the door like he’s ready to walk out at a moment’s notice, and his jacket hangs from the back of a chair with the kind of casual precision that tells me he put it there without thinking and still made it neat. In the corner, his duffel is zipped, resting against the wall, and even that feels like a statement.
Prepared. Always.
I move into the small kitchen, and my gaze catches on a single coffee mug set out beside the pot, clean and waiting. Next to it is a folded note—plain paper, nothing fancy—weighted with a spoon.
Gym. Back soon. Coffee’s fresh.
—C
I stare at that for longer than makes sense, not because it’s romantic but because it’s familiar. Because I’ve lived inside the rhythm of him before and I recognize the small ways he takes care of people without turning it into a performance. There’s no flourish, no “Good morning” scrawled in a heart, just a quiet assumption that I’ll need caffeine and that he’ll make sure it’s there. It’s honestly one of the things I loved best about him. His care for me was tangible.
I pour myself a cup and take a sip, humming with approval as the bitterness hits my tongue. I carry it to the dining table where my laptop sits closed and ready for action.
Work. Focus. Evidence. That’s what I’m here for.
That’s what I tell myself as I open the computer and the folders populate the screen, each one labeled with tight, organizational prowess. Josie—or BOB—did an amazing job of sorting and organizing the hundreds upon hundreds of documents and then put them on their encrypted server.
There’s a summary open in another tab—spreadsheets, charts, graphs—her way of taking a mountain of information and cutting it down into digestible bites. I’m grateful for it in the way you’re grateful for a flashlight when you’re walking into the dark.
I start where I left off last night, digging deeper into the financials because if RainVest is doing what I suspect they’re doing, the money is where their arrogance will show. People can hide intent behind language all day long, but transactions have weight.
And they leave trails in the form of vendor payments, retainers, and consulting fees.
Fifteen minutes into my perusal and at the start of my second cup of coffee, halfway down a column of otherwise forgettable names, one vendor repeats often enough to snag my attention.
Strategic Asset Protection Group, sometimes abbreviated SAPG.
I click into the first invoice and read it the way I’ve learned to scan documents that matter, letting my eyes hunt for anything that feels out of place. It looks clean, corporate, plausible.