"Stay out of it," both women said simultaneously.
“I’m sorry, is that how you speak to your Daddy?” Irish asked Makenzie. “I’ve given you a lot of leeway with Emily here, but I will not tolerate disrespect.”
Rampage watched Emily while Irish dressed down his girl. He would do the same if Emily had talked to him the same way. Makenzie had turned to apologize to Irish and he heard Irish say, “try that again, little girl.” But his eyes were on Emily. A blush had crawled across her face, turning it a nice shade of pink. Her hands went involuntarily to her butt.
Good.
Perfect reaction.
Savage came in, looked at the general atmosphere, and sat down with the quiet resignation of a man who had made his peace with being the only sane person in the room. That was until Savannah walked in a few minutes later.
Rampage poured coffee and watched Emily eat breakfast and thought about what the next forty-eight hours might bring.
He told her after, in the back hallway, just the two of them.
She listened the whole way through without interrupting. Her hands were still at her sides. When he got to the part abouther observation helping identify victims, something moved across her face that wasn't quite relief and wasn't quite grief. Something in between.
"She earned it," she said quietly. Repeating Dozer's words back to herself. “All I did was tell the truth.”
"Telling the truth, being brave during federal questioning is a lot."
"The other women." She looked at him. "The evidence. It connects to all four of them. They know for sure now, it’s not just a suspicion."
"Yes."
She was quiet for a moment. He let her process.
"I couldn't sleep the first three nights because I kept thinking about what I'd missed. What I should have seen." Her voice was even, but the evenness was deliberate. "And it turns out the one thing I did see was the thing that mattered."
"Yes."
"That's—" She exhaled. "That's a lot."
"It is."
"I'm glad." She met his eyes. "I need you to know I'm genuinely glad that it helped. Even with all the rest of it."
"I know you are."
She looked at the floor. Then up at him. The morning light came through the window at the end of the hall and caught the side of her face and he had the specific, inconvenient thought that he would remember this exact moment forever.
"Forty-eight hours," she said.
"Maybe less."
"And then it's over." She breathed. "And I go home."
He held her gaze. "That's your choice."
She looked at him steadily. The look that saw through him in the specific way she'd been seeing through him since that parking lot.
"Is it?" she said.
"Yes," he said. "It will always be your choice. I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m a big proponent of consent. However, I want you to stay. If you are willing. I know what I’m asking. You have friends, your yoga studio… I won’t deny what I’m feeling for you, Emily. If you "
She nodded slowly. She was going to keep thinking about it. He recognized the look. He'd been watching her work through things all week with the same look on her face.
"Okay," she said. Then, quieter: "I don't want to talk about the going home part yet."
