“Good. Because I expect the sheriff’s department t’keep an eye on things while they’re in town. If some fool decides she’s part of their story… I won’t be askin’ questions about jurisdiction.”
His gaze cut briefly to Reid.
“An’ if any of that mess splashes on her because the DA’s office wants a good headline… we’ll be havin’ words.”
Scout answered evenly.
“We already are.”
Deck studied him another second.
“Aye. Well. See that ye do.”
Reid shifted his weight, gaze flicking once toward the door as he could already hear her steps in the hall.
The office door opened.
Eleanor stepped inside.
And Deck was right there, radiating protective suspicion like a space heater.
Her gaze moved across the room—Burke, Scout, Reid… then Deck. Deck’s eyes were a little too bland, his posture a little too casual. He was being Deck, which meant he was already meddling.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“What did you say?”
Deck straightened immediately.
“Nothin’ at all, lass.”
Scout hid a grin.
She hadn't expected Reid to be here for this meeting. He was leaning against the window.The morning sun silhouetting his broad shoulders, looking every bit the formidable DistrictAttorney. But as her eyes met his, the professional veneer didn't just crack—it dissolved.
The last time she’d seen him, she had been sitting on his kitchen counter, breathless and entirely undone beneath his shirt. Now, seeing him in a sharp suit in the middle of the Sheriff’s department felt like a physical collision. Every inch of her skin that had been pressed against him forty-eight hours ago suddenly felt too aware, and the blazer she was wearing felt like a lie.
Reid, stop,she thought desperately.
Because he wasn't even trying to hide it. He didn't offer a polite, distant nod. He stood straighter, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second—just long enough to track the line of her throat—before locking back onto her eyes with a heat so blatant it was practically a public confession. It was the look of a man who wasn't seeing opposing counsel; he was seeing the woman he’d claimed on a granite counter, and he didn't seem to care who knew it.
Reid stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, crowding the air in the small office.
“Good morning,” he said.
His voice was a low, resonant vibration that she felt in her bones. It was the same tone he’d used when he told herI’ve got you, and hearing it here, in front of Burke and Deck, made her heart hammer a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
He is unbelievable,she thought, a frantic mix of irritation and sheer, helpless attraction swirling in her chest.He’s going to get us both disbarred before lunch.
She locked her knees to keep from trembling and extended her hand, a desperate attempt to claw back some shred of professionalism.
“Counselor,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Reid took her hand. His grip was familiar in a way it absolutely shouldn’t be here—warm, steady, and slightly rougher than a stranger’s. He didn't just shake it. He held it, his thumb grazing the side of her palm in a slow, electric stroke that sent a bolt of fire straight up her arm.
That slow, knowing smile appeared—the one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, exactly how she was reacting, and that he found the entire situation delicious.
“Counselor,” he repeated, like an inside joke.
