Close enough that heat brushed along her bare arm.
Not touching.
“Busy down there,” Reid said.
She didn’t look at him. “You here for the spectacle?”
“I prefer higher ground.”
She turned.
No jacket. Dark jeans. Navy button-down open at the throat, sleeves rolled to strong forearms, gold watch catching the light.
Less armor.
Somehow more dangerous.
Across the patio, Lila’s crew shifted their rig, camera angling their way.
Eleanor saw it at the same time he did.
Flash.
Reid moved before she finished blinking—one smooth step that put his body between hers and the lens.
“That’s enough,” he said, voice even but edged.
Lila smiled like she’d been expecting the moment.
“Public venue, Counselor.”
Deputy Luke Hale materialized at Reid’s shoulder, loose stance, authority humming under it.
“Evening,” Luke said. “Let’s not turn this into a production.”
Lila held his gaze a second too long, calculating.
Then nodded. “Wrap it.”
The cameras dipped, but Eleanor could still feel the attention, sliding over her skin.
Reid turned back.
“You okay, Ellie?”
The nickname slipped out of his mouth like he’d been using it for years.
She blinked.
“What did you just call me?”
“Ellie.”
“That’s what my daddy calls me.”
No one else did.
The name hit somewhere soft and buried—a place no one in Sylva ever touched.
