"And you should know—" He paused, choosing his words carefully."I'm not working alone.There are people involved in this who have their own priorities.Their own rules.I can't promise they'll welcome a journalist into the operation."
"I'm not asking to be welcomed.I'm asking to be useful."Harper stood, pushing back from the table."I'm staying at Sarge's Sandbar.Cottage on the beach.You can reach me through the burner number I gave you last night."
"Holly Warren."
She paused."What?"
"Your cover name.Holly Warren, freelance writer.Working on a book about small-town Florida life."
She went still.Not scared—calculating.Recalibrating how long he'd been watching her and what that meant for how exposed she really was.
"You're thorough," she said.
"So are you."
She held his gaze for a moment longer.Then she turned and walked out of the bakery, the bell chiming behind her.
Caleb sat alone at the table, the tablet warm in his hands, and wondered if he had just made the smartest decision of his life or the dumbest.
His phone buzzed.
Ronan.
How was the honeymoon suite?
Caleb typed back.
You're not supposed to be thinking about me on your wedding night.
It's the morning after.And Lila's still asleep.I saw you leave the reception early.With the woman.
Of course, he had.Ronan noticed everything.It was what made him good at his job—and terrible at minding his own business.
Harper Wynn.The journalist I mentioned.
The one who's been hunting the same patterns we are.
She wants to work together.
A pause.Then:
What do you think?
Caleb looked at the tablet.At the web of connections Harper had built.At the fourteen months of research that represented countless sleepless nights and constant fear.
I think she's the real deal.Scared, careful, and smarter than anyone I've met in a long time.
And?
Caleb hesitated.Ronan knew him too well.
I think working with her might get her killed.And I think not working with her will definitely get her killed.
So we protect her.
She doesn't want protection.She wants a partnership.
Give her both.
