Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
An hour later, we’re out in the hospital parking lot, the night sky fading into the early gray of morning. Birds chirp in the distance, a mundane sound that feels jarringly normal after the chaos of shipping containers and gunfire. Dean and Sophia head toward their car, planning to crash at home after picking up some medication. I promise I’ll check on them soon, and Dean gives me a lingering, curious glance before nodding.
Lincoln opens the passenger door for me, helping me climb in. My muscles ache, my wrists sting, and every breath reminds me how fragile life can be. Still, the tension seeps away when he slides into the driver’s seat, gaze flicking over to me as if to confirm I’m there. We share a tired smile.
“You want to crash at your place or mine?” he asks, voice gentle.
I consider for a moment, heart pounding with newfound vulnerability. “Yours,” I finally say. “If that’s all right. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
He exhales, a faint smile curving his lips as he pulls the car out of the parking lot. “All right. We’ll figure out the rest in the morning. Together.”
And so we drive off, the horizon blazing pink with the promise of sunrise. My eyes drift shut, lulled by the hum of the engine and the knowledge that, for once, I’m safe. We still have so much to sort out—Lazarus Delgado is at large, Dean has questions, and our own relationship needs clarity. But for now, it’s enough that Lincoln’s here, guiding me through the quiet dawn, arms ready to hold me if I slip.
Exhaustion claims me in a soft wave, head lolling against the seat, a fragile hope warming my chest. Because no matter how dark the last few hours were, we survived. And I have a feeling that with Lincoln by my side, I’ll find the strength to face whatever comes next.
Epilogue
Isabel
I tap my pen against the edge of the conference table, eyes scanning the screen of my laptop. The glow of the overhead lights reflects on the polished surface, and somewhere in the distance, I hear phones ringing and the soft hum of conversation—typical Maddox Security hustle. Across from me, Lincoln sits with a pile of case folders stacked neatly beside him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reads through the latest intel on Asher’s assignment.
A wry smile tugs at my lips. Who would’ve guessed we’d be back at work like any normal day, I muse, after everything we went through. But here we are, piecing together leads for our colleague Asher. He’s currently undercover, posing as the doting boyfriend to a socialite named Charlotte in order to protect her from threats. It’s reminiscent of what Lincoln and I did not too long ago—pretending to be married, slipping into the world of Club Greed. But Asher’s case is (hopefully) less lethal, more about discreet surveillance and less about standoffs at shipping containers.
Lincoln’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, then lifts his gaze to meet mine. Our eyes lock, and a gentle warmth blooms in my chest. Even after everything his presence still sends a thrill through me. He arches an eyebrow in a silent question, and I give him a small nod, confirming I’m good. Just me, your new partner in crime—and in basically everything else.
He sets the phone aside and flips open another folder. “According to these notes, Asher’s next move is to attend some gala as Charlotte’s plus-one,” Lincoln says quietly. “We need to flag any potential security gaps, make sure no one’s tailing them to that event.”
I hum in agreement, scanning the digital map of the venue. “I’ve marked three possible access points that aren’t covered by the standard event security,” I say, clicking to highlight them on my laptop. “We’ll send someone to stake them out. Possibly Boone or Orion, whichever is free.”
Lincoln leans over, studying my screen. Our shoulders brush, and it’s ridiculous how that single point of contact sets my pulse thudding. I try not to smile too obviously, but the curve of my mouth is already betraying me. “Good call,” he murmurs, voice low and resonant. “Asher’s going to need all the backup we can spare if Charlotte’s as high-profile as these tabloids claim.”
I snort softly. “Her father and mother own half of Midtown real estate, and she was apparently a child star in a big film. So yeah—high-profile is putting it mildly.”
Lincoln chuckles, tapping a note into his phone, then sets it aside. “Any other flagged concerns?”
“No. Just triple-checking background checks for her staff.” I shuffle a few printouts. “But you know Asher—he’s good at blending in. He’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” Lincoln pushes back from the table, folding his arms. “Should we wrap for the day? We can finalize the plan tomorrow.” The question glimmers in his dark eyes, and I sense the unspoken Are you ready to go home?