Page 45

"Which one? My testimony or my death?"

Julia flinched, the reaction so subtle most would have missed it. "That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." Ivy abandoned the documents, following Julia as she retreated to the living room. "I'm trying to break through this wall you've constructed."

"There is no wall. There's professional responsibility."

"Bullshit." The word dropped between them, sharp and deliberate. "There's you hiding behind protocol because it's safer than acknowledging what's happening between us."

Julia turned, her composure slipping fora rare, unguarded moment. "Nothing is happening between us."

"Then why can't you look at me without remembering that night?" Ivy stepped closer, deliberately invading Julia's carefully maintained space. "Why does your breath catch when our hands touch? Why did you bring me to your home—your real home—instead of another off-grid location?"

"I brought you here because it's secure."

"You brought me here because you trust me," Ivy countered. "Trust isn't protocol, Julia. It's personal."

Julia's jaw tightened, the muscle there jumping with tension. "This conversation isn't productive."

"Productive?" Ivy laughed, the sound holding no humor. "We're not discussing quarterly financial projections. We're talking about whatever this is, this current that's been running between us since the hotel."

"There can't be anything between us while you're under my protection."

"So you keep saying." Ivy moved closer still, close enough to see the faint amber flecks in Julia's dark eyes. "But your body betrays you every time we're in the same room."

Julia's breath hitched. "Ivy?—"

"Tell me you don't feel it," Ivy challenged, voice dropping lower. "Tell me you don't think about that night. About my hands on you. About how it felt when I?—"

"Stop." The word tore from Julia's throat, raw and unfiltered. "We can't do this."

"Why not? We already have." Ivy didn't retreat, holding her ground in the charged space between them. "We crossed that line the moment I invited you to my hotel room. Everything since has been pretending we can uncross it."

"It was one night," Julia said, her control fraying at the edges. "Before I knew who you were. Before you became my responsibility."

"And after?" Ivy asked. "What happens after I testify? After I'm no longer your professional obligation?"

Something shifted in Julia's eyes, walls crumbling for the briefest moment. "I don't know," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"I think you do." Ivy raised her hand, hovering it near Julia's face without touching—offering connection, not demanding it. "I think you're terrified of wanting somethingyou can't control. Someone you can't compartmentalize."

Julia didn't move away. She stood perfectly still, caught between professional distance and personal desire. The moment stretched between them, taut with possibility.

"You make me feel out of control," Julia finally said, the confession seemingly torn from her against her will. "And control is all I have."

The raw honesty in her voice caught Ivy off guard. This wasn't the composed detective speaking, but the woman beneath the shield—vulnerable in a way Ivy hadn't anticipated.

"Control is overrated," Ivy said softly. "Trust me, I've spent my life trying to control every variable. It doesn't work."

"It has to work," Julia replied, her voice taking on an edge of desperation. "People die when control fails."

The words carried weight beyond their immediate situation—old wounds, old fears. Ivy saw something in Julia's eyes she recognized all too well: the burden of responsibility, the terror of failing.

"Not everything can be calculated and contained," Ivy said, finally allowing her fingers to brush Julia's cheek. "Not even by the best detective or the most brilliant analyst."

Julia didn't pull away from the touch. Her eyes closed briefly, an unconscious surrender. "This is a mistake."

"Maybe." Ivy's thumb traced the edge of Julia's jaw. "Or maybe it's the only thing that makes sense in all this chaos."