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She takes a long look at the box, eyes widening. “On it.”

I swallow.This is it. Exactly what I worried the analysts were hinting around at, the intel that I didn’t quite scrape a high enough classification to access. It must be what the redacted cables referred to, and it’s my worst nightmare.

Proof the domestic terrorists my team’s been tracking are working with the Russians, and worse, planning something huge.

Domestic terrorists don’t just order up weapons-grade uranium for shits and giggles. No, this brand of white nationalistdoesn’t go to this much trouble just to make a few threats and parade around chanting hate speeches before going home. They need to be dealt with, and they need to be dealt with quickly.

I breathe out slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. This needs to be handed off to all the right agencies immediately.

I glance over to where June stands, a towel wrapped around her, something steaming in her hands, the wild look of excitement on her face, and resolve cements in me. This will get reported up correctly as soon as I can. HQ will figure out the next move, the next mission. I’ve done my job for the day.

June’s lips curve into a smile, and she sips her drink.

The night, however, is still mine.

Thank god the crate was secured properly. It took the rest of the afternoon to clear the sub correctly, with people in full gear, their equipment crackling as they swept us for leaked radiation. And my mind has been working overtime, chewing over the facts of the case. But the evidence is in the proper chain now. I saw it off, signed the papers, ordered Thompson to write the report and brief the rest of the squad.

All the while thinking of June. The way she regaled the crew with stories of theSantu Espiritu,how she charmed them into letting her borrow their computer to email the photos she took of the wreck to her supervisor. To a news agency. To pitch a massive non-profit on assisting in the marine dig.

And now she sleeps peacefully in my replacement Jeep, her lips softly parted, face slack and sweet. So damn beautiful, and somehow, at ease with me after everything. Trusting me enough to sleep next to me again. Or at least, tired enough to. She fellasleep almost immediately, slept through the first pitstop I made too.

Excitement and nerves push to the forefront, left leg shaking as I drive. The ship docked in Corpus Christi, necessitated by the contents of the sub and the amount of manpower needed to clear the ship.

And I called ahead to our destination, waiting to be let off the cutter—thought I’d play it cool.

It isn’t a government safehouse; not convinced requesting a safehouse here would even be prudent. No telling how far the corruption reaches. Besides, I want to do something nice for June.

I could be her safehouse, if she lets me.

I glance back at the packages I picked up in the backseat. Luckily, government contracting pays well. A knot forms in my stomach, and I clench my hand on the wheel.

What if she doesn’t like it?

Then I’ll get her something she will.

The second package, weapons, courtesy of Thompson slipping out and ordering them for pick-up as I processed the first tranche of paperwork. While June processed and catalogued the photos she’d taken.

We worked wordlessly, side by side, no need for conversation. Companionably. Occasionally, her knee would brush mine and it took all my restraint not to carry her off to one of the cutter’s bunks.

“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly with sleep as she sits up, rubbing her eyes.

“Hey yourself.”

Destination looming on the horizon, I can’t help the grin creeping across my face.

“What’s that?”

“Well, it’s not a safehouse.”

“I can see that.”

“I got us a suite. It’ll be safer—that is, if I stay with you. We can’t be sure Pierce is done with you.”

Her expression tightens.

“I can get us adjoining rooms, if that would make you more comfortable.” God, did I push her too far too fast? I wanted to make things right between us, not mess them up more.

“Dean…”