Page 23 of Code Name: Grit

“I didn’t ignore anything. I was gathering critical intelligence.”

“You were late. And then, you argued with me after I specifically said we had enough.”

“Which was your assessment, not mine.” I crossed my arms, standing my ground.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “We operate as partners—that means communicating intentions and respecting each other’s calls in the field.”

“We aren’tpartners. You issued an edict about not returning to the shipping terminal without discussing it with me.”

“I’m the point person on this mission. Your job is to follow my orders.”

“My job,” I countered, stepping closer, “is to help stop these people. And that’s exactly what I was doing.”

We stood toe-to-toe, neither willing to back down. His eyes blazed with an intensity that matched the heat building in my veins.

“Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you?” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper, the words wrenched from somewhere deep.

The admission stunned me into silence. This wasn’t about protocol or chain of command. This was about something far more complicated.

“Grit—”

His phone vibrated, shattering the moment. He answered, listening intently before hanging up.

“Tank,” he explained. “Dragon’s analysis confirms what we found. The weapons are next-generation prototypes with stealth capabilities. The rest of the shipment arrives tomorrow night.”

I nodded, relieved at the shift in his tone. “And the other containers?”

“Pharmaceutical-grade narcotics, as we thought.”

I expected him to launch back into scolding me. Instead, he suggested we each prepare a briefing on our findings, then compile the two.

As night fell, I stepped onto the balcony, needing space to think. The city sprawled before me, a maze of lights and shadows.

The sliding door opened, and Grit stepped out, carrying two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to me wordlessly.

“I’m sorry,” I said after a moment. “Not for doing my job, but for worrying you.”

He leaned against the railing, close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from him against the cool night air. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then, what is it?”

He stared out at the city, his profile illuminated by the ambient light. “When you lose someone you care about—when they’re taken from you—it changes everything.”

I turned to face him fully. “Who did you lose?”

His eyes met mine, pain visible in their depths. “Her name was Kelly Capwell. She was an intelligence analyst with the FBI.”

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“She discovered corruption within the bureau—agents working with the Cascardi family.” He took a long swallow of whiskey. “By the time I realized how deep she’d dug, it was too late. I found her in our apartment.”

My heart constricted. “I’m sorry.”

“After that, I made a rule. Never care enough that losing someone would destroy me.” His laugh was bitter. “Seemed like a solid plan until I laid eyes on you.”

The admission was honest and raw, leaving me momentarily speechless. I reached for his hand, my fingers intertwining with his.

“While my reasons were different, I suppose I have a similar rule.”