Page 102 of Duty Compromised

“Yes,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Yes, of course, yes.”

My hands shook as I slid the ring onto her finger. She pulled me up and kissed me, both of us laughing and crying a little.

“I love you,” she said against my mouth.

“I love you too.”

We stood there on the beach, waves lapping at our feet, her ring catching the moonlight. A year ago, we’d both been broken in different ways. Now, we were whole—not because we’d fixed each other, but because we’d learned to be broken and whole at the same time, together.

“We should head back,” she said eventually. “I want to call Mel and Lauren.”

“At eleven at night?”

“They’ll want to know immediately.” She held up her hand, admiring the ring. “Besides, Mel owes me fifty dollars. She bet I’d be the one to propose.”

I laughed. “You would have?”

“I had a whole speech prepared about statistical probability and optimal partnership dynamics.” She grinned. “But your way was better.”

We walked back to our bungalow, our little piece of paradise. Tomorrow, we’d fly back to our lives. Back to her work at Vertex, where she was revolutionizing ethical technology. Back to my work at Citadel, where I’d just successfully completed a protection detail for a Supreme Court justice. Back to real life, where I’d be starting college at thirty-two and she’d be helping me study whether I wanted it or not.

But tonight, we had this. The ocean, the stars, and each other.

It was enough. More than enough.

It was perfect.

Bonus Epilogue

Ben & Jolly

6 months later

Undercover in the Foothills of Colorado

...the barn door slammed shut behind us with enough force to rattle the hinges. Voices carried from outside, too many of them, punctuated by footsteps pounding across the packed dirt.

“They know,” Lydia whispered, pressing her back against the rough wood wall. Her eyes were wide, panicked.

I reached for her hand in the darkness, threading my fingers through hers the way a husband would. The fake wedding band on my finger felt cold, but her palm burned hot against mine. Her fear was palpable, radiating through her skin into mine. “No. They suspect. There’s a difference.”

Jolly’s low growl rumbled beside me. My hand rested on his collar, holding him back as his hackles rose. The muscles in my forearm flexed with the effort of keeping nearly one hundred pounds of trained aggression in check.

“Miller saw me near the communications shed.” Her voice came out breathier than usual. “He’ll tell Briggs.”

Damn it. My chest tightened. This was my fault—I should have been with her, should have kept her closer. “Then we give them something else to think about.” My voice dropped lower without meaning to. The same command tone that came out when I needed control, when the mission required it.

I moved my hands to the hem of her shirt. “It’s going to be okay.”

Before she could protest, I yanked it over her head in one swift motion. She gasped, arms crossing instinctively over her chest, over the bra that was now the only thing between her and exposure. Guilt stabbed through me. This was necessary. I had to keep telling myself that.

“Ben—”

“They need to see evidence.” I tossed her shirt into the hay, then pulled my own over my head. Her eyes tracked across my chest before she looked away. “We practiced this. You know what to do.”

But we’d practiced in a safe room with fluorescent lights and supervisors. Not here. Not with her life on the line.

Light swept across the gaps in the barn siding. Flashlights. Multiple beams searching, hunting.