Page 72 of Shadow Waltz

“Healthier. More at ease.” His gaze fell to the collar again, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

I touched the leather reflexively, lips twitching. “It’s not what you think,” I said, voice softer than I intended.

His eyes met mine. “What do I think, Ash?”

I leaned back, letting my smile turn wicked. “You think I’m trapped. That I need saving.” I let my foot nudge his under the table, subtle but unmistakable. “Or maybe you just like the idea of saving me.”

He didn’t flinch, but I saw the pulse beat faster in his throat. “I want you safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Is that all?” I asked, tilting my head, letting the implication hang between us. “Because you’ve chased me halfway across the country for years. You ever wonder why you keep showing up wherever I land?”

He looked away, jaw working, pretending to collect himself. “I care about what happens to you. That’s not a crime.”

“Not yet,” I said, letting my voice drop. “But we could make it one, if you want.”

He looked back at me, eyes burning, something hungry and pained all at once. “Ash, this isn’t an interrogation. I just want to know you’re all right.”

I shrugged, letting my fingers drift along the edge of the table, lingering close to his hand. “Depends what you mean by ‘all right.’ I’m alive. Breathing. Not bleeding—at least not on the outside.”

He almost smiled, but there was an ache in it. “And with Luka? You’re…okay?”

The question was careful, weighted. “I’m living with him. He gives me protection. Security. A place to stay. That’s more than anyone else ever has.”

His hand flexed on the table, the knuckles whitening. “And you want that? You want him?”

I let the silence stretch, let him watch me. “It’s not about what I want, Detective. It’s about what makes me feel like I matter.”

He blinked, the wordless longing written across his face. “You’ve always mattered,” he said quietly.

I let my voice soften. “Maybe. But no one’s ever made mefeelit before. Not until now.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, lowering his voice. “Ash…if you ever want out—if you ever want something different—you know you can come to me, right?”

I looked at him, really looked, and felt a pang of something old and tender. “And what would you do, Detective? You gonna be my white knight?”

A flush rose on his cheeks, a flicker of embarrassment and arousal. “Maybe. If you’ll let me.”

I grinned, letting the tension coil between us. “Is that what you want? To save me?”

He didn’t answer, but his eyes did.

I watched him try to compose himself, hands folding and unfolding on the table. “If you change your mind about Luka, if anything ever feels wrong, you come to me. No judgment. No questions asked.”

I nodded. “I know. But I’m not running anymore. Not from him, not from you, not from any of it.”

His breathing picked up, and he looked away, gathering himself. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

I smiled, softer this time. “Maybe. But you’ve always liked a challenge.”

Reddick tried to mask the flush on his cheeks, but I could see the way his body tensed—shoulders square, jaw tight, that familiar tension radiating off him like heat. I let the silence hum between us, subtle and charged.

His laptop was open, a glowing wedge of blue at the end of the table. It hadn’t gone to sleep, still logged into whatever files he’d been reviewing. I’d noticed the slim drive in my jacket pocket before leaving Luka’s suite, instructions clear as day in my mind: prove you’re loyal, bring back something the others can’t get. Luka wanted proof I could walk in and out of a meeting with a city detective and still be his best asset. I wanted that, too—for both of us.

Reddick’s attention flicked back to the device for a split second—just enough for me to read the anxiety under his skin. Maybe he worried I’d snoop, or maybe he just wanted to make sure work didn’t bleed into this fragile, dangerous intimacy we kept finding.

I stepped closer, my foot brushing his under the table. I could have played coy, but that wasn't my style—not when it mattered. Not when I needed something from him.

“So, Detective,” I murmured, moving around to his side of the table, letting my fingers drift along the edge of the polished wood, “you're really not going to ask me why I agreed to meet you today?”