Page 18

NCIS Cyber Division, Washington Navy Yard, Washington, DC

Grace sat at her sleek new desk, fingers flying over her keyboard as half a dozen screens reflected code, alerts, and a glowing map of real-time data traffic across three naval sectors.

God, it felt good to be home . But, damn, did she miss Nash. She had a hunch he’d jump at the chance to join NCIS as a field agent. The director had agreed when she’d suggested it, and it was a forgone conclusion when she brought it up to Nash. He couldn’t go back to the SEALs, but he could go back to service. All he’d needed was to attend and complete the Federal Law Enforcement Training Centers special agent course. He was currently there in Glynco, Georgia, the program a too long eighteen weeks.

The office hummed with quiet intensity, analysts working in low voices, systems updating in the background, everything moving at the pace of purpose. Her own corner of the bullpen was bright, organized, hers. A far cry from that beige tomb in Arizona.

Her headset chirped. She tapped it on.

“Grace!” The voice was bright, familiar. “Oh my God, you’re alive!”

Grace laughed. “Hi, Tasha.”

“Don’t ‘hi’ me, you disappeared like a government experiment gone rogue.”

“Technically accurate,” she said, grinning.

“Dinner. My place. You and your mystery man. I’ve got Charlie and Mags coming. Remember Mags from OCS prep?”

Grace’s heart lifted. Connection. Belonging. The old world finding her again. “I’d love that. So will Nash.”

“Ugh, the SEAL. Is he as hot as you made him sound?”

“Hotter,” Grace said smugly. Just as she clicked off the call, a familiar scent hit her like a freight train, leather, spice, sun-warmed arrogance, and her breath caught. She turned.

Nash Rahim stood in the doorway of the Cyber Division like sin dressed in black leather. White T-shirt. Fitted jeans. Coffee in hand. That look in his eyes, the one that made her want to do unspeakable things on federal property. She tried to speak. Failed. Swallowed. Tried again. “You went all the way to Georgia and all I get is a lousy cup of coffee?”

Nash snorted and set the mug on her desk.

“Don’t tell me…” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You cut your FLETC time in half, you overachieving, elite bastard. I had to sweat through eighteen weeks.”

He chuckled, warm and low. “Bitch and complain. I should’ve gone to the Caribbean for nine weeks, sun, sand, and water, instead of dealing with a whiny redhead who thinks fiber optics are a love language.”

Grace shoved back from her desk, rounded it, and launched herself at him. He caught her easily, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh my God, I missed you,” she whispered, voice thick with feeling.

“I missed you more,” he said, the sound rough and low. Then he kissed her, open-mouthed, deep, everything he hadn’t said and everything she already knew. His hands slid into her hair, her body melted into his, and somewhere nearby someone coughed discreetly but neither of them cared.

Back at home, they stepped inside and closed the door behind them, the sound soft, final. Grace kicked off her boots, already shimmying out of her jacket with a lazy sort of grace.

Nash dropped his bag and stretched, the leather of his jacket creaking as he rolled his shoulders.

She eyed him, expression suddenly shifting. “Wait, before we do anything else.” She stepped closer, her eyes soft but lit with curiosity. “You haven’t shown me yet.”

He blinked. “Shown you what?”

“Your badge.” Her voice dipped. “Your gun.”

His breath hitched, not because he was surprised, but because she asked like it mattered. Like it meant something to her, too.

Wordlessly, he pulled the leather case from his jacket and handed it to her.

Grace opened it slowly. Her breath caught.

The NCIS Special Agent badge gleamed against the black velvet. Official. Earned. His .

She traced it with a single fingertip. “God, Nash. You did it.” He tried to speak. Failed. Swallowed hard. Grace looked up, her voice gentle. “Hey…” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away.

“I hated leaving the SEALs,” he said, voice low. “It gutted me. Thought I could live without it. Serve in smaller ways. Stay under the radar. But…” He shook his head once. “Turns out? That need to serve? That need ? It never went away. I just buried it.” He looked down at her, eyes shadowed but open. “This lets me carry again. Protect again. Serve the Navy again. Without the long-ass deployments that take me away from my high-value target.”

Her lips curved. “That would be me.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You. You gave this back to me.”

Grace stepped closer, slid her hands up his chest, over the solid lines of his body until she cradled his face in her palms.

“You didn’t need the badge to be worthy of it,” she said softly. “But damn you’ll wear it well.”

He leaned his forehead to hers, his voice barely a breath. “I didn’t know how much I missed it… until I got it back.”

“Me, too,” she whispered. “I got back what I lost, but so much more. I wouldn’t change a thing because we’re together. It was worth it all.”

He kissed her, slow and full of gratitude.

“I made one more stop before I came here.” His voice was strained. “Little Creek. The guys. It was a rough reunion. Too much drinking, man hugs, and something I thought I wouldn’t ever have again. Brotherhood. Now they want to meet you.”

“Bring them on. I’m ready for anything you have to give me or share with me.”

Later that night his phone started blowing up with texts from the guys. Their bedroom was dark except for the glow of the city seeping in through the windows, soft blues and golds stretching long across the floor.

Grace was curled beside him, her breath warm against his shoulder, one leg tangled possessively over his. His phone vibrated on the nightstand. Then again, and again. He exhaled through his nose and reached for it.

Vice: So… badge boy, huh? You can still wear your Oakleys and look just as cool, right? Not.

Hook: Is it true? NCIS actually gave you a badge? Or was it a convincing gaslight. Please confirm. I have a very important bet riding on this.

Trigger: You alive, or did Grace finally kill you with fiber-optic bondage?

Hitch: Lunch. 1200 hours. You bring her, or we riot.

The corner of Nash’s mouth kicked up. He turned his head, brushing a kiss against the crown of Grace’s head. “You up for lunch tomorrow?” he whispered.

She murmured something incoherent, snuggled deeper into his side, and nodded without opening her eyes. He smiled and powered down the phone. “Copy that.”

He shifted, pulling her closer. Her body fit perfectly against his, her breathing even. Steady. Comforting in a way nothing else ever had been. It was quiet. But not the kind of silence that gnawed at him. This was the kind that allowed him to really rest.

Still, his mind wandered. Tomorrow would be the first time he’d since they laid out everything he thought he’d buried. His chest tightened.

Master Chief Benjamin Riggs.

Luis “Burner” Marroquin.

And Kento.

Superman.

Three brothers. Two bodies.

One still unaccounted for.

Nash stared up at the ceiling, his hand stroking slow patterns down Grace’s spine. Everything in his life had finally settled. Grace. The badge. The brotherhood that remained. The chance to serve again without losing himself.

It should’ve been enough. It was enough. Yet… He whispered it into the dark. The old oath, older than the SEALs, older than grief. “Kento, man… I’ve got your back. Always.”

Grace shifted slightly against him. Her hand slid over his chest, her breathing still slow. Still safe. Nash closed his eyes, let her weight settle over him, and let the silence soothe him. GRAVITY was destroyed and whatever information he had died with him. Kento was lost, but he’d never be forgotten.

Early the next morning after PT, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen as he came into the house. Breakfast filled the air, and he breathed deep. Hook. Naturally. Lunch. ETA Six hours. Is she coming or not?

Then another message. Vice. Better hurry and answer, bro. The natives are getting restless.

Then a third, Trigger, just a skull emoji and the words: You bringing her or do we breach?

Finally, Hitch. I’m starving.

Entering the kitchen, Nash smirked as he texted them. “Were you too out of it last night to remember that we’re having lunch with the guys.”

Grace paused in serving up the eggs. She tapped her temple. “Steel trap.”

He sat down at the small round table, still holding his phone. “Right. They are…a lot.”

Her entire face lit up. “Don’t worry. I used to eat special operators’ lunches.”

“These guys are different,” he said. “You’ve officially crossed into operational territory.”

She bounced over to the table with the plates and set his down, then settled into the chair across from him. “We just took down a corrupt company who tried to kill us with drones, and survived Caspari and driving off a bridge. I think I can handle them.”

Nash chuckled. “Of course you can.”

Just before they were getting ready to leave for lunch, his phone buzzed again.

He closed the door with a groan. “Hook says if we’re not there in twenty, he’s sending a drone.” Then he caught her hand in his, kissed her knuckles lazily. “Prepare yourself, babe. They’re all going to fall in love with you.”

She grinned. “That would be unfortunate for them. There’s a man I have dibs on.” Then, quieter, more serious, her fingers brushing his. “It’s an honor. Am I going to get some good stories?”

He groaned. “Try and stop them.”

* * *