Page 78 of Undercover Hearts

"I've never acted out of obligation," Jenna replied simply. "Not with you."

Michelle looked at her then, really looked—beyond the practical helper who'd supported her recovery, beyond the capable detective who'd been her undercover partner. She saw the woman who'd stayed in an uncomfortable hospital chair for days, who'd moved through her sterile apartment bringing life and warmth, who'd weathered her frustration and anger without retreating.

"I think I've been falling for you since that first interview," Michelle admitted, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating. "Not just physical attraction. Something more…real."

Jenna's expression softened, a smile touching her lips. "I know."

The simple response surprised a laugh from Michelle. "You know?"

"You're not as inscrutable as you think, Captain," Jenna replied, gentle teasing entering her voice. "At least, not to me."

The tension that had built throughout Michelle's frustrated outburst dissolved, replaced by something lighter yet somehow more substantial.

"What comes next?" Michelle asked, the question encompassing everything from recovery to relationship.

"Whatever we decide," Jenna said, reaching out to take Michelle's good hand in both of hers. "But we decide together."

The simplicity of the answer belied its profound implications. Together, not alone. Vulnerability as connection rather than weakness.

Michelle's gaze dropped to their joined hands, Jenna's fingers warm and steady around hers. Without analyzing or calculating, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them until their foreheads touched.

"I'm not good at this," she warned, voice barely above a whisper.

"You're better than you think," Jenna replied, one hand rising to cup Michelle's cheek.

When their lips finally met, the kiss held none of the urgent heat of their undercover encounters, nor the desperate relief of reunion after danger. Instead, it carried the gentle certainty of choice—not driven by cover identities or adrenaline or momentary desire, but by genuine recognition of what they'd found in each other.

As they separated, Michelle kept her eyes closed for a moment, absorbing the sensation of barriers crumbling, of defenses willingly lowered rather than forcibly breached.

"So," she said finally, opening her eyes to find Jenna watching her with tender amusement, "that conversation we kept promising to have after the operation..."

"I think we just started it," Jenna replied, her smile widening.

Michelle found herself smiling in return. "Better late than never."

Outside the window, Phoenix Ridge continued its ordinary rhythm, unchanged by the small shift occurring in Michelle's apartment. But within those walls, something extraordinary had happened: Captain Michelle Reyes, who had built her life and career around independence and control, had finally found the courage to let someone in.

Not just someone.

Jenna.

Who had proven, in ways both dramatic and mundane, that she was worth the risk.

16

JENNA

The Phoenix Ridge County Courthouse stood like a monument to justice, its imposing granite structure catching the morning sunlight. Jenna adjusted her navy blazer, fingers checking that her badge was secure on her belt as she climbed the wide stone steps. Six weeks had passed since the operation concluded, since Michelle had intercepted Kendall's bullet, and since their lives had taken an unexpected turn.

The preliminary hearing for Sienna Castillo and Isabella Garcia would mark the first time they'd appeared in an official capacity since that night.

Jenna spotted Michelle waiting at the top of the steps, her dark pantsuit impeccably tailored to accommodate the sling still supporting her left arm. Despite the injury, she carried herself with the same quiet authority that had first captured Jenna's attention. Their eyes met across the distance, and Michelle's features softened with a subtle smile reserved only for her.

"Ready for this?" Michelle asked as Jenna reached her.

"As I'll ever be," Jenna replied, resisting the urge to straighten Michelle's collar or touch her arm—gestures thathad become natural during their weeks together but felt inappropriate in this professional setting.

They walked through security together, displaying their badges. The courthouse's marble halls echoed with footsteps and hushed conversations, the air heavy with anticipation and bureaucracy. Assistant District Attorney Caroline Marks waited for them outside the courtroom, files clutched to her chest.