Chapter 11 #2
“I started kindergarten when I was three,” she said quietly. “Skipped grades until they ran out of grades to skip. By the time I was twelve, I was taking college courses. Mentally, I was years ahead of everyone. Emotionally? Socially?” She shrugged. “I was still just a kid who wanted friends.”
The water started to boil. I added the pasta, stirring to keep it from sticking.
“The other students at Stanford thought I was some kind of mascot at first. This tiny sixteen-year-old in their quantum physics classes. The professors took me seriously, at least academically. But making friends?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“How do you relate to twentysomethings worried about bar hookups when you’re still trying to figure out if you’re supposed to like boys yet? ”
“That must have been hell.”
“It was…challenging.” She watched me work, her expression thoughtful.
“By the time I was twenty, I had two doctorates and zero social skills. Vertex recruited me straight from graduation. Suddenly, I was supposed to lead teams, manage projects, interact with people who saw me as either a curiosity or a threat.”
I drained the pasta, added it back to the pot with the sauce. Simple, but it would do.
“Is that why you’re…” I searched for the right word.
“Prickly? Standoffish? Difficult?” She supplied the words with a self-deprecating twist to her mouth.
“Guarded,” I finished. “You’re guarded.”
She accepted the bowl I handed her, inhaling the steam. “When people constantly underestimate you or treat you like some kind of performing seal, you learn to keep distance. It’s easier.”
We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. She was hungry, wolfing down the pasta with single-minded focus. When she finally slowed, I asked, “Do you remember when we first met?”
Color crept up her neck. “When you thought I was the receptionist?”
“Yeah, about that—”
“You were trying to put me at ease,” she said suddenly. “I was having a complete meltdown about you arriving early and the badge and everything else, and you were trying to help.”
I set down my fork. “How did you—”
“It took me a while to figure it out. You’re not actually oblivious. You read people too well. Which means you knew I was panicking and tried to defuse it by being…” She waved her fork vaguely. “Charming. Disarming.”
“Did it work?”
“For about thirty seconds. Then I realized you had no idea who I was and got defensive.”
“In my defense, you don’t exactly look like someone who runs a world-class quantum computing lab.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What do I look like?”
The question hung between us, loaded with more weight than she’d probably intended.
I looked at her—really looked. The bandage at her temple, the exhausted shadows under her eyes, the way the oversized blanket made her seem smaller, younger.
But also, the intelligence that sparked in her gaze, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she held herself even when everything hurt.
“Beautiful,” I said simply. “You looked beautiful. Still do.”
The word landed between us like a stone in still water, ripples spreading outward. Charlotte’s eyes widened, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth.
“I—” She set the fork down carefully, precisely. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with them.” The honesty in her voice was devastating. “I don’t understand this.”
I stood, moving around the island until I was beside her stool. Not crowding, just…closer. “What’s to understand?”
“Everything. The variables, the parameters, the expected outcomes—”
“Charlotte.” I waited until she looked at me. “Not everything is an equation.”
“Everything is a mathematical operation of some sort. It’s just that some are too complex to solve.”
I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t pull away. “Maybe you’re overthinking it.”
“I overthink everything. It’s literally how my brain works.”
“Then stop thinking.”
She laughed, short and sharp. “Easy for you to say. You can just…be. I analyze every interaction, every word, every possible interpretation—”
I kissed her.
It wasn’t planned, wasn’t strategic. One moment, she was spiraling into analysis paralysis, the next, my mouth was on hers, cutting off whatever complex theorem she was about to expound.
For a heartbeat, she froze. Then she made a small sound—surprise, maybe, or relief—and melted into it. Her hands came up to rest against my chest, not pushing away but just…touching. Like she needed to confirm I was real.
The kiss was softer than I’d expected, sweeter. She tasted like tomato sauce and whatever lip balm she’d been using. When I pulled back, her eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted.
“Oh,” she breathed.
“Yeah.”
She opened her eyes, and for once, that constantly calculating mind seemed to have gone quiet. “That was…”
“Not an equation?”
“Definitely not an equation.” She touched her lips with her fingertips, wonder in her expression. “Do it again.”
I chuckled but did as she asked. This time, she was ready for it, meeting me halfway.
Her hands slid up to my shoulders, fingers curling into my shirt.
The kiss deepened, became something more urgent, more real.
All the tension of the past few days, the fear from the accident, the constant push and pull between us—it all dissolved into this moment.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Charlotte’s blanket had slipped, and her face was a pretty shade of pink.
“I should—” I stepped back, remembering reality. She was banged-up, exhausted, running on fumes. “You need rest.”
“Right.” She nodded, looking dazed. “Rest. That’s…logical.”
We cleaned the dishes together, orbiting carefully like two magnets that couldn’t decide whether to attract or repel. Every brush of her hand against mine lit me up, but I kept it light. She needed space to heal, not me losing my damn head.
“I should go,” I said once the kitchen was clean.
“No.” The word came out fast, urgent. She flushed. “I mean… I’m nervous. About being alone. After everything.”
“Charlotte—”
“You could stay on the couch?” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Just for tonight. Just so I’m not…”
“Alone,” I finished. “Yeah. Of course.”
Relief washed over her face. “Thank you.”
She disappeared down the hallway, presumably to get ready for bed. I heard water running, drawers opening and closing. I settled onto the couch, trying to get comfortable. It was softer than it looked, designed for afternoon naps and movie marathons.
Charlotte reappeared in the hallway, and I had to bite back a laugh. She wore pajamas covered in cartoon robots, complete with little flying saucers.
“Not a word,” she warned, but there was humor in her eyes.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I kept my expression carefully neutral. “Very dignified. Exactly what I’d expect from a renowned scientist.”
“They’re comfortable,” she said defensively.
“I’m sure they are.”
She hesitated at her bedroom door. “Thank you. For everything today. For staying.”
“I’m glad I could help. Get some rest, Charlotte.”
She nodded and disappeared into her room. I stretched out on the couch, trying to find a position that didn’t remind me of the gorgeous woman in ridiculous pajamas just down the hall.
My phone buzzed. Jace’s name lit up the screen.
“Well, well.” His voice dripped amusement. “Ben tells me you’ve gone freelance.”
Shit. Here we go. “It’s not freelance. It’s a favor for a friend in the FBI.”
“A favor that has you playing bodyguard without telling Ethan? That’s going to go over well.”
“Ethan doesn’t need to know. I’m technically on medical leave.”
“Right. Because nothing says recuperating like taking on side jobs.” His tone shifted, becoming more serious. “Ben filled me in on the situation. Car accident?”
“T-bone at an intersection. Deliberate.”
“I’ve been pulling footage. It’s pieced together from traffic cams, ATM cameras, and a few business security systems, but I’ve got a decent picture.”
“And?”
“Sending it to your phone now. You’re going to want to see this.”
My phone chimed with an incoming file. I opened it, watching grainy footage from multiple angles spliced together. There was Charlotte’s sensible sedan approaching the intersection. The truck waiting at the cross street. Then, just as Charlotte entered the intersection, the truck surged forward.
“Definitely deliberate,” Jace said in my ear. “Watch the timing. He waited until she was perfectly positioned.”
The impact was brutal to watch, even knowing Charlotte was okay. Her car spun, airbags deploying, glass exploding. Then came the figure in the hat and sunglasses. They moved with purpose, not rushing but not dawdling either. Practiced. Professional.
“Can you enhance the suspect’s face?”
“Already tried. He did a good fucking job of keeping his face hidden. But watch what happens next.”
Onscreen, the figure reached into Charlotte’s car. But they didn’t grab randomly. They went straight for the computer bag, ignoring her purse completely.
“He knew what he was looking for,” I said.
“Yeppers. Someone wanted whatever she had in that bag. Got it and got the fuck out.”
I thought about the computer drive hidden in Charlotte’s lunch box, how close they’d come to getting the stabilizer code. “Can you track where he went?”
“Lost him three blocks away. He had a motorcycle stashed, disappeared into an area with no coverage. But, Ty…” Jace’s voice carried warning. “Whoever this is, is not an amateur. This was planned, executed, and they had an exit strategy.”
“Which means they’ll try again.”
My shoulder twinged, reminding me I wasn’t at full capacity. But looking at that footage, seeing how easily Charlotte could have been seriously hurt or killed, I pushed the concern aside.
“I need you to keep digging,” I said. “Financial records on Vertex employees, anyone with access to Charlotte’s schedule, anyone who might benefit from her failing.”
“That’s a lot of anyone’s.”
“Then narrow it down. Start with recent financial stress, connections to tech black markets, anyone with the skills to plan something like this.”
“You really think it’s an inside job?”
I thought about the sabotaged code, the perfect timing of the accident. “Has to be. Someone knew exactly when she’d be vulnerable.”
“All right. I’ll dig. But, Ty? When Ethan finds out about this—”
“He’ll understand. Once he knows the stakes.”
Jace snorted. “Right. Because Ethan’s known for his understanding nature when people go behind his back.”
Jace wasn’t wrong. I grimaced. “Just find me something I can use. Thanks, man.”
I ended the call. I stared at the ceiling, mind racing through possibilities. Someone at Vertex was dirty. Someone with access, opportunity, and motive. The question was who.
A sound from Charlotte’s room pulled me from my thoughts. Not quite a scream, but close. I was moving before I fully processed it, pushing open her door.
She was tangled in her sheets, thrashing against some invisible threat. Her face contorted in fear, small sounds of distress escaping her lips.
“Charlotte.” I sat on the edge of her bed, touching her shoulder gently. “Charlotte, wake up.”
She jerked awake, eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, she didn’t seem to recognize me or where she was.
“You’re safe,” I said quietly. “You’re home. You’re safe.”
She blinked, reality settling back in. “I was back in the car. The glass was everywhere, and I couldn’t move and—”
“Hey.” I shifted closer, and she immediately pressed against me, seeking comfort. “It’s over. You’re okay.”
She was shaking, fine tremors running through her body. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, feeling her gradually relax against me.
“I’m not usually like this,” she whispered against my chest. “I don’t fall apart.”
“You’re not falling apart. You’re processing trauma. There’s a difference.”
She pulled back slightly, looking up at me in the dim light from the hallway. “Will you stay?”
“I’m not going anywhere. The couch—”
“No.” She shifted over, making space. “Here. Please. I just… I need to not be alone.”
I should have refused. Should have maintained professional boundaries. Should have remembered this was a job, not personal.
Instead, I kicked off my shoes and lay down beside her, on top of the covers. She immediately curled against my side, her head on my shoulder, one hand resting over my heart.
“Thank you,” she murmured, already drifting back toward sleep.
I stared at the ceiling, hyperaware of every place our bodies touched, even through layers of fabric. This was dangerous. Not the threat against her—I could handle that. But this…whatever this was becoming between us… This could destroy us both if I wasn’t careful.
Charlotte’s breathing evened out, deep and steady against my side. In sleep, all the tension left her face, making her look younger, softer. Vulnerable in a way she’d never allow while awake.
I’d keep her safe. From whoever was trying to hurt her, from the FBI’s demands, from anyone who threatened her.
Even if that meant keeping her safe from myself.