Chapter 26
Erica was already up and ready to begin the day when he emerged from the bedroom, freshly shaven and hair damp from the shower.
She sat at the kitchen island with a mug of coffee, posture consciously relaxed, expression carefully neutral, like she hadn’t spent half the night tangled up with him, whispering things that mattered.
“Morning, darlin’,” he said, in a way that made it clear he remembered everything.
“Morning,” she echoed, trying not to stare at how his fitted shirt and dress trousers hugged his body. “You’re dressed up for a Saturday.”
“I have a meeting at FBI headquarters.” He glanced at her, suddenly amused. “I hope you’re wearing the right shoes.”
She looked down at her strappy summer sandals then up at him, brows lifted. “For dress shopping?”
“For survival,” he said dryly. “My mother and daughter treat shopping like a competitive sport. Endurance matters.”
A smile tugged her mouth despite herself. “Good to know. I’ll pace myself.”
He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth tasting of spearmint. Then he pressed his credit card into her hand.
“Vince—”
“Don’t skimp,” he said, his tone permitting no argument.
She did anyway. “I can buy my own dress.”
“I know.” His thumb ran lightly over her knuckles, then he squeezed her hand meaningfully. “But this isn’t just any dress.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
He exhaled, and she could tell he was carefully choosing his words.
“This is a five-thousand-a-plate black-tie gala. The guest list is basically the who’s who of Austin.
Old money. New money. People who think they invented money.
” A wry twist touched his lips. “My mother’s taking you to places where the price tags start at ridiculous.
I don’t want you feeling like you have to apologize for anything. ”
Erica stilled. He wasn’t being bossy; he was doing what he had from the beginning, looking out for her. What he said next confirmed it.
“Let me take care of this part. You deserve to walk in there like you belong. Because you do.”
Any further discussion was interrupted by a knock as the door opened.
Margie peeked inside. “Ready to shop?”
Tasha brushed past her, dressed for the heat in shorts, her hair up in a messy bun, scrolling on her phone. “We’re hitting SoCo first. Then the Domain. Dad says you’re classy, so we’re aiming high.”
She looked straight at him. “He said that?”
There was no denial. He gave her a look, with his penetrating blue eyes, that set off a giddy flutter in her stomach.
He bent and kissed her again, ignoring their audience. One hand braced on the island, the other on her chair, no contact except his mouth on hers. “If you haven’t noticed by now, I have excellent taste.”
Erica flushed, Margie smiled, and Tasha giggled.
Vince strode out the door like nothing about that had been accidental.
***
The conference room smelled of old coffee and someone’s cheap cologne. Coop stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, as he laid out what Gruzinsky had given up.
“Shipment moves in ten days. Larger than the warehouse bust. Different route. Cleaner.”
A buzz moved through the Austin field team.
“Why didn’t we have that?” an agent asked.
“Because your target wasn’t talking to you,” he replied. “He was talking to us.”
Morgan sat halfway down the table, hands folded, watching him closely. He seemed like the type who ironed his shirts and alphabetized case files. But he also seemed competent from what he’d seen.
“What triggered the flip?” Kyle asked.
“Pressure. And leverage.” He didn’t look at anyone in particular when he added, “We had help spotting contradictions in his story.”
“Civilian help?”
Ready for questions, that one in particular, he didn’t miss a beat. “A source close to the case.”
“Close how?”
“Close enough,” he said. “You don’t need more than that.”
Kyle sat back, saying no more.
He clicked to the next slide. “We also got confirmation that the shipment includes military-grade components. Parts are harder to trace, and the weapons can be easily assembled elsewhere.”
That got the room’s attention.
“Washington wants updates every twelve hours,” Morgan put in, surprising him. “The DOJ is watching this one closely.”
A low whistle echoed in the room.
“Burnside?” someone asked.
“His name keeps popping up,” Coop explained. “It may be a coincidence, but until he’s cleared, he’s still in play.”
“He’s untouchable,” another agent muttered.
“No one’s untouchable,” he countered.
***
Austin traffic was chaotic. Margie drove with the calm of a woman who’d been navigating it since the Reagan administration. Tasha took over the playlist, alternating between country, indie pop, and something Erica couldn’t identify but pretended to enjoy.
Margie didn’t and promptly switched it off.
Tasha took it in stride and asked casually into the quiet, “So, how did you meet my dad?”
She nearly choked on her iced coffee.
Margie shot her a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable with, dear.”
“It’s not that,” she said quickly. “It’s just… complicated.”
That only made Tasha more curious. “Complicated romantic? Or complicated illegal?”
She tried not to squirm. She was too close to the truth but was grateful she’d left her an out. “Let’s go with complicated-romantic.”
Not a lie. Not the truth either. Somewhere in the middle.
“We’re here,” Margie announced, rescuing her.
The boutique was a bright, modern shop with racks of dresses in jewel tones and soft neutrals. Tasha dove in like a seasoned hunter. Margie browsed with the calm precision of someone who’d dressed for charity galas her whole life.
Erica paused at the threshold. She’d never set foot in a place like this. Of course, Vince had known that.
Tasha came back and retrieved her, slipping an arm through hers. “What are you feeling? Elegant? Vintage? Trendy?”
“Petrified.”
She laughed. “I was too, my first time. But don’t sweat it. It’s mostly stuffy rich people and boring politicians. I go for the clothes, the dancing, and the dessert. I would commit crimes for that cheesecake.”
Erica smiled. Tasha had that effect. “Good to know your priorities are solid.”
They drifted toward a display of evening gowns, her fingers brushing fabrics she could never buy for herself.
“You’re petite,” Margie said, appearing at her other elbow. “You need structure, not volume. Clean lines. Something that shows off your waist.”
“You know more about fashion than I ever will,” she murmured.
Margie smiled. “I raised a daughter who went to every country club and school dance. And a son who didn’t learn to dress himself until he was thirty.”
“Fact,” Tasha called from the far end of the rack.
The salesgirl helped them pick out three dresses for Erica to try on: an emerald sheath, a powder-blue column dress with a slit, and a midnight-blue off-the-shoulder gown with a mostly sheer lace back that dipped so low, just holding it made her blush.
She tried on the emerald first. It was pretty, though plain, and not her.
The pale blue swallowed her shape.
She slipped into the third dress, smoothing the silky fabric over her hips as she exited the fitting room. The color suited her, but the lace may have been too daring.
Margie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s the one. With the Valentino shoes.”
Tasha circled her like a stylist.
Never having worn anything like it, her cheeks warmed. “It’s… a lot.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Tasha said from behind her. “Dad’s going to pass out.”
“Pay her no mind, dear. It’s perfect,” Margie said firmly.
Erica shifted uneasily. Compliments about her appearance always landed strangely, as though meant for someone else. In a place like this, wearing a dress that in her wildest dreams she never imagined owning, she felt the old urge to shrink and not take up space.
Tasha reached out to adjust the sleeve. Her fingers skimmed her arm. Instead of a vision, she felt a rush of intense loyalty, deep love of family, and a thread of skepticism—something she hid well. She didn’t need to see Caleb to know exactly who that skepticism was for.
“Is something wrong?” Tasha asked.
“No. I’m fine.”
That was true for the moment, until she saw the price tag. Two thousand dollars.
Erica shook her head. “Oh no. Absolutely not.”
Her fingers found the hidden zipper.
Margie noticed. “What is it?”
“I can’t accept this,” Erica said, lowering her voice. “It’s too much.”
Margie’s gaze softened. “It’s not just a dress,” she said, echoing Vince’s words from earlier. “It’s a statement.”
Tasha chimed in. “Think of it as armor.”
Erica frowned. “Why would I need armor?”
“Remember the mean girls in high school? You thought they were judgy.”
Erica blanched. They actually enjoy this?
Her fingers returned to the zipper.
“She’s exaggerating,” Margie said quickly, shooting Tasha a quelling look.
“Tonight isn’t only about the charity. It’s about presence.
Influence. Vince understands that.” Her voice softened now, too.
“He wouldn’t take you tonight if he didn’t think you would shine.
And he wouldn’t have given you his card if he didn’t want you to use it. ”
Still uncertain, Erica’s hand drifted over the fabric as she looked at her reflection.
“You really do look beautiful,” Margie added quietly.
“You do,” Tasha agreed. “Besides, Dad is loaded. Take advantage.”
“Natasha Elizabeth,” her grandmother said sharply. “We don’t talk about money like that.”
“Sorry,” she said dutifully then winked when Margie turned.
Erica let out a breath, unsure whether to laugh or hide. They were both so natural around her, so genuine, she didn’t feel out of place. She felt included.
Maybe even wanted.
Margie held out her hand, palm up.
After a brief hesitation, Erica slipped the card into it.
***
Erica leaned toward the mirror, brushing on a last sweep of mascara, when the cottage door opened behind her. She looked up, ready to greet him, but the words stuck in her throat. He stood in the doorway in a black tux, bow tie perfectly knotted, shoulders nearly filling the frame.
Unsatisfied with a mirror image, she turned to face the real thing. “You clean up nicely, Lieutenant.”
He crossed the room in three long strides. “Turn around.”
She did, slowly, revealing the delicate lace, nothing but skin beneath it.
His fingers traced lightly down her spine. “I wasn’t prepared for this. You look stunning.”
Heat curled low in her stomach. “Thank you.”
When she turned back to him, his gaze moved over the rest of her, lingering on her hair. Erica knew that look. It spelled trouble.
She pointed her mascara wand at him. “Touch my clip, and I will end you.”
Vince caught one of the loose tendrils she’d left trailing and wound it around his finger. “Threat noted.”
Her momentary aggression dissolved. “Your mother didn’t blink at the price tag,” she said, still a little stunned. The dress cost more than her house payment.
“She’s used to attending these kinds of events,” he said, shrugging off the expense without asking how much.
Erica capped her mascara and dropped her lipstick into her clutch. After a last glance at the exquisite, much-too-expensive dress in the mirror, she looked up at him. “I’ll be careful. Maybe we can return it after.”
He arched a brow. “You remember I’m a cop, right?”
She tilted her chin. “Are you going to threaten to arrest me again?”
“The way you look, I’d let you off with a warning.” He moved closer, hands circling her waist. “No matter what this dress cost, it was worth every penny.”
Her pulse jumped, her desire along with it.
“We need to go,” he said, “before it stops being an option.”
She traced a finger along his jawline, wanting to kiss the just-shaved smoothness. “I suppose it would be bad manners to be more than fashionably late.”
“You’d have to fix your hair again,” he warned, catching her hand and placing a kiss in her palm.
She sighed. “It’s for charity. I’ll try to endure.”
“We’ll make it an early night,” he promised, brushing his lips over hers.
She wiped the shimmer of pink gloss from his mouth with her thumb then picked up the silver clutch with the same sparkle as her shoes. “I’m ready.”
Vince offered his arm, handsome and gallant, making her feel like she’d stepped into a fairy tale. As they turned toward the door, she saw them reflected in the mirror.
His black tux, her midnight blue. Her soft lines, his harder edges. Perfectly matched in a way she still didn’t quite believe.
Maybe it was a borrowed sort of magic. But for tonight, she’d let herself believe.