Chapter Twenty-Four
Off the Table
Crew
“Jensen. My office.”
Daniels’s voice cuts across the bullpen, and I’m out of my chair before I can think about it. Foster catches my eye from his desk, eyebrows raised in question. I shrug. No idea.
The walk to Daniels’s office feels longer than usual. My brain is already running scenarios—did something happen on the Marchetti case? Did I miss something in the reports? Is there a new threat assessment I haven’t seen?
I knock on the doorframe.
“Sit down.” Daniels gestures to the chair across from his desk. He’s smiling, which is unusual. Daniels doesn’t smile unless someone’s getting promoted or arrested.
I sit.
“I’ll get right to it.” He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “The Anchorage position has been filled.”
I blink. “Sir?”
“Patterson took it. Jumped at the chance, apparently. Wife’s family is from Fairbanks.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Point is, it’s off the table. You’re staying in Dallas.”
The words take a moment to register.
Staying in Dallas.
No transfer. No new city, new doctors, new routines. No starting over from scratch.
I should feel relieved. This is what I wanted—what I schemed and manipulated and added a girlfriend clause to a roommate agreement for. This is the win.
So why does my stomach feel like it’s filled with concrete?
“That’s… good news, sir.”
“It is.” Daniels studies me with that sharp gaze that’s made him one of the best interrogators in the Bureau. “I have to say, Jensen, I wasn’t sure about you a few months ago. You were wound tighter than a drum. Half the office was afraid to talk to you.”
“I’m aware of my reputation, sir.”
“But lately…” He tilts his head. “You’ve been different. More present. Less like you’re about to snap someone’s arm off for breathing too loud.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s that girl, isn’t it?” His smile widens. “Emmie.”
Hearing her name in his mouth makes something twist in my chest.
“She’s been… good for me,” I manage.
“I’ll say. Foster tells me you’ve been leaving work on time. Eating actual food. Hell, he said you hummed in the elevator last week.”
I’m going to kill Foster.
“The point is,” Daniels continues, “whatever she’s doing, it’s working. You’re a better agent when you’re not running on fumes and spite. So—” He stands, extending his hand. “Keep her around, Jensen. That’s an order.”
I shake his hand automatically. “Yes, sir.”
“Now get out of here. Don’t you have a girlfriend to get home to?”
I nod, mumble something appropriate, and walk out of his office on autopilot.
Foster ambushes me before I make it back to my desk.
“Well? What happened? You look like someone died.”
“Transfer’s off.”
“That’s great!” He claps me on the shoulder. “That’s what you wanted, right? You get to stay. No Alaska. No starting over.”
“Right.”
“So why do you look like you’re about to throw up?”
Because the arrangement is over.
The thought hits me like a bullet to the chest. The whole point of the girlfriend clause was to convince Daniels I had roots here. Ties to the community. A compelling reason to stay.
Now I’m staying. Which means I don’t need a fake girlfriend anymore.
Which means I don’t need Emmie.
“Crew.” Foster’s voice is concerned now. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I have to end it.”
“End what?”
“The arrangement. With Emmie.” The words taste like ash. “It was only supposed to last until the transfer situation was resolved. That was the deal. Section 7, Subsection C. Clear end date.”
Foster stares at me. “You’re joking.”
“It’s what we agreed to.”
“Fuck what you agreed to.” He grabs my arm, pulling me toward the break room, away from curious ears. “You’re not seriously going to end things with her because of some bullshit clause you wrote before you knew her?”
“It’s not bullshit. It’s the terms of our arrangement.”
“Crew. Listen to me.” Foster plants himself in front of me, blocking the door.
“I’ve watched you fall for this woman in real time.
I’ve watched you become an actual human being instead of a tactical robot with a coffee addiction.
And now you’re going to throw that away because—what? The paperwork says so?”
“It’s not about the paperwork.”
“Then what’s it about?”
It’s about the fact that she deserves better than me.
It’s about the fact that I tricked her into this in the first place.
It’s about the fact that every day I spend with her, I fall deeper, and when she finally realizes I’m not what she wants—that I can’t give her the family and the future she’s been dreaming about—it’s going to destroy me.
Better to end it now. On my terms. Before she figures out the truth.
“It’s about doing the right thing,” I say.
“The right thing.” Foster laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “The right thing would be telling her how you feel. The right thing would be giving this a real shot instead of hiding behind contracts and clauses.”
“She signed up for a fake relationship. Not a real one.”
“Did you ever ask her what she wants?”
I don’t answer.
“Crew—”
“I have to go.” I push past him toward the door. “I need to… I have to talk to her.”
“Don’t do this.” Foster’s voice follows me down the hall. “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life.”
He’s probably right.
But I keep walking anyway.
* * *
The drive home takes twenty-three minutes. I count every one of them, trying to figure out what I’m going to say.
The transfer situation has been resolved. Our arrangement has reached its natural conclusion. Thank you for your participation in the agreement.
Too formal.
I think we should go back to being just roommates.
Too casual.
I’m ending things because I’m falling in love with you and I’m terrified that if I don’t stop this now, I’ll never recover when you leave.
Too honest.
I pull into my parking spot and sit there for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel.
I can do this. I’ve done harder things. I’ve cleared buildings full of armed suspects. I’ve testified in federal court. I’ve survived eleven foster homes and a medical discharge and years of therapy to get my brain to function like a semi-normal human being.
I can break up with my fake girlfriend.
Even if it breaks me in the process.