Chapter 6
The Anchor was different at seven in the morning. No music, no crowd, no Tommy holding court at the corner of the bar. Just Gator behind the counter with a coffee pot and the kind of silence that came from thirty years of knowing when to wait.
Jake had been sitting with his mug for ten minutes before either of them spoke.
"So," Gator said, refilling without asking. "The lawyer."
"Emily."
"Emily." Gator set the pot down, leaned against the back counter with his arms crossed. The posture of a man settling in for a conversation he'd been expecting. "You've talked about her more in the last two days than you've talked about the case."
"The case is straightforward. She's not."
"Straightforward women bore you."
Jake smiled into his coffee. "They do."
He'd dated since the Army. Plenty of women, plenty of interest. He was good-looking enough and easy enough company that opportunities found him without effort.
But easy had never held his attention. He'd smile, be polite, end things before they became real enough to require an ending.
Not because he was broken or guarded or any of the things people assumed about operators who kept moving.
He hadn't found anyone who made him want to stay.
Then Emily happened.
She'd walked into Ray's office, locked eyes with him, and the ground shifted. Not a lightning bolt, not the nonsense people wrote about. More like recognizing a language he hadn't known he'd been waiting to hear.
"She's different," Jake said.
"Different how?"
He considered the question. "She sees things.
Reads a room the way operators read terrain.
I was explaining surveillance basics in the car yesterday.
Pattern recognition, behavioral baselines.
She was already there. Natural instinct.
" He thought about her catching the photo frame on Maria's desk, filing it away without comment.
How she'd tracked his movements at The Anchor without appearing to watch.
"Vanderbilt. First in her class. Could have gone anywhere, taken any job.
She's from Nashville, had every reason to stay. Didn't."
"Why'd she leave?"
"Don't know yet." That was the thing. Most people advertised their reasons, wore their motivations where anyone could see. Emily kept hers close. Walls everywhere, but walls with framing. Built with intention, not panic.
Gator was turning his coffee mug in slow circles on the bar top. When he looked up, his eyes had that intensity Jake remembered from mission briefs. The look that said whatever came next mattered.
"You may be the best damn operator I've ever seen, kid, but you ain't bulletproof." He took a long sip of his coffee. "Just cause you ain't in the sandbox anymore doesn't mean there aren't enemy threats."
Jake knew what he meant. It was the conversation they'd had a dozen times over the years, going back to selection.
Gator had flagged it before Jake's first deployment and kept flagging it every time Jake walked into anything sideways with a grin on his face.
You're too easy with risk. Too confident it'll work out. One day it won't.
The thing was, it always had. Every firefight, every extraction, every situation that should have gone wrong. Jake moved through the world like the odds didn't apply to him, and so far they hadn't. He wasn't reckless. He was good. But Gator had never quite trusted the distinction.
"I'm not running an op," Jake said. "I'm having coffee with a pretty lawyer."
"You're running full speed at something you can't outshoot.
" Gator set his mug down. "I've watched you walk into firefights calmer than most men order breakfast. Never once saw you worry about yourself.
Didn't matter if you came home because you didn't have anything to come home to.
" He paused, let that land. "Maybe it's time you found someone worth protecting. Including yourself."
Jake didn't have an answer for that. The silence stretched between them, comfortable in the way only decades of trust allowed.
"She's not going to be easy," Gator said. "Woman like that, she's going to have questions. She's going to want to understand how you work, where your information comes from. Whether it's clean."
"I've already started that conversation. Everything I run is sourced. FBI contacts from joint ops, DEA liaisons, people I served with who landed in three-letter agencies. I don't cut corners that would blow up in a courtroom."
"You're thinking about her courtroom."
"I'm thinking about not being the reason her career falls apart."
Gator nodded. "Good. That's good." He reached under the bar, pulled out a folded piece of paper, slid it across. "Speaking of things that might blow up. Word came through the network this morning. Vance is getting impatient."
Jake unfolded the paper. A list of names, dates, locations. Vance's people, making contact with Costa's known associates over the past week. Pressure visits.
"He's looking for Costa," Jake said.
"Hard. And he's not being subtle about it.
Three of Costa's former clients have gotten visits.
Friendly conversations, but the kind where someone mentions your daughter's school by name.
" Gator set down his mug with more force than necessary.
"Window's closing. You find Costa before Vance does, or Vance finds him first."
Jake folded the paper, tucked it into his pocket. "Emily got a warrant for Costa's office. We're hitting it today."
Gator picked up the coffee pot, topped off Jake's mug one more time. "And Jake? Whatever you're feeling about this woman? Don't let it make you stupid. You've got good instincts. Trust them. But keep your head in the game."
"Always do."
"No, you don't. That's what worries me." But the hard edge had left his voice. "Go on. Get out of here. Go find your accountant."
Jake stood, grabbed his keys from the bar. At the door, he turned back.
"Gator. Thanks."
"For what?"
"Giving a damn."
Gator waved him off, but Jake caught the look on his face as he pushed through the door into the morning light. Pride and worry, braided together the way they'd always been.
The federal building's lobby was all marble and metal detectors, flags and formality. Jake had been through enough government buildings to know the architecture was intentional. Impress upon visitors the leverage of the institution. Remind them who held the power here.
He spotted Emily through the glass before she noticed him.
She was talking to a younger attorney, someone from her office.
Her posture said authority without effort.
Shoulders back, chin level, hands moving with precision as she made a point.
The other lawyer was nodding, clearly deferring to her read.
Jake watched her work. This was her element. Legal briefs and evidentiary standards and the language of federal prosecution. She moved through it how he moved through tactical problems. Fluent in a way that couldn't be taught.
When she turned and saw him waiting, her expression shifted. Not the professional mask she wore for colleagues. The real thing underneath, quickly contained.
She spoke briefly to the other attorney, who nodded and retreated. Then she crossed the lobby toward him with her bag over her shoulder and a manila folder in her hand.
"You're early."
"You're ready."
"I got the warrant this morning." She handed him the folder. "Costa's office. We have until five, then I have to file a report on what we found."
Jake flipped through the paperwork. Signed and dated, everything proper. "You work fast."
"You said time mattered."
He closed the folder, met her eyes. "It does. More than I thought." He pulled out Gator's intel, handed it to her. "Vance is putting pressure on Costa's known associates. Friendly visits. The kind where someone mentions your kid's school."
Emily scanned the list, her expression hardening. "He's hunting."
"And we need to find Costa first."
She handed the paper back, nodded once. "Then let's stop standing around."
They walked toward the garage entrance, falling into step without discussion. Emily glanced sideways at him.
"Range Rover's here?"
"Where else would it be?"
"Just checking. Last time you had to tell me the entire Syria extraction story before we got out of the parking garage."
"That was context. Important context. This is just parking."
She smiled. Actually smiled, not the almost-smile he'd gotten used to. It changed her whole face.
"What?" she asked, catching him looking.
"Nothing. Nice to see you've got teeth."
"I have excellent teeth. I just don't show them to everyone."
"Should I feel special?"
"Don't push your luck, Walsh."
But she was still smiling when they reached the Range Rover.
Costa's office occupied a nondescript suite in a Westshore office park. Insurance agencies on either side, a personal injury lawyer two doors down. The kind of place designed to be forgettable.
Emily handled the building's receptionist with her badge and the authority of a woman who executed federal warrants the way most people ordered coffee. Jake watched her work, efficient and clean, and then they were upstairs.
The office was exactly what Jake expected. Cramped, functional, dominated by filing cabinets. A desk, a computer, two chairs for clients. Nothing on the walls except a real estate calendar from three years ago.
He stopped in the doorway. Took it in. Desk drawer sitting crooked, pulled out fast and shoved back without looking. Coat hook on the door, a sports coat hanging there, slightly rumpled.
"He was wearing that when he left," Emily said. "In July."
"He wasn't planning to leave at all. He was spooked. He got a call or a message and he ran."