Chapter 7 #2
"Dr. McKay. I've been following your work with great interest." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Your methodology is quite innovative."
"Thank you." I keep my response neutral, taking my seat at the front of the room. Holden settles into a chair along the wall, close enough to intervene but far enough to not crowd. His presence anchors me, lets me focus on the presentation instead of the weight of all these eyes.
The briefing goes smoothly at first. I walk through my findings with PowerPoint slides showing erosion patterns, sediment analysis, projected timelines. The committee asks standard questions about methodology and data collection. Hartwell takes notes, her expression professional but approving.
Then Rexford leans forward, fingers steepled in front of him. "Dr. McKay, your data on the eastern training beach is particularly fascinating. Can you elaborate on the subsurface composition analysis?"
The question feels wrong. Too specific. Too focused on information that has no bearing on general erosion patterns but everything to do with structural vulnerabilities.
"The subsurface composition varies depending on location," I answer carefully. "But that level of detail is still being analyzed."
"Of course." His smile widens slightly. "And your findings on how storm surge affects the northwestern access point? That data could be quite valuable for emergency preparedness planning."
Valuable for knowing exactly where the base's physical defenses are weakest during severe weather. Holden shifts in my peripheral vision, tension radiating from his stillness. He caught it too.
I redirect to broader patterns, keeping my responses general without appearing evasive. But Rexford keeps circling back, probing for specific data points that all happen to align with tactical vulnerabilities. Not obvious enough to be blatant. Just persistent enough to be concerning.
When the presentation ends, Bradford thanks me for my work. The committee disperses, but Rexford lingers, approaching with that same measuring look.
"Excellent work, Dr. McKay. I'd love to discuss your findings in more detail. Perhaps over coffee sometime this week?" His card appears in his hand, extended toward me. "I'm working on a related project that could benefit from your expertise."
Holden materializes beside me before I can respond, physical barrier and implicit warning. "Dr. McKay's schedule is quite full. Any follow-up inquiries should go through Commander Hartwell."
Rexford's gaze flicks to Holden, assessing. Then back to me with that same sharp interest. "Of course. I understand security protocols. But the offer stands." He nods to Bradford. "Commander. Thank you for including me."
Once he's gone, Hartwell approaches with Bradford. "Thoughts?"
"Too interested in specific vulnerabilities," Holden says quietly. "Questions were targeted."
"Agreed." Hartwell's mouth tightens. "I'll run deeper background on him. See what connections turn up."
Bradford nods, expression grim. "We're moving you to secure base housing.
There's a small house in officer's row that's vacant.
Gated access, controlled entry points." He looks at Holden.
"Lieutenant Commander, you'll move in as primary protection.
We can station officers outside if Dr. McKay prefers additional security. "
"That won't be necessary," I say before Holden can respond. The thought of officers watching the house, monitoring our movements, feels suffocating. "If I have a Navy SEAL living there, I think that's sufficient."
Bradford's mouth tightens but he nods. "Your call. But Holden? Don't let her out of your sight."
The reality of what just happened settles over me during the drive. Moving to base housing. Holden living with me, not just sleeping on my couch but actually sharing a house. The temporary nature of my apartment replaced with an even more temporary arrangement that somehow feels more permanent.
"We need to stop at your place first," Holden says, navigating through the rain. "Get clothes, essentials. Whatever you need for an extended stay."
"You have everything you need?" I ask, realizing he's been operating out of a go-bag since this started.
"Always packed and ready. Comes with the job." His hands stay relaxed on the wheel despite the tension radiating through the truck cab. "We'll get you settled, then I'll do a full security sweep of the house."
The stop at my apartment is quick and efficient. I pack clothing, toiletries, my laptop and research files I'll need for work. Holden stands watch by the window, alert to every sound in the hallway. Within twenty minutes, my life is condensed into two suitcases and a messenger bag.
The base housing complex sits behind additional security gates, rows of small houses built for visiting officers and temporary assignments. Ours sits at the end of a quiet street, a two-bedroom cottage with a small porch and a view of the water in the distance.
Holden does a complete sweep before letting me inside. Checks windows, door locks, sight lines from the street. His movements are methodical, professional, the consummate operator ensuring his principal's safety.
The interior is basic but comfortable. Living room with a couch and chairs, small kitchen with a breakfast bar, two bedrooms separated by a shared bathroom. Military-issue furniture and neutral walls, the kind of anonymous space that could belong to anyone.
"You take the main bedroom," Holden says, already moving his gear toward the smaller room. "Better windows, easier to defend."
"That's not necessary—"
"Yes, it is." He sets his bags down, turns to face me. "Let me keep you safe, Fallon. The way it needs to be done."
The quiet authority in his voice brooks no argument. I carry my suitcases to the main bedroom, a space barely larger than the guest room but with a queen bed instead of a double. The window overlooks the backyard, a small patch of grass leading to a privacy fence.
When I return to the living room, Holden's setting up his laptop on the breakfast bar, creating a makeshift command center. His tactical vest hangs on the back of a chair, weapon secured but accessible.
"This is surreal," I say, sinking onto the couch. "Last week I was living alone in my apartment. Now I'm in base housing with a SEAL as a roommate because multiple people want me dead or want to steal my research."
"Not a roommate." Holden's voice is quiet but firm. "A protector. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I meet his eyes across the small space. "Because this feels a lot like we're playing house, even if the circumstances are terrible."
Something flickers in his expression. Heat, awareness, acknowledgment of the intimacy this arrangement creates. "We're keeping you safe. That's what matters."
Rain begins to fall, drumming on the roof in a steady rhythm.
The house feels smaller with both of us here, more intimate despite being larger than my apartment.
Nowhere to hide from the awareness building between us, from the reality that we're going to be living together in close quarters until the threats are neutralized.
"I should unpack," I say, needing space to process everything. "Get settled."
Holden nods but doesn't move, watching me with those steady gray eyes. "Fallon? We're going to figure this out. All of it."
All of it. The threats, the danger, the complicated feelings developing between us. I want to believe him, want to trust that this arrangement won't implode spectacularly when professional boundaries keep eroding.
Instead I just nod and retreat to the bedroom.
An hour later, my clothes are put away and my laptop is set up on the small desk by the window. I've changed into comfortable clothes, leggings and a soft sweater, trying to create some sense of normalcy in this very abnormal situation.
My phone buzzes with a text. Unknown number.
You looked beautiful presenting today. Those men don't appreciate what they have. But I do. Soon, Fallon. Soon you'll understand we're meant to be together.
Ice floods my veins. Bruce. He was there. Watching. Maybe in the audience, maybe monitoring security feeds, but present enough to see me present findings to base leadership.
"Holden!" My voice comes out sharper than intended, carrying down the hallway.
Footsteps sound immediately, and he appears in my bedroom doorway. "What's wrong?"
I hold up my phone, hands shaking. "Unknown number. It’s a text message."
Holden crosses to me, taking the phone to read the message. Every muscle in his body goes rigid. "Whoever sent this was at the briefing. Either physically present or they have access to security footage."
"It's him." I say softly. "It has to be Bruce. The way it's worded, the possessiveness—"
"Probably." Holden's already pulling out his own phone, dialing.
"But we need to verify before we assume.
" He puts the call on speaker. "Commander Hartwell.
We have a problem. Dr. McKay received a threatening text from an unknown number.
" A pause while he reads the message aloud.
"Content suggests the sender was present at today's briefing or has access to security footage.
Dr. McKay believes it's Tanner based on the language pattern. "
"I'll pull the footage," Hartwell's voice comes through crisp and focused. "Cross-reference everyone present with our background checks. If Tanner has someone feeding him information, we'll find them. Send me the screenshot."
"Already done." Holden ends the call, then sits beside me on the bed. Not crowding, just close enough to ground me. "Commander Hartwell's on it. If this is Tanner, we'll have proof. If it's someone else, we need to know that too."
"It's him," I whisper, staring at the phone. "I know how he writes. The way he talks about me and what men don't appreciate. That's Bruce."
"You're probably right." Holden's hand finds mine, warm and solid. "But until we confirm it, we treat this as a separate threat. You're on a secure military base with controlled access and a SEAL who's not letting you out of his sight. Whoever's sending these messages can't get to you here."
The fierce protectiveness in his voice, the absolute conviction that he can keep me safe, makes something crack open in my chest. All day I've been holding it together.
Professional in the meeting, composed during questioning, calm when Rexford circled like a shark scenting blood.
Even packing up my life and moving to a strange house, I kept my composure.
But sitting here in this anonymous bedroom with rain hammering the windows and Bruce's words glowing on my phone screen, I'm done pretending I'm fine.
"I don't want to do this alone anymore," I say quietly.
Holden's hands frame my face with careful gentleness. "Then stop carrying it alone. Let me help. Let me be what you need until this is over."
Until this is over. The reminder that this has an expiration date should sting. Instead all I feel is the warmth of his palms against my skin, the intensity of his gaze holding mine.
"What if I need more than just protection?" The question slips out before I can stop it, reckless and honest.
His thumb brushes along my cheekbone, tender and deliberate. "Then we'll figure that out. Together. After you're safe."
After. Always after. When the threats are neutralized and his assignment ends and we're back to being strangers who occasionally run into each other on the beach.
But the way he's looking at me, the careful restraint in his touch like he's afraid of pushing too hard too fast, suggests maybe after doesn't have to mean goodbye.
"Stay," I say. "Stay close tonight."
His eyes search mine, making sure I mean it. "Whatever you need."
What I need is to stop feeling like I'm drowning. What I need is to believe that safety exists somewhere beyond locked doors and security systems. What I need is this man who keeps showing up, keeps staying, keeps looking at me like I'm worth protecting.
Tomorrow we'll deal with Bruce and Rexford and whoever else wants to use my research for their own ends. Tomorrow we'll be professional and strategic and careful.