Chapter Four
Violet
Violet drew in a slow steady breath as she forced herself into work mode. The chaos of the bar was still unfolding around her, patrons scrambling, and the body of Luis Ortega was slumped forward motionless on the table.
Her stomach twisted.
It didn’t matter how many crime scenes she’d handled, how many bodies she’d seen, it never got easier.
Especially not when it happened right in front of you.
Because someone was talking to you. But she didn’t have the time to dwell on that.
She had work to do. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and pulled her badge from her pocket.
“Agent Miller, FBI,” she called over the noise, flipping open the badge for anyone within eyesight to see “Keep down on the ground please.”
The bar was still a mess of screaming patrons and overturned tables, but people had begun filtering out in a frantic attempt to get away from site of the shooting. Arlo was instructing some of the bars patrons to get down on the ground until they knew the threat was gone.
Violet went inside to speak to the bartender, who was pale as hell, gripping the counter like he might pass out.
“You,” she barked, making him jerk to attention. She showed him her badge. “Lock the front doors. No one leaves here until the police get here and take statements.”
The man gulped but nodded, fumbling for the keys beneath the bar. Violet turned her back on him, walking back out to the body of Luis Ortega. Blood pooled beneath his torso, glistening dark under the flickering neon sign on the wall above their table.
It was a clean shot that had to have come from a sniper. Someone had to have been watching Ortega, and he’d finally been silenced for good. Violet retrieved her cell phone then clenched her jaw as the phone line connected.
“This is Special Agent Miller. I need a crime scene team and tactical unit at Benny’s Bar in South Beach. We have a confirmed homicide, likely a professional hit. Sniper’s long gone, but we need to lock this place down before any potential witnesses disappear.”
“Understood, Agent Miller,” the voice on the other end said. “Units are en route.”
She hung up and exhaled slowly, pushing aside the tension creeping up her spine.
And then she realized he was still there.
Arlo. Standing just a few feet away, watching her with that unreadable expression, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, his body still coiled tight with residual tension.
For the first time since the shot rang out, she let herself really look at him.
Even now, in the midst of a crime scene, the energy between them was electric.
It made no sense. He was cocky, infuriating, reckless.
Everything she hated in a partner. And yet, he hadn’t left her side.
She could still feel his touch on her skin, the way he had yanked her down and shielded her from danger without a moment’s hesitation.
And that was the part that frustrated her the most. Because Arlo Harrison wasn’t just dangerous to her case. He was dangerous to her. She tore her gaze away, trying to focus on anything but the weight of his presence.
Arlo pulled out his own phone and dialed, speaking low and controlled. “Seb, Ortega is dead. Professional hit. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Meet me at the safe house. We need to regroup.”
Violet listened to the conversation without meaning to, her ears tuned in to every detail. She hated how easily he took command of the situation, hated how, despite their opposing agencies, he moved like a predator who always knew exactly what came next.
“I need to go before the uniforms get here,” Arlo said, hanging up and slipping his phone back into his pocket.
Violet blinked at him. “Seriously? You’re just going to leave?”
Arlo smirked. “Well, unless you plan to slap some cuffs on me, sweetheart, I don’t think I have much of a reason to stick around.”
She gritted her teeth. “I should cuff you just for being an insufferable ass.”
“Tempting,” he mused, taking a step closer. “I don’t mind a little rough handling.”
Her lips parted, a hot rush of irritation—and something else—rolling through her. This was not the time. She forced herself to stay professional.
“We need to talk, Arlo. This operation is spiraling fast, and I don’t have time for your cowboy tactics.”
Arlo tilted his head, his gaze flicking briefly over her, lingering just a moment too long. “You want to compare notes, Agent Miller? Name the time and place.”
Violet hesitated. She needed information, and Arlo might have it. This wasn’t just about him getting in her way anymore. Their cases were intertwined.
“Tomorrow morning. Your place,” she said before she could second-guess herself. “We sit down and share intel. No games.”
Arlo’s lips curved into that damn smirk. She ignored it.
“Bright and early, then.”
He rattled off his address then made to step past her, but she wasn’t done yet.
“Wait.”
Arlo stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
Violet crossed her arms. “If you hadn’t run into me tonight, would you have tried to find me?”
For the first time all night, Arlo hesitated.
His blue eyes darkened slightly, his shark just beneath the surface.
Then, he exhaled slowly and the next words out of his mouth had her drawing in a sharp breath. Her address.
“I already found you,” he said. “I was heading to your place after I’d finished here.”
Her pulse skipped. He was too close now, the heat of him wrapping around her, the mate bond pushing, pulling, refusing to be ignored.
And for one ridiculous second, she almost leaned in.
She almost let herself give in to the pull between them, the undeniable force of whatever the hell this was.
Instead, she forced herself to take a step back.
Because if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure if she’d have the strength to let him walk away.
Arlo studied her for another long second before stepping past her, his voice low as he added, “See you in the morning, sweetheart.”
Then, just like that, he was gone.
Violet let out a slow, steady breath, forcing her pulse to calm as she turned back toward the chaos of the crime scene.
She needed to focus. She needed to remind herself why this was a bad idea.
Because no matter how strong the pull between them was, she couldn’t afford to let Arlo Harrison into her life.
And yet… She got the feeling that staying away from him was about to become a whole lot harder.
*
The following morning, Violet pulled into the quiet residential street, glancing at the address one more time to make sure she had the right place.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected when Arlo had given her his location, but somehow, this wasn’t it.
The building was nice without being pretentious, a small oceanfront condo complex nestled between two towering high-rises. There were no glaring signs of wealth, no flashy cars parked in the driveway, no elaborate security system screaming CIA operative lives here.
She had pictured something more… Arlo. A sleek, modern penthouse perhaps.
A place with floor-to-ceiling windows and whiskey bottles scattered on polished counters.
Something that matched his cocky attitude and the way he carried himself like he owned every room he walked into. But this? It was surprisingly simple.
She stepped out of her car, her mind still tangled with thoughts from the night before.
She hadn’t slept well, not that she’d expected to.
Between the murder, the sniper, and the fact that Arlo Harrison had somehow burned himself into her brain, she’d barely managed a few restless hours before giving up entirely.
And now, here she was. About to walk into his home. She squared her shoulders, reminding herself why she was here.
Work. The case. That’s it.
She made her way up the steps and knocked once, sharp and firm.
A few seconds later, the door swung open.
And just like that, all the focus she’d managed to muster went straight to hell.
Arlo stood in the doorway, barefoot, hair damp from the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants slung low on his hips.
Violet forgot how to breathe. His body was all lean muscle and sharp lines, his abs cut like they belonged in a damn magazine, broad shoulders stretching as he braced a hand against the doorframe.
A dark tattoo curved over one side of his ribs, the ink disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.
And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.
That signature Arlo smirk tugged at his lips as his blue eyes swept over her slowly, deliberately.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
Violet forced herself to remain unfazed. Or at least, to pretend she was.
“You couldn’t put on a shirt?” she asked dryly, stepping past him into the condo without waiting for an invitation.
“Didn’t know I had company,” he drawled, shutting the door behind her. “Would’ve walked around naked if I had.”
She shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Try it and see how fast I arrest you for indecent exposure.”
Arlo chuckled, brushing past her into the kitchen, way too close, way too warm, smelling way too good. She tore her gaze away and forced herself to take in her surroundings. And once again, she was surprised. His place was… normal.
The furniture was well-worn and lived-in, like he’d had it for years instead of swapping it out every time something new hit the market. A pair of boots were kicked lazily by the door. A surfboard rested against the wall in the corner, along with a few old diving books stacked on the coffee table.
No luxury. No ego.
Just a man who spent more time outside than inside, who wasn’t as polished and effortless as he pretended to be. She didn’t know why that detail lodged itself in her chest, but it did.
“Coffee?” Arlo asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
“Thanks. Black, no sugar,” she replied, shaking off the moment.