Chapter 7
GWEN
Iwake tangled in Thatcher's sheets with the early light warming my face.
Solid muscle presses against my back, an arm heavy around my waist, his breath steady against my neck.
Sometime between falling asleep and now, we shifted completely.
My body curves into his, his hand splayed flat against my stomach like even unconscious he's protecting me.
Moving seems wrong. Creating space feels impossible.
His breathing changes. His muscles tense as awareness returns. Neither of us shifts position.
"Morning," he says finally, voice rough with sleep.
I turn in his arms to face him. "Hey."
Eyes search mine, looking for regret maybe, for hesitation. He won't find either.
"Sleep okay?" he asks.
"Better than I have in a while." I trace the line of his jaw, feel stubble rough under my fingertips. "You?"
"Same." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "My team is going to have a field day with this."
"Sullivan's going to be unbearable."
"He's already unbearable. This just gives him more material." His mouth curves into a smile. "Worth it though."
"Definitely worth it."
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. We both freeze.
The phone buzzes again, then again in rapid succession that can only mean group texts. Thatcher groans and reaches for it. He squints at the screen, then shows me.
Sullivan: Pretty sure the captain woke up with the doc this morning.
Garcia: About damn time he made a move.
Sullivan: Think he's actually gonna seal the deal or just keep pining?
Garcia: My money's on tonight. Think they’ll make their move.
Hayes: Good for them.
Sullivan: Think she knows what she's gotten into?
Garcia: Doubt it. Give her a week before she runs.
Sullivan: I give her three days. The captain's a lot.
Santos: She held her own last night. She'll be fine.
Hayes: Captain, if you're reading this, she's great. Don't screw this up.
I laugh against Thatcher's shoulder. "Your guys are subtle."
"They've never been accused of subtlety." He types something back, then sets the phone down. "There. Told them to focus on their own lives."
"What did Sullivan say to that?"
"I'm not showing you. It's inappropriate even for him."
My stomach growls loudly.
He grins. "Coffee and breakfast?"
"Please."
We untangle ourselves and head to the kitchen. Thatcher moves with efficiency, pulling out eggs and bacon while I start the coffee maker. It's a domestic routine despite everything hanging over us.
"So, your team definitely knows," I say, watching him crack eggs into a bowl.
"They knew before we did. Hayes called it first." He pours eggs into a hot pan. "They’ve had a running bet about when we'd finally get together."
"Who won?"
"Garcia. He said within the week. Sullivan thought it would take longer."
"How much longer?"
"He's an optimist. He gave us two weeks."
I lean against the counter, coffee mug warming my hands. "Santos seems like the quiet observer type."
"He is. He sees everything, says little." Thatcher plates eggs and bacon, slides mine across the counter. "But when he talks, people listen."
"He told me you're a good team leader."
"Santos gives out compliments about as often as he smiles. So twice a year, maybe."
"Then I'm honored he spoke to me at all."
We eat standing at the counter, shoulders almost touching. The eggs are perfect, bacon crispy. Simple meal that tastes better because we're sharing it.
"Sullivan's prediction that I'll run in three days," I say after a few bites. "Is he always that optimistic about your relationships?"
"Unfortunately, yes." Thatcher takes a drink of coffee. "Though Garcia gave you a week, so that's progress."
"They think you're 'a lot.'"
"I am a lot."
"I noticed." I lean against the counter. "Past tense or present tense?"
"What?"
"Being a lot. Still happening or did I change something?"
He pauses mid-bite, then sets down his fork and turns to face me fully. "You changed everything."
Something warm spreads through my chest. "Good. Because you changed it for me too."
"Past tense?"
"Past tense."
"We're disgustingly sappy this morning."
"Sullivan would have a field day."
"Sullivan has a field day with everything." He grins. "Garcia's going to want details later. Actual details."
"What kind of details?"
"The kind I'm absolutely not sharing with my team."
"Even though they shared their opinions very freely?"
"Especially because of that. They don't need ammunition."
I laugh. "Fair point. Though I'm guessing Beth is going to grill me just as hard."
"Probably worse. At least my team has some sense of professional boundaries."
"Have you met Sullivan?"
"Okay, some of my team. Santos and Hayes have boundaries. Garcia mostly has boundaries."
"And Sullivan?"
"Sullivan has never met a boundary he didn't immediately cross."
We finish breakfast in comfortable silence, trading coffee refills and small touches that feel natural now. He reaches past me for plates, fingers brushing mine when I hand him a mug.
This is what I wanted last night. Normal moments that feel less like protective detail and more like partnership.
His phone buzzes on the counter. He glances at the screen and his entire body goes rigid.
"Rivera."
Just the name shifts everything. He swipes to answer, puts it on speaker.
"Caine."
"Captain. We got a hit on facial recognition from the office break-in." Rivera's voice is tight, professional. "Commander Garrison. She runs base logistics, has high-level access to everything."
I set down my coffee mug carefully.
"Garrison? Supply Corps?" Thatcher's voice is controlled but I can hear the tension underneath.
"That's the one. We moved to arrest this morning but she's gone. She cleared out her office overnight, and her vehicle's missing. We got no hits on the exit cameras."
I pull my robe tighter even though the kitchen isn't cold.
"She knew we were getting close," Thatcher says.
"That's our read. Either someone tipped her or she's been monitoring the investigation." Rivera pauses. "We've got roadblocks up, BOLO issued. But if she left last night, she has a solid head start."
"What about the enforcer? The guy who grabbed Dr. Abernathy?"
"That's where it gets interesting. We pulled Garrison's known associates.
One name keeps appearing—former Army Ranger, dishonorably discharged a few years back.
He works private security now, off-books operations.
" Another pause. "Name's Briggs. Physical description matches what you and Dr. Abernathy gave us. "
Briggs. The man who attacked me now has a name.
"So Garrison's running and Briggs is still out there," Thatcher says.
"We're sweeping the base now. Hospital security's being increased as we speak." Rivera's tone shifts. "Keep Dr. Abernathy close, Captain. If they're desperate enough to run, they might try something reckless first."
"Understood."
"I'll update you when we have more."
The call ends. Silence fills the kitchen.
"Commander Garrison. I've seen her name on supply requisitions and inventory logs. She runs base logistics, has access to everything."
"Perfect cover for systematic theft." Thatcher sets his phone down, turns to me. "You okay?"
"Processing." I wrap my arms around myself. "She would have had access to everything—personnel files, security schedules, my office. She knew exactly where to send Briggs."
"And now she's running, which means we were close to catching her."
"Or she's planning something worse."
Thatcher pulls me into his arms. "Rivera's increasing security. We'll be ready."
"What if she doesn't come back to base?"
"Then Rivera tracks her down and we stay alert until she's in custody." He cups my face. "Either way, you're covered."
"Good." I lean into his touch. "Because I have surgeries scheduled and I'm not hiding."
"We should get you to the hospital. Get you ready for rounds."
My phone buzzes. "Right. Back to reality."
It's Beth texting.
Beth: Heard security's being increased. You okay?
I type back:
Fine. Thatcher's with me.
Beth: Of course he is. You two figure things out yet?
Heat crawls up my neck.
Getting there.
Beth: FINALLY. Details later.
Later.
Beth: You better not hold out on me, Abernathy.
I set my phone down. Thatcher raises an eyebrow.
"Beth wants to know if we've figured things out yet."
"What did you tell her?"
"That we're getting there."
He grins. "Diplomatic."
"She'll grill me later."
"Probably." He glances at his watch. "We should get moving."
Steam fills the bathroom while we strip. My robe hits the floor. His sleep clothes follow. Then we're under the spray together, water cascading over us, heat building between us again.
His hands slide into my hair, gentle despite the want in his eyes. "We really don't have much time."
"Then we'll be efficient." I press against him and feel exactly how much he wants me. Hard and insistent against my belly. "Marines are good at efficient, aren't they Captain? And you're a good Marine, right?"
"You're very distracting."
I look up at him as I sink to my knees. "You have no idea just how distracting I can be."
His cock juts between us, thick and flushed and already leaking. I wrap my hand around the hot, silken length of him. He pulses in my palm, hard as steel wrapped in velvet, and a bead of moisture gathers at the tip. I swipe my thumb through it, spreading the slickness.
"Gwen—" His voice is strained as the water cascades over us. "You don't have to—"
"Oh, but I do. More importantly I really want to." I look up at him through the spray. "Unless you're going to tell me you don't want this?"
His jaw clenches. "I definitely want this."
"Then stop talking."