Chapter 6
DEVLIN
The guest room door closes, and I stand in the hallway trying to remember how to breathe normally. Andi's on the other side of that door, close enough to touch but separated by wood and walls and all the professional boundaries I've been clinging to like a lifeline.
Duke pads down the hallway, his nails clicking softly against the hardwood.
He sits beside me with a huff that sounds suspiciously like judgment, then his stomach growls loud enough for both of us to hear.
Right. Food. We left the diner hours ago after dealing with the explosive device and crime scene investigators and Andi's mother extracting promises about her daughter's safety.
I head to the kitchen, Duke trailing behind me. The clock on the microwave shows it's past when I'd normally eat. Andi must be starving, but she's probably too exhausted and overwhelmed to think about food. Or too polite to ask after everything that's happened tonight.
I pull ingredients from the fridge. Pasta, garlic, vegetables. Simple food that doesn't take long. While water heats on the stove, I move back down the hallway and knock softly on the guest room door.
"Andi? We never ate dinner. I'm making pasta if you're hungry."
Silence for a moment, then the door opens. She's changed into sleep clothes from her overnight bag, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of in its usual practical style. Seeing her ready for bed in my home, the casual intimacy of it—does something I can't afford to think about.
"You don't have to cook for me," she says, but her stomach betrays her with a soft growl.
"Yeah, I do. Come on." I gesture toward the kitchen. "Duke's already judging me for not feeding him on schedule. Might as well feed all of us before he files a formal complaint."
That gets a small smile from her, tired but genuine. She follows me to the kitchen, and Duke positions himself between us like he's afraid one of us might disappear if he's not watching.
I cook while Andi sits at the small dining table, her hands wrapped around a glass of water. The quiet routine of chopping vegetables and stirring pasta settles something that's been wound tight since Duke alerted to that explosive device. She's here. She's safe. She's breathing.
"Where'd you learn to cook?" she asks, watching me work with the same precision I apply to everything.
"Necessity. Grew up on a Montana ranch. My mom had left when I was a kid, and my father thought dinner came from a bottle." The words come easier than expected. "Learned early that if I wanted to eat, I had to figure it out myself."
"That must have been hard." Her voice carries genuine sympathy, not pity.
"Made me self-sufficient." I shrug, stirring pasta into boiling water. "The Army felt like coming home in a lot of ways. Structure, purpose, people who had my back. Built a career. Could have been worse."
"Could have been better too." She meets my eyes when I glance over. "You deserved better than parents who chose to leave instead of stay."
Most people smooth over that truth with platitudes about how challenges make us stronger. Andi just states the fact like it is, simple and direct.
When the food is ready, I plate two servings and carry them to the table.
Duke positions himself between our chairs, his attention divided equally between us and the possibility of dropped food.
We eat in comfortable silence for a while.
Andi's hungrier than she probably realized, clearing her plate faster than I do.
"This is really good," she says, setting down her fork. "Thank you."
"You needed food." I drain my water glass. "Can't function on adrenaline and fear forever. Learned that the hard way."
"What were you like before?" She leans back in her chair, studying me. "Before loss made you build walls to keep everyone out?"
I wasn't expecting that. Most people don't ask. They take the controlled soldier at face value and never look deeper. But Andi's not most people.
"Younger. More open." I push my empty plate aside.
"Believed the people I cared about would be there tomorrow if I just did my job well enough. Then my mom left. Dad drank himself to death. Ryan’s dog alerted to the IED and Ryan moved to investigate before I could stop him.
Ajax missed the alert that Ryan's dog caught.
Ryan and his dog died while Ajax and I survived.
" I lean forward, elbows on the table. "So I learned.
People leave or die. Safer to stay alone. "
"Safer for who?" Her voice is quiet but pointed. "Them or you?"
The words slice through every careful justification I've built over the years. All my reasoning about protecting others by keeping my distance, about how caring makes me vulnerable and gets people killed—just elaborate rationalization. I don't want to care and lose again.
"Me." The admission costs something. "It's safer for me."
"At least you're honest about it." She doesn't look away, doesn't let me hide behind the walls. "We're quite the pair, aren't we? Both hiding from life because we're afraid of death. Not ours, but someone else's."
She poured herself into work that prevents loss. I built walls that prevent connection. Different strategies, same avoidance. And here we sit in my kitchen past the time when normal people sleep, sharing brutal honesty about the ways we've been running.
Duke shifts at my feet, his warmth solid and reassuring. He doesn’t care about my walls or her grief. He just loves without reservation, trusts without question, exists fully in each moment. Maybe there's wisdom in that kind of faith.
"I'm glad you're here," I say, because it's true and because tonight showed me how fragile everything is. "Not because of the stalker or the protection detail. I'm glad you're here. In this space. With me."
Andi's expression softens, vulnerable in ways that make breathing difficult. "Me too."
She's close enough across the small table that I could reach out and touch her. Her eyes hold mine, flecks of gold visible in the dim kitchen light. Standing up and closing the distance would be easy. Natural. Exactly what I want to do.
My phone buzzes with an incoming email. I almost ignore it, but the sender catches my attention. Base security intelligence briefing. Could be relevant to Andi's situation.
I pull up the email while Andi starts clearing our plates. It's routine intelligence from allied installations, flagging similar incident patterns for awareness. JEB Tidewater. Marine biologist. Escalating harassment. Equipment sabotage. Timeline matches what Andi's been experiencing.
Different base, different woman, same pattern. The methodology overlaps too much. The escalation timeline matches too closely. My instincts say there's a connection, even if I can't see it yet.
I glance up and catch Andi in the kitchen, supposedly washing dishes but actually crouched down next to Duke, sneaking him bits of leftover pasta.
Duke's tail wags slowly, his eyes locked on her with complete adoration as he gently takes each piece from her fingers.
She's exhausted and someone tried to kill her tonight, but she's taking time to spoil my dog.
I pocket my phone and move to the kitchen doorway. "You know he's trained not to beg, right?"
Andi straightens quickly, guilt flashing across her face before she sees my expression. "He wasn't begging. He was just sitting there looking pathetic."
"That's his specialty." I lean against the doorframe. "He's got you figured out already."
"Maybe I wanted to spoil him." She scratches behind Duke's ears, and he leans into her touch with contentment. "He's been working hard keeping me safe. Deserves a reward."
"He'd follow you anywhere now. You fed him from your hand. That's pack behavior."
"Good." She meets my eyes. "I like being pack."
She's not pretending this is just about protection or duty. She's acknowledging what's building between us, even if neither of us is ready to name it yet.
"What was the email?" she asks, standing and moving closer.
"Intelligence briefing. Similar incidents at JEB Tidewater. Marine biologist dealing with escalating harassment and equipment sabotage." The parallels are too close to ignore. "Timeline matches yours. Could be coincidence, but I don't like coincidences."
Her brow furrows. "You think they're connected?"
"Don't know yet. But the pattern's there.
Both targeting women in contractor roles supporting military operations.
Both escalating the same way." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before I can stop myself.
The touch is brief but electric, her skin warm under my fingertips.
"Something to look into once we have your situation locked down. "
"One stalker at a time?" Her attempt at humor falls flat, exhaustion creeping back into her voice.
"Something like that." I don't pull my hand away. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be intense when they bring Hutchins in for questioning."
She doesn't step back. "What if it's not him? What if we're wrong and the real threat is still out there?"
"Then we keep looking until we find them. But my instincts say Hutchins is our guy. Right access, right skills, right motivation. He's been resentful of your presence since day one."
"I trust that." She studies my face. "You've been thorough. Duke alerting to that device before I could start the truck. That's what kept me alive tonight."
"It's my job to be thorough." The memory of that IED wired to her ignition brings the rage back, sharp and immediate. "And keeping you safe isn't just an assignment. Not anymore."
"What happened to Ryan wasn't your fault." Andi steps closer, closing the careful distance I've been maintaining. "Ajax missed the alert. Ryan moved before you could stop him. The IED exploded. You know that's not on you, right?"
"Knowing and believing are different things." She's close enough now that I could pull her against me and let physical connection silence all the noise in my head.
"Then let me believe it for both of us." Her hand comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart. "Until you can believe it yourself."
The heat of her palm through my shirt, the way she's looking at me with understanding and want in equal measure, the fact that she's offering comfort when she's the one who nearly died tonight. All of it combines into something I can't resist anymore.
I'm leaning in, my hand coming up to cup her face, closing the distance between us when my phone buzzes again. The interruption is perfectly timed and completely unwelcome. Base security. Could be important. Could be the break we need.
I answer while looking at Andi, hating the necessity but knowing duty doesn't care about inconvenient timing.
The security chief briefs me on developments.
Pattern analysis of security footage has narrowed the suspect list. Brad Hutchins' movements correlate with every incident location and timestamp. He had opportunity and access.
Not enough for an arrest. Not yet. But enough to bring him in. Enough to put surveillance on him. Enough to know we're looking at the right person.
I end the call and relay the information. Andi's face shifts, relief warring with renewed worry. We're close to ending this, but close isn't caught. Hutchins is still out there until he's in custody.
"Come on." I gesture down the hallway. "You need sleep. Tomorrow starts early."
She follows me back to the guest room, Duke trailing behind us like a furry chaperone making sure we both get where we're supposed to be. Professional boundaries. Safe distance. All the things that felt important before tonight showed me how easily she could have been taken away.
At her door, I lean against the frame. "Bathroom's across the hall if you need anything. I'll be down the hall. Duke will alert if anyone comes near the house."
"Devlin." She turns to face me fully, exhaustion and something deeper visible in her expression. "Thank you. For all of this. For keeping me safe. For letting me into your space. For being honest tonight."
"You're safe here. I promise." The words come out rougher than intended, weighted with everything I'm feeling and can't quite say.
Her expression shifts, vulnerable and honest. "I know." She takes a breath. "That's the problem. I could get used to this."
She's not the only one. Having her here feels right. Natural. And that's dangerous territory I've spent most of my life avoiding.
I want to say something profound, want to acknowledge what she just admitted. But words fail me in the face of her honesty, so I just nod.
"Goodnight, Andi."
"Goodnight."
She closes the door, and I stand there in the hallway trying to process everything that happened tonight. Duke sits beside me, leaning his solid weight against my leg, completely unconcerned with human complications. To Duke, it's simple. Andi is pack. Pack protects each other. Pack stays together.
I head to my own room but know sleep won't come easy. Tomorrow we question Hutchins. Tomorrow we move closer to ending the threat against Andi.
But as I lie in bed listening to the quiet sounds of my house, one thought keeps circling back. The evidence points to Hutchins. The timeline fits. The access matches. Everything lines up too perfectly.
And in my experience, when something looks that clean, it usually means I'm missing something important.