"Their loss." He squeezed my wrist gently. "Though I have to admit, I'm grateful for whatever brought you to Seattle."
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. "Even if it means dragging you to crime scenes at midnight?"
"Even then." His expression turned serious. "James, about that night after the dinner—"
My phone buzzed, shattering the moment. Sarah's name flashed on the screen with an update about trace evidence from the factory fire. Reality crashed back with bruising force.
"Work?" Marcus asked quietly.
I nodded, already pulling up the message. "Sarah found something in the debris analysis."
"Of course she did." He leaned back, professional distance sliding into place. "Duty calls."
As I gathered my things, his hand caught mine. "Same time tomorrow?"
I hesitated. "I should focus on the case—"
"James." His fingers tightened slightly. "The case will still be there at eight. Some things are worth making time for."
Like learning to float. Like quiet cafés on rainy mornings. Like the way he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking.
"Same time," I agreed, ignoring how my pulse jumped when he smiled.
Outside, the rain had settled into a steady rhythm. Marcus held the door, his shoulder brushing mine as we stepped onto the sidewalk. For a moment, we stood there, neither quite ready to break whatever fragile thing we'd found between swimming lessons and coffee.
Then his radio crackled—structure fire downtown. The real world beckoned with its dangers and demands. As he jogged toward his truck, he turned back once.
"Hey, Professor?"
"Yeah?"
"Your form's not bad." His grin flashed quick and bright. "For a beginner."
I watched him drive away, coffee cup cooling in my hands, trying to ignore how much I already anticipated tomorrow'slesson. Some forms of drowning, I was learning, had nothing to do with water.
Chapter fifteen
Marcus
The lake water clawed at me.
Even through the wetsuit, the lake's temperature gnawed at my ribs, shoulders, and the knots of muscle along my spine. A cold that didn't shock so much as sink in, like hands pressing down, holding me under. I ignored it and pulled harder, forcing my body to cut through the resistance. The lake was mine. I had to reclaim it.
Eighty-eight.
Counting kept me steady. Numbers had always been neutral. Simple. Proof of control.
Ninety-one.
The mannequin had collapsed just like that. Precision in the folds of its fall, the fire working through the plastic, eating its way to the joints. Hands curling in, knees buckling, head bowing forward. Not random. Never random. Elliot had designed it that way, knowing I'd understand.
Ninety-five
Water surged into my goggles. I jerked my head up, sputtering, heart hammering against my ribs. The sky wheeledabove me—gray, endless, a reflection of the water swallowing my legs.
I sucked in a breath. Too sharp.Get it together.
The shoreline was farther than I expected. A few early risers stood near the dock, stretching, pulling on running gear, shaking out stiff muscles.None of them were looking at me.But that didn't mean no one was watching.
