"And a very good insurance policy," Vincent added with a grin. "Something tells me our clients won't always be happy with our findings."
"Can you handle that? A life where people occasionally try to kill us?"
"As long as I'm facing it with you, I can handle anything." His expression grew serious. "Can you handle being with someone whose idea of a quiet evening involves checking the security system and cleaning weapons?"
"I think I can adapt," she said, remembering how natural it had felt to work alongside him during the crisis. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you eat actual meals instead of just coffee and tactical rations."
"Deal. But I'm keeping the weapons."
"I wouldn't dream of asking you to give them up." Yvette stretched languidly, enjoying the feel of his hands on her skin. "Although we should probably invest in a better security system for our office. Something that can't be easily breached by corporate assassins."
"Already thinking about operational security. I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you."
The casual way he said it—like loving her was the most natural thing in the world—made her heart skip. "Say it again."
"What?"
"That you love me. I want to hear it when we're not in danger, when it's just us choosing each other."
Vincent's smile was soft with tenderness. "I love you, Yvette Fisher. I love your brilliant mind, your courage, your absolute refusal to compromise your principles. I love the way you see patterns others miss and turn information into weapons for justice."
"I love you too, Vincent Benoit. I love your strength, your protection, the way you trusted me to be your equal partner instead of something fragile to shelter."
When he kissed her this time, it was with the lazy intensity of a man who finally had all the time in the world. They made love again as the sun rose, slower and more thorough than before, cementing their partnership with touch and whispered promises.
Epilogue
One year later
"Vincent, if you don't stop rearranging the security cameras, I'm going to reprogram them to only show infomercials," Yvette called from the kitchen of their Georgetown townhouse.
"The angle on the northeast corner was off by three degrees," came his voice from outside, slightly muffled by whatever ladder climbing he was doing. "Three degrees could mean the difference between—"
"Between catching a squirrel stealing bird seed and catching an actual threat. I know." She shook her head with fond exasperation. Even on Saturday mornings, Vincent couldn't resist tinkering with their defenses. It was one of the things she'd learned to love about him—his complete inability to truly relax when it came to her safety.
She wandered to the doorway just as he climbed down from his ladder, and her breath still caught a little at the sight of him. A year later, and she was still amazed that this incredible man was hers. He looked up and caught her staring, and the smile that spread across his face made her want to throw him down and have her way with him.
