As Yvette headed upstairs, she tried to sort through the tangle of emotions. Disappointment, frustration, and underneath it all, a grudging respect for his restraint.
Even if it was the last thing she wanted right now.
Chapter Three
Yvette woke from anightmare about gunfire and dead men in tactical gear.
She bolted upright in the unfamiliar bed, heart slamming against her ribs as the dream fragments scattered. Memory crashed back. Vincent's house, the safe room, two dead men in her bedroom. Early morning light filtered through the reinforced windows.
She pulled on yesterday's clothes and went downstairs, following the scent of coffee and the low murmur of voices. Vincent stood in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, still wearing the same black shirt from last night. The vest had been replaced by a shoulder holster, and his jaw showed the shadow of stubble around the bandaged cut.
"The federal investigators want to meet with her at ten," he was saying. "Have your people cleared the scene?"
Pouring herself coffee from the pot he'd left brewing, Yvette watched him work. His voice carried the crisp authority of someone accustomed to managing complex operations, each question economical and direct.
"Understood. We'll be ready." He ended the call and turned to her. "That was Detective Serrano from last night. The crime scene team finished processing your house around four this morning. The two men are in federal custody."
"Did they say who sent them?"
"Not yet. But the weapons were military grade, and both men had extensive combat training." He assessed her up and down. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Some." Yvette had actually dozed fitfully, jerking awake every time the house settled or the security system chimed. "Bad dreams."
"I’m sorry I was spying on you,” she said. “I should have been upfront.”
He shrugged. “But what if I really was a bad guy? Don’t beat yourself up. You were protecting yourself the only way you knew how. Gathering intelligence, building a case." He leaned against the counter, studying her. "Most people would have just called the police about noise complaints. You treated it like an investigation."
"I treated you like a suspect."
"You treated an unknown variable like a potential threat. That's smart analysis." His mouth quirked upward. "Even if your conclusions were wrong, your methodology wasn't."
That was surprisingly generous of him. Yvette had expected him to be angry about her surveillance, but instead he seemed almost impressed by her thoroughness.
"I don’t know how much you heard from the call, but the federal investigators want to meet with you at ten," he continued. "After that, we need to talk about keeping you alive until RareCore's leadership is in custody or the threat has been neutralized."
"How long are we talking?"
