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There was a pause, then his voice, sharper now. “Damn it, Charlotte.”

She felt the heat in her face rise—not from embarrassment, but from knowing he was right.

“The last thing I want,” he said, voice tight, “is to be pulled into a domestic situation. And the first thing I don’t need is to end up explaining why I’m in your damn car in a BOLO.”

Her jaw clenched.

“And I definitely don’t need a pissed-off fed thinking I kidnapped his girlfriend.”

She opened her mouth to protest—It’s not like that—but he was already reaching for her purse.

“Graham—”

“Call him. Now.”

He pulled out her phone, tapped in her code without hesitation. “Still using your shield number.”

She looked over.

“Twelve missed calls,” he said, ignoring the question. “All your girls. Their guys. And two from a contact named Mr. Christmas.” He smirked faintly. “Can’t wait to hear that story.” He hit the name and put the phone on speaker.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then: “Charlotte?” Alex’s voice burst through, frantic, barely restrained. “Where the hell are you?”

Graham handed her the phone.

Charlotte held it close, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hi.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, a low, shaky breath—like he was trying to rein it all back in. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m with someone I trust.”

Another breath. He didn’t respond right away. She could picture him—jaw locked, eyes flaring, pacing wherever he was. Trying not to lose it.

“I’m sorry,” she added. “I should’ve told you. I just… couldn’t.”

Alex didn’t speak for a moment. Then, quieter: “I woke up, and you were gone.”

Charlotte closed her eyes. “I know.”

“You scared the hell out of me. You’re still scaring the hell out of me.”

Her throat tightened. “I know,” she said again. “I’m sorry.”

Graham stayed silent beside her, letting the words fall between them. But she knew what he was thinking. She didn’t need to hear it.

Alex said it: “Not sorry enough to stop yourself.”

She already knew what it looked like—taking off in the dark, not calling, leaving people to piece it together. She’d done it before. She’d done it to Graham. But this time, it was different. This time, she wasn’t just running toward a case. She was trying not to lose everything she’d finally started to build. And she wasn’t sure if she was too late.

Alex stoodin the middle of the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to claw its way out.

The pause in her voice—someone. He already knew who. Graham Cullen. It didn’t take a genius to put it together. She’d mentioned him. Her old partner. The one she hadn’t seen in over fifteen years. The one who knew all the corners of her she rarely let anyone touch. The one who worked the Ward case with her.

Alex clenched his jaw. The need to say what he really felt—that she didn’t trust me enough to tell me, that it makes me feel shut out and stupid and small—it was right there, but it came out as something else instead.