Page 11 of Taking What's Mine

“Carefully,” I repeat, rolling my eyes a bit. “Always so cautious.”

He levels me with a look that quickens my pulse. “This is exactly why I have to remind you. You’re all go, go, go… and that’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

My retort catches in my throat. He’s not entirely wrong—I do tend to rush in. But I’m not about to admit that to him. Instead, I shrug. “Let’s just say we complement each other’s strengths.”

Something flickers in his gaze, something warm that makes me feel like maybe I’ve stepped a little closer to the real Lincoln. “Right,” he says, voice a fraction softer. “So how do you want to handle Club Greed?”

I drag the laptop closer, skimming through the details. “If it’s members-only, we might need fake IDs or an invite from someone on the inside. But we won’t know for sure until we scope it out. I’d prefer to go in as ourselves, but keep a low profile. Maybe pretend to be a couple out for a wild night.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You think we can pass as a couple?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re hot enough to get in.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Heat flares in my cheeks, and I quickly add, “I mean, you’ve got that stoic, brooding vibe going on. I’m sure it’ll play well in a place like that.”

A faint smile touches his lips. “If you say so.”

We fall silent for a moment, and I realize how close we’re sitting. My knee brushes his under the table, and my heart rate doubles. There’s a current here, a charged tension that makes me hyperaware of every breath he takes. It’s ridiculous, the effect he has on me. I’ve known him for years, worked alongside him at Maddox Security, but we’ve never been this… alone. Never spent so much time in each other’s orbit.

I clear my throat, my voice a bit shaky. “So, we’ll head to Saint Pierce tonight?”

Lincoln nods slowly. “Yes, we can try.”

“Perfect,” I say firmly. “Guess I’ll have to find something suitable to wear. I didn’t exactly pack my best attire.”

He fixes me with a wry look. “Are you thinking a shopping trip?”

I shrug, forcing a nonchalant tone. “If you want me to dress the part, then yes.”

He inhales through his nose, leaning in. “Just as long as you don’t plan on climbing out of a bathroom window.”

My pulse kicks up. “Maybe. I like to keep you on your toes.”

He’s so close that I can make out the subtle flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint stubble shading his jaw. For a split second, we just stare at each other, and I swear the air around us crackles. A hundred thoughts race through my mind: how solid his chest looked this morning when he stretched, the way his lips move when he speaks, the protective warmth of his body that makes me want to lean in.

I’m not sure who moves first—maybe it’s me, maybe it’s him—but our knees press together more firmly under the table, and there’s a tiny shift of bodies until we’re just a breath apart. My hand drifts off the laptop and ends up on the table between us, close enough that his knuckles brush mine.

A wave of warmth floods my chest, followed immediately by a spike of panic—because what are we doing? We’re here to track down a dangerous criminal, not play footsie. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat feels dry.

Lincoln’s gaze flicks down to my lips for half a second before he pulls back, clearing his throat. The moment shatters, leaving me off-balance and a little breathless.

“So,” he says, voice deep and a bit raspier than usual, “we’ll go in tonight, see what we can find out about Rolfe. In the meantime, we prepare. Shop. We’ll need an invite without letting Dean in on our little plan.”

“Right,” I manage, trying to will my face to cool down. “I’ll dig into my contacts, see if anyone knows the manager or how their guest list works.”

He nods, standing up. He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “You do that. I’ll make sure we have the right gear in case things get dicey.”

The safe house is definitely starting to look more like a command center. I can’t help a small smile—this is my element, and apparently, it’s Lincoln’s, too.

He picks up a black duffel bag from beside the couch, unzipping it to check the contents: earpieces, emergency medical kit, extra magazines for his weapon. Typical security detail stuff. I perch on the arm of the couch, tapping out a text on the burner phone I picked up, sending a message to one of my contacts who might know the ins and outs of Club Greed’s scene.

As I wait for a reply, I glance at him. “So, you have any idea what we’re walking into tonight?”

He arches a brow. “You tell me, since you’re the expert on adult clubs, apparently.”

I laugh. “Hardly. I just know they’re selective about clientele. We’ll have to dress the part, act like we belong. You may have to lose that scowl, for starters.”

A faint smirk touches his lips. “No promises.”

Our eyes meet again, and I feel that tug, that pull I can’t quite name. “Hey, it’s just one night,” I say lightly, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’ll gather intel, see if Rolfe’s really there, then get out. Simple.”

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