Page 65 of Taking What's Mine

For the first time all night, it’s just the two of us—no police, no gunfire, no kidnappers. My stomach tightens with nerves and longing. We haven’t had a single second to talk about… us.

Lincoln seems to sense the shift in the air. He glances down, brushing a thumb over the bruises circling my wrist, a pained look crossing his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That you got hurt, that… I wasn’t faster.”

A fierce wave of tenderness and frustration hits me. I step closer, letting my free hand press against his chest. “This isn’t your fault,” I say, voice thick. “You saved me. You and Dean. That’s all that matters.”

He lifts his gaze, emotion flickering in his eyes. “I meant what I said before,” he murmurs, “about protecting you. And I know we haven’t had time to figure out… what this is between us, but I?—”

I swallow, tears threatening again. “I know.” My throat constricts around the admission. I don’t have fancy words either, but the tension in my chest feels painfully real. We share so much—the memory of that first undercover dance, the nights that blurred lines we never intended to cross, the terrifying vulnerability I felt in the container, calling his name. “I’m still figuring it out, too,” I say. “But I want to figure it out—with you.”

His sigh of relief mingles with a faint, exhausted smile. We stay like that for a moment, foreheads almost touching, until footsteps break the hush. Dean appears, an arm bandaged and in a sling, Sophia at his side, the nurse trailing them. Despite his injuries, Dean’s gaze zeroes in on us, reading the tension and closeness.

He clears his throat, eyes narrowed. “Everything good over here?”

A wry smile twitches at my lips, and I step back, letting Lincoln’s warmth linger against my arm. “Yeah,” I say softly. “We’re… good.”

Dean nods slowly, not pressing the topic—probably too exhausted himself. “Let’s get home,” he says, wincing as he adjusts the sling. “The hospital wants a few more forms filled out, then we can leave.”

Sophia’s eyes brim with gratitude as she looks at me. “Thanks for fighting, for being brave when… everything was so terrifying. I didn’t think—” Her voice chokes, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t think I’d see Dean again.”

I hug her gently, tears slipping free. “We made it,” I whisper, voice trembling. “That’s all that matters.”

Lincoln and Dean exchange a look, something like mutual respect passing between them—maybe a silent agreement that, for all the times they might butt heads, tonight they were unstoppable when it came to saving the people they love.

An hour later, we’re out in the hospital parking lot, the night sky fading into the early gray of morning. Birds chirp in the distance, a mundane sound that feels jarringly normal after the chaos of shipping containers and gunfire. Dean and Sophia head toward their car, planning to crash at home after picking up some medication. I promise I’ll check on them soon, and Dean gives me a lingering, curious glance before nodding.

Lincoln opens the passenger door for me, helping me climb in. My muscles ache, my wrists sting, and every breath reminds me how fragile life can be. Still, the tension seeps away when he slides into the driver’s seat, gaze flicking over to me as if to confirm I’m there. We share a tired smile.

“You want to crash at your place or mine?” he asks, voice gentle.

I consider for a moment, heart pounding with newfound vulnerability. “Yours,” I finally say. “If that’s all right. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He exhales, a faint smile curving his lips as he pulls the car out of the parking lot. “All right. We’ll figure out the rest in the morning. Together.”

And so we drive off, the horizon blazing pink with the promise of sunrise. My eyes drift shut, lulled by the hum of the engine and the knowledge that, for once, I’m safe. We still have so much to sort out—Lazarus Delgado is at large, Dean has questions, and our own relationship needs clarity. But for now, it’s enough that Lincoln’s here, guiding me through the quiet dawn, arms ready to hold me if I slip.

Exhaustion claims me in a soft wave, head lolling against the seat, a fragile hope warming my chest. Because no matter how dark the last few hours were, we survived. And I have a feeling that with Lincoln by my side, I’ll find the strength to face whatever comes next.

Epilogue

Isabel

I tap my pen against the edge of the conference table, eyes scanning the screen of my laptop. The glow of the overhead lights reflects on the polished surface, and somewhere in the distance, I hear phones ringing and the soft hum of conversation—typical Maddox Security hustle. Across from me, Lincoln sits with a pile of case folders stacked neatly beside him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reads through the latest intel on Asher’s assignment.

A wry smile tugs at my lips.Who would’ve guessed we’d be back at work like any normal day,I muse,after everything we went through.But here we are, piecing together leads for our colleague Asher. He’s currently undercover, posing as the doting boyfriend to a socialite named Charlotte in order to protect her from threats. It’s reminiscent of what Lincoln and I did not too long ago—pretending to be married, slipping into the world of Club Greed. But Asher’s case is (hopefully) less lethal, moreabout discreet surveillance and less about standoffs at shipping containers.

Lincoln’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, then lifts his gaze to meet mine. Our eyes lock, and a gentle warmth blooms in my chest. Even after everything his presence still sends a thrill through me. He arches an eyebrow in a silent question, and I give him a small nod, confirming I’m good. Just me, your new partner in crime—and in basically everything else.

He sets the phone aside and flips open another folder. “According to these notes, Asher’s next move is to attend some gala as Charlotte’s plus-one,” Lincoln says quietly. “We need to flag any potential security gaps, make sure no one’s tailing them to that event.”

I hum in agreement, scanning the digital map of the venue. “I’ve marked three possible access points that aren’t covered by the standard event security,” I say, clicking to highlight them on my laptop. “We’ll send someone to stake them out. Possibly Boone or Orion, whichever is free.”

Lincoln leans over, studying my screen. Our shoulders brush, and it’s ridiculous how that single point of contact sets my pulse thudding. I try not to smile too obviously, but the curve of my mouth is already betraying me. “Good call,” he murmurs, voice low and resonant. “Asher’s going to need all the backup we can spare if Charlotte’s as high-profile as these tabloids claim.”

I snort softly. “Her father and mother own half of Midtown real estate, and she was apparently a child star in a big film. So yeah—high-profile is putting it mildly.”

Lincoln chuckles, tapping a note into his phone, then sets it aside. “Any other flagged concerns?”

“No. Just triple-checking background checks for her staff.” I shuffle a few printouts. “But you know Asher—he’s good at blending in. He’ll be fine.”

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