Page 224 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Ally!” She sets the laptop aside, patting the space beside her. “We were just about to start the movie.”

From the kitchen, Jenna appears with a bowl of popcorn, the buttery aroma filling the apartment. Max follows at her heels, his tail wagging when he spots me.

“About time you got here,” Jenna says, but her smile takes any sting from the words. “Sophia and Rebel are on their way. Mia texted—she’ll be here after yoga.”

I drop my bag and sink onto the sofa, the cushions embracing me like an old friend. Malia immediately scoots closer, her familiar perfume—citrus and something floral—enveloping me.

“They’ll be fine.” She squeezes my hand, her fingers warm and solid against mine. “They always come home.”

Max nudges his way between us, his warm bulk pressing against my leg as he settles on the floor, his watchful eyes fixed on the door. Another protector, another guardian keeping vigil.

“They always come home,” I repeat, letting myself believe it.

Outside, night falls completely, the windows turning into black mirrors reflecting the warm scene within. Somewhere out there, Charlie team faces whatever demons Guardian HRS has sent them to fight while we wait for them to come home. Itfeels good to be surrounded by women who understand precisely what that wait feels like—the peculiar blend of fear and pride, anxiety and faith.

Charlie’s Angels, assembled once more, holding space for each other while our men are away. It’s not the same as having Hank’s solid warmth pressed against my back or Gabe’s arms wrapped around me, but it’s something.

It’s family.

By day, we keep the coffee flowing and our smiles bright.

By night, we wait.

Somewhere between the movie marathons and the takeout containers littering the coffee table, our guard slips. We let ourselves believe it’s just another mission.

Just a few days.

The laughter becomes real again.

The dread—manageable.

Chapter 57

“How long has it been now?”Malia asks, her voice deliberately casual as she steams milk for a lavender latte. Her eyes flick to me, gauging my reaction.

“Thirteen days.” The number is precise because I’ve been counting every hour. I wipe down the counter at Guardian Grind, avoiding her gaze.

The café is quiet this morning, just a few tech specialists from Mitzy’s department huddled over laptops in the corner. The smell of coffee and fresh-baked scones fills the air, almost—but not quite—enough to distract me from the hollow ache that’s been my constant companion since Charlie team left on their mission.

“Longest one yet,” Malia comments, restocking pastries in the glass case. Her movements are quick and efficient, betraying none of the concern she feels for Walt.

My hands find a rhythm in the mindless task of polishing already-clean mugs. Guardian HQ feels different without them—emptier.

“Ally?” Malia’s voice pulls me back to the present. “You’re doing that thousand-yard stare again.”

“Sorry.” I shake my head, setting down the mug before I drop it. “Just thinking about the defense prep with Malikai this afternoon. We’ve made progress, but three weeks isn’t much time.”

It’s not entirely a lie. The impending thesis defense is a welcome distraction when my mind wants to spiral into the worst-case scenarios involving Hank and Gabe.

“Liar,” Malia says, but her smile is kind. “It’s okay to admit you miss them. We all do. But that’s normal during high-security operations.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I nearly drop the next mug to check it. The disappointed exhale is automatic when I see it’s just Malikai confirming our afternoon session.

“Still nothing?” Rebel asks as she emerges from the back room carrying fresh coffee beans.

I shake my head. “Just Malikai.”

She nods, understanding in her eyes. “Radio silence is protocol. Means they’re deep in it.”

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