Page 27 of Playing with Fire

"They left a signature," Leo whispered, looking over my shoulder at the image. "An actual physical signature."

"Pride," I repeated, satisfaction warming my blood. "I told you they'd make a mistake." I enlarged the image, studying the craftsmanship of the metal sculpture. "This wasn't mass-produced. It's handmade. Custom."

"Can you trace it?"

"Better." I sent the image to a secure server, initiating a specialized recognition program I'd developed for tracking targets with distinctive signatures. "I can cross-reference it against similar work. Whether they designed it themselves or used a specific printer, they've left a signature style. Artists and technicians can't help but repeat their patterns."

Leo watched me work, his presence a steady comfort at my side. Most people would be disturbed by how easily I slipped into predator mode, by the calm satisfaction I took in planning another's suffering. Leo just accepted it as part of who I was. Part of what made me effective at protecting what I valued.

And that acceptance, that understanding without judgment, made something unfamiliar unfurl in my chest. A warmth I wasn't used to feeling, a vulnerability I typically avoided at all costs.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" The question escaped before I could stop it, my voice quieter than usual.

Leo looked up, surprise evident in his widened eyes. "What?"

"When I talk about hunting people. About making them suffer. You don't flinch. Don't look away. Why?"

He considered the question, head tilted slightly. "Because I know you, X. The real you, not just the predator you show the world." His hand found mine again, fingers intertwining. "And because I know who you hunt. What they've done to deserve your attention."

"But what I do to them... what I enjoy doing..." I hesitated, unsure why I was pushing this point.

"Is part of who you are." He shrugged, the gesture simple but profound. "I don't have to like every aspect of someone to love them, you know."

The word hung between us, neither of us acknowledging it directly but both aware of its weight. Love. Not something I'd ever expected to factor into my existence. Not something I was entirely sure I was capable of feeling, at least not in the conventional sense.

But there was something there, something growing between us that defied easy categorization. Something that made me want to be worthy of that acceptance, that understanding. Something that made me wonder if whatever I felt for Leo, fierce and protective and possessive as it was, might be my version of that emotion after all.

The hunt program pinged, drawing my attention back to the screen. It had found a match for the phoenix sculpture's style, linking it to a small arson case in Pittsburgh three years ago. Not identical, but similar enough to suggest the same creator.

"Interesting," I murmured, pulling up the case file I'd acquired through less than legal channels. "Our Phoenix might have been active longer than we thought, but on a smaller scale."

The Pittsburgh case involved a targeted burn of a single office in a larger building. No casualties, minimal collateral damage. Surgical. Controlled. Quite different from the blaze that had consumed Leo's trailer.

"They're escalating," Leo observed, reaching the same conclusion I had. "Getting bolder."

"Or more desperate." I scrolled through the slim case file, looking for connections. "The question is, why target you specifically? What's the connection?"

Leo shook his head, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "I've been trying to figure that out since it happened. I don't have enemies. At least, not the kind who burn down homes."

"Everyone has enemies. Most just don't know it." I closed the case file and returned to my tracing program. "The connection might not be obvious. Could be something from your Army days. Someone who felt wronged by your security work. Or it could be completely disconnected from you personally."

"You mean I could just be collateral damage. A way to get to you."

"Possibly." The thought sent cold anger through my veins. The idea that someone would harm Leo merely to provoke me, to use him as a tool rather than recognizing his inherent value, was offensive on a fundamental level. "If that's the case, they've made a grave miscalculation."

Leo's hand settled on my arm, his touch light but grounding. I covered his hand with mine, allowing myself the brief comfort of his warmth. The contact seemed to break some invisible barrier between us. Leo leaned forward, resting his forehead against my shoulder. I stiffened for a moment, unused to this kind of casual affection, before forcing my muscles to relax. This was Leo. My Leo. If anyone had earned the right to touch me like this, it was him.

Hesitantly, I brought my hand up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. The simple contact felt more intimate than it had any right to, vulnerable in a way I rarely allowed myself to be.

"I keep trying to define what this is between us," Leo murmured against my shoulder. "But it doesn't fit any category I know."

"Everything has a classification," I said automatically, clinging to the certainty of systems and order. "You just have to find the right parameters."

“I just… Are we boyfriends? Are we still best friends with benefits?”

I frowned at him. “We’re us. Beyond that… Well, what do you want us to be?”

“Together,” he said quietly. “Whatever that means.”

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