Page 41 of Riggs
It lands somewhere I don’t have armor. I let it. “We’ll lap the block once,” I tell Lalo. “Then in through the service lane.”
We do. The hotel eats us without a ripple. Upstairs, the hall is soft carpet and nothing. Inside, I run the sweep with muscle memory and add one more wedge because redundancy is romance.
Vanessa toes off her shoes and stands in the middle of the room like she’s waiting to decide what to do. The window throws city light up her arms. I take off my jacket and holster, set both with careful hands, and don’t pretend I’m not looking at her like she’s the first thing I’ve wanted in a long time that didn’t leave a mark.
“Was it stupid?” she asks. “The dinner?”
“No,” I say honestly. “It was controlled. It bent the story toward ours. And it reminded whoever’s watching that we decide what they get.”
She smiles, tired and bright. “You really don’t regret this?” she asks. “Me. Us. Crossing the line.”
“Vanessa.” I step in, taking her face in my hands. “I don’t regret a second. I just won’t trade your safety for easy.”
She huffs a laughing breath. “Who said anything about easy?”
“Fair point.” I brush my thumbs over her cheekbones and feel the way her body checks in, breath syncing without us asking it to.
My secure vibrates on the table.
Rae: Challenger’s plate is fresh-printed. Pulled the store camera where it was made—guy in a cap with a messenger bag paid cash. Turner ID’d him as a friend of Kellan’s from way back. We’re stacking dominos.
“Copy,” I text back, then flip the phone facedown and let the window go to war with its own reflection.
She tilts her mouth to mine. The kiss starts like a thank-you and picks up on a curve into want. It’s not for the cameras. It’s not to sell a brand. It’s the kind you give because your hands will ache if you don’t. I angle her back a half-step, and she goes with me, fingers sliding up my arms, finding purchase like she’s memorized where the strength is. My palm settles at her lower back, pulling her close, all the worry burned off the edges.
“Riggs,” she whispers against my lips, and it’s not a warning this time. It’s a promise disguised as my name.
“Yeah?”
“What happens when this is all over?” Her eyes slay me with the need written so deeply in them.
I shake my head once. “I’m not sure.” I’d like to tell her I have all the answers, that I can predict the future, but I’m just a man. A man who wants to give this woman the happily ever after she deserves.
We end up on the couch, sideways, her tucked under my arm, the city doing its neon heartbeat beyond the glass. We don’t turn on a movie. We don’t need noise. We just need each other.
“I can change a tire in a dress,” she confesses.
“I can braid hair under fire,” I tell her.
“I hate when people open potato chip bags upside down.”
“I wedge doors with actual wedges.”
She laughs into my shoulder, and I feel it through bone. “We’re ridiculous.”
“We’re alive,” I say, and pull a blanket over her legs because the AC’s always freezing in hotel rooms. “And we’re winning.”
The room falls silent, and then she runs her finger over my chest.
“I’m falling for you,” she says into my shirt, too soft for the world, perfect for this distance.
It hits like stepping into shade after hours of sun. “Yeah,” I say, because I can'tnotfall for her. “Me too.”
We sit in it. Not the danger. The ease after. And I realize the thing that’s been threading through all the operations and counter-surveillance and wedges. The chemistry isn’t a threat to the mission. It’s fuel. It makes me sharper, not softer. It makes the picture ofaftera map instead of a wish.
My secure vibrates once more.
Dean: Saw the clips. Keep using the cover. Turner’s close. Give me your restaurant cam pulls when you have them.
