Page 12 of The Maverick

He poured her coffee. Set it in front of her. Sat back down.

“You’ll survive.”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You do realize I’m not some trainee fresh out of a toxic relationship needing to be saved.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

“You’re not a rookie. You’re not fragile. But right now, you’re compromised. That means I call the shots. End of story.”

She sat slowly, watching him over the rim of her cup.

“You think I’m going to fall in line just because you say it like that?”

“I think you’re smart enough to know this is bigger than your pride.”

His eyes met hers again. Direct. Steady.

She hated he was right.

“I want access to everything you know,” she said. “You don’t get to lock me out of my case.”

“It’s not your case.”

Her hand clenched around the mug.

“It’smylife.”

“And it’s mine to protect.”

Her breath caught. Not from fear. From the way he said it. Steady. Absolute. No flinch. No doubt. He meant it.

The silence stretched. Not cold, but close.

She set the mug down and leaned forward. “Don’t confuse protection with possession.”

He leaned forward, too, arms resting on the table. “You always knew the difference.”

Vanessa held his gaze. For a moment, it was like they were back in the club—alone in the shadows, one order away from a scene that would leave her undone and complete at the same time. She looked away.

“I want to go through the letter again. The paper, the writing. There was something about it…”

“We’ll go over everything,” he said. “But not until you eat something that didn’t come out of a bottle.”

“I’m not your charity case.”

“You’re not. But you’re mine. And I don’t half-ass what’s mine.”

Her pulse skipped. Damn him.

She picked up the coffee again and took a slow sip, letting the caffeine burn away the last of the chill in her blood, and took a couple of bites of the eggs.

Vanessa knew she should keep her guard up. Keep her distance. But being here, in his house, with the fire crackling and Hawke looking at her like she still mattered—it was beginning to feel like the part of her that left him never actually left… and that terrified her more than the stalker ever could.

“Okay, Commander,” she added, walking a slow arc behind him. “Are you actually planning to talk with me or am I just supposed to listen and answer ‘yes, Sir’?”

“Sit down, Vanessa.”

His voice was low. Not raised. Not barked. Just firm enough that her feet stopped moving before her brain caught up.

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