Page 11 of Close Protection

By evening, she'd memorized every piece of evidence, every connection Monroe had uncovered. She'd also secured an off-books safe house: a cabin in the mountains owned by her former training officer, now retired to Arizona. No digital footprint, no connection to the department. If there was a leak, it wouldn't lead there.

Julia finally left the precinct well afterdark, the weight of responsibility settling comfortably across her shoulders. Tomorrow she'd meet Dr. Monroe and begin the process of keeping her alive until she could testify. Tonight, she'd prepare.

Back in her apartment, Julia methodically packed go-bags, checked weapons, and outlined contingency plans. When she finally fell into bed near midnight, her sleep was deep but alert—a soldier's rest, ready to wake at the slightest disturbance.

Morning came too quickly. Julia rose at five, showered, and dressed with brisk efficiency. By six, she was on her way to the safe house, having driven a careful pattern to ensure she wasn't followed.

The safe house was located in a mixed-use building in the university district—apartments above boutique shops. Forgettable, with multiple entry and exit points. Good for the short-term, but Julia was already planning the move to somewhere more secure. Somewhere off the department books entirely.

She parked two blocks away and approached on foot, scanning rooftops and windows out of habit. The street was busy with morning commuters and students headed to early classes. Good cover, but also too many variables to control. They needed somewhere more isolated.

The building's lobby required a key fob for entry. Julia used the one Morgan had left at the precinct for her, then took the stairs rather than the elevator—another ingrained habit. She noted security cameras, emergency exits, and potential vulnerabilities. The assessment was automatic, as natural as breathing.

Apartment 3C was at the end of a long hall. Julia paused outside, listening. No sound from within. She knocked twice, paused, then three times—the pattern Morgan would have established for identification.

The door opened to reveal Morgan, looking tired but alert. Behind her, Julia glimpsed a standard department safe house: functional furniture, closed blinds, equipment cases stacked against one wall.

"Any issues?" Julia asked quietly as she stepped inside.

Morgan shook her head. "Quiet night. She's reviewing her case notes now." She lowered her voice. "Fair warning though—not thrilled about being cooped up. Already asked twice when she could return to her office."

"Not happening," Julia stated flatly, glancing toward the small dining area where a woman sat with her back to them, papers spread across the table in a pattern that looked chaotic but was probably meticulously organized.

"Dr. Monroe," Morgan called. "Your new protective detail has arrived. This is Detective Julia Scott."

The woman turned, and time seemed to stutter. Honey-blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Sharp, intelligent eyes that Julia had seen heavy-lidded with pleasure just over twenty-four hours before. The same mouth that had gasped and moaned against her neck now pressed into a thin, professional line.

Recognition flashed across the woman's face: shock, mortification, a flicker ofsomething else too complex to name. All contained within the span of a heartbeat before her expression smoothed into cool neutrality.

Julia felt her own face freeze, training kicking in to maintain her composure even as her mind raced to reconcile the poised professional before her with the passionate stranger from the Oceana Hotel. The memory of that stranger's skin beneath her hands collided violently with the reality of Dr. Ivy Monroe, key witness and protection assignment.

Impossibly, the universe had played the cruelest of jokes. Her one-night stand—the nameless woman who'd slipped away before dawn—was now her protection detail. The woman she'd been assigned to guard with her life.

A lifetime of discipline kept Julia's expression neutral, her voice steady as she replied, "Dr. Monroe. I'll be taking over as your primary protection officer."

The words emerged from some autopilot function while her brain processed the implications. Every touch, every whispered encouragement, every intimate moment—allwith a witness now under her protection. A fundamental breach of protocol, even if neither of them could have known.

Dr. Monroe—Ivy—recovered first. "Detective Scott," she said, voice clipped. "I was just reviewing the evidence I'll be presenting to the grand jury." Her tone gave nothing away, but her knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge of the table.

Morgan, oblivious to the undercurrent crackling between them, gestured toward the kitchen. "Coffee's fresh. I'll brief you on the setup before I head out."

Julia nodded mechanically, still struggling to reconcile the woman before her with the one who'd left her in bed a day ago.

She followed Morgan to the kitchen, grateful for the moment to collect herself. As Morgan outlined the safe house protocols in a low voice, Julia forced herself to focus, compartmentalizing with practiced efficiency. The personal complication was irrelevant. The mission—keeping Dr. Ivy Monroe alive—was all that mattered.

"You okay?" Morgan asked suddenly. "You seem off."

"Fine," Julia replied, too quickly. "Just thinking through security options."

Morgan studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "If you say so." She checked her watch. "I should get going. Call me when you're ready to move her. I'll coordinate with the chief." She lowered her voice further. "And Julia? Watch her carefully. She seems compliant now, but I get the feeling she's not used to following anyone else's lead."

If Morgan only knew.

Fuck me.

Harder.

The woman’s words from the other night replayed in her mind.

---