Page 12 of Close Protection

Julia waited until the door closed behind her partner before turning back to face Dr. Monroe. The woman had risen from the table and now stood with arms crossed, her expression a complex mixture of embarrassment and defiance.

The silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable. Two days ago, they'd been strangers sharing nothing but a night of passion. Today, her life was quite literally in Julia's hands.

Finally, Julia spoke, her voice controlled and professional. "We need to talk."

Ivy Monroe—brilliant forensic accountant, key witness against the Seraphim Syndicate, and the woman who Julia had enjoyed having sex with more than she had enjoyed anything else in recent memory—raised her chin slightly. "Yes," she agreed, her voice equally measured. "I believe we do."

The space between them seemed to contract, the safe house suddenly too small to contain the magnitude of their shared discomfort. Julia remained by the kitchen counter, maintaining physical distance while her mind raced through protocols for situations like this.

Except there were no protocols for this. Nothing in her training had prepared her for the moment when professional duty collided with intimate history.

Ivy broke the silence first. "I think we can agree this is"—she seemed to search for the right word—"unexpected."

"That's one way to put it." Julia kept her voice neutral even as her thoughts churned. Every moment of that night at the Oceana Hotel was replaying in her mind with newcontext: the woman's insistence on anonymity, her eagerness to leave before dawn, her comment about having a "dangerous week." All of it made perfect sense now.

Ivy crossed her arms tighter, her knuckles white against her biceps. "I assume you'll be requesting reassignment."

The statement, so matter-of-fact, snapped Julia back to the present. "No," she said firmly. "That would raise questions neither of us wants to answer."

"So we just…pretend it never happened?" Ivy's eyebrow arched, a gesture Julia remembered from their first meeting at the hotel bar.

"Professionally speaking, yes." Julia moved toward the windows, checking the blinds as she spoke, a necessary security measure that also gave her something to do with her hands. "What happened before I knew you were a witness is irrelevant to my duty now."

"Irrelevant," Ivy repeated, the word flat.

Julia turned to face her. Ivy stood perfectly still, tension radiating from her coiled posture. Even disheveled from a night in asafe house, wearing what appeared to be borrowed PRPD sweats, she carried herself with dignity: chin lifted, shoulders back, eyes direct. The same quiet defiance Julia had found so compelling at the hotel now presented an entirely different challenge.

"My job is to keep you alive until you can testify," Julia said, defaulting to the crisp professionalism that had served her well in countless difficult situations. "Everything else is a distraction we can't afford."

"That's very…compartmentalized of you." A hint of sarcasm colored Ivy's tone.

"It's necessary." Julia moved to check another window, maintaining the pretense of a security sweep. "Vincent Knox wants you dead. His people have resources, connections, and a reputation for finding their targets. Personal complications won't keep you safe."

"And you will?" The question carried an edge that hadn't been there before.

Julia met her gaze directly. "Yes."

Something shifted in Ivy's expression, a fleeting vulnerability quickly masked. She turned away, moving back to the dining tablewhere her papers lay scattered. "You should know I've received another threat."

Julia stiffened. "When?"

"Yesterday." Ivy's fingers traced the edge of a document. "Email to my secure work account. Only a handful of people have that address."

"What did it say?"

"'Angels fall from great heights.'" Ivy glanced up, her expression grim. "Came from a spoofed address, but the meaning was clear enough."

Julia processed this, mentally adding it to the threat assessment. "The Seraphim Syndicate likes their biblical references. Knox styles himself as some kind of avenging angel."

"I'm aware." Ivy gestured to her papers. "I've tracked his organization's structure. He models it after angelic hierarchies—calls his lieutenants 'archangels,' his enforcers 'powers.' It would be laughable if he wasn't so dangerous."

Julia crossed to the table, professional interest momentarily overriding the awkwardness between them. The papers revealedintricate organizational charts, financial flows, and connection maps—all meticulously annotated in small, precise handwriting.

"This is impressive work," she said, genuinely.

"It's what I do." Ivy's tone softened slightly.

As she spoke, her hands moved across the papers, rearranging them with quick, decisive movements. The analytical mind behind the work was evident: methodical, thorough, relentless in its pursuit of connections. Julia found herself momentarily fascinated by this glimpse of Ivy in her professional element.

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