Page 25 of Close Protection

"Morgan will bring secure equipment.Anything you send will be routed through department encryption."

"What about physical needs? Food, supplies, medical necessities?"

"Covered in the supply drop. We maintain a two-week reserve at all times."

"You've thought of everything," Ivy said, her tone hovering between impressed and resentful.

"It's my job."

"Is it also your job to pretend we're strangers?"

The abrupt shift caught Julia off-guard. She looked up to find Ivy watching her with an intensity that made deflection impossible.

"Wearestrangers," Julia said carefully. "One night doesn't change that."

"One night where you knew every inch of me." Ivy's voice remained level. "Where I fell asleep in your arms before I made the mistake of leaving. That kind of stranger?"

Heat rose to Julia's face—not embarrassment, but the uncomfortable flush of memory. Images flashed: the curve of Ivy's spine arching beneath her hands, the taste of salt on her collarbone, the soft sound she made when?—

"That was different," Julia said, cutting off her own thoughts. "Neither of us knew who the other was."

"And now we do. Does that make what happened less real?"

"It makes it irrelevant," she said finally, the words feeling hollow. "My responsibility is to keep you alive until you testify. That's all."

Ivy's expression closed. "Then let's be perfectly clear about these ground rules, Detective. You want professional distance? Fine. But don't expect me to pretend I don't know how your strong hands feel on my body or how your voice changes when you let yourself want something."

Julia stood abruptly. "This isn't productive."

"Isn't it?" Ivy remained seated, somehow maintaining the upper hand. "I think acknowledging the elephant in the room is the most productive thing we could do."

"There is no elephant," Julia insisted, moving to the window, a tactical retreat disguised as vigilance. "There's only our current reality: I'm responsible for your safety untilthe grand jury. Everything else is a distraction we can't afford."

The silence stretched between them. When Ivy finally spoke, her voice had shifted to something almost clinical.

"Then let's focus on what we can afford. You need me cooperative for your protection strategies to work. I need intellectual engagement to avoid going stir-crazy. So here's my proposal: you respect that I'm not just a 'vessel for testimony' but a professional with ongoing work requirements, and I'll respect your security protocols. Reasonable?"

The olive branch was so perfectly aligned with Ivy's analytical nature that Julia found herself almost smiling. Almost.

"Reasonable," she agreed. "Which brings us to the third rule: honesty. If something feels wrong, if you notice anything unusual, tell me immediately."

"I've built a career on noticing anomalies," Ivy's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's what got me into this mess in the first place."

"Yes, it is." Julia hesitated, then added, "That financial mapping you did of Knox's organization…it was impressive work."

Something softened in Ivy's expression. "Thank you. I just followed the patterns. Money never lies, even when the people moving it do."

"We have that in common," Julia said. "Looking for patterns others miss."

A moment of genuine connection sparked between them—professional respect bridging the chasm their personal history had created. The satellite phone vibrated on the counter, breaking the moment.

Julia checked the display. "Morgan. Right on schedule."

After a brief conversation confirming the imminent supply drop and updates on Knox's movements, Julia turned to find Ivy watching her, coffee mug cradled between her palms.

"Your partner sounds competent," Ivy observed. "You trust her completely?"

"With my life," Julia said. "And more importantly, with yours."

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