Page 29 of Close Protection

"Then we've practiced valuable emergency protocols," Julia replied, acknowledging the possibility without conceding it. "Better prepared unnecessarily than unprepared when it matters."

Ivy studied her face for a moment, clearly reading more than Julia intended to reveal. "You don't think it was wildlife."

It wasn't a question. Julia didn't pretend otherwise.

"No," she admitted. "The movement pattern was wrong."

Ivy nodded once, accepting the assessment without challenge. "Tell me what you need me to do."

The simple response—pragmatic, direct, trusting Julia's judgment without wasting time on fear or questions—triggered an unexpected surge of respect. Many witnesses panicked at the first sign of threat. Ivy was calculating next steps.

"Gather your most critical case files," Julia instructed. "Anything irreplaceable for your testimony. I'll prepare the go-bags and check the extraction route."

They moved in coordinated silence, each focused on their assigned tasks. Julia watched from the corner of her eye as Ivy methodically sorted documents, prioritizing with the same analytical precision she applied to financial records. No wasted motion, no hesitation. Just calm, focused efficiency.

The sight steadied something in Julia, a recognition that whatever complexities existed between them, they could function effectively together when it mattered.

"We're ready," Ivy said quietly, appearing at Julia's side with a small pack containing her selected documents. "What now?"

Julia met her gaze, finding none of the fear she might have expected, only focused determination. "Now we wait," she said. "And watch. If they're out there, they'll eventually make a move."

"And if they don't?"

"Then they're gathering intelligence for a future approach." Julia's eyes returned to the tree line. "Either way, we've lost the security of this location. By morning, we'll need to implement the contingency plan."

Ivy absorbed this, her expressionthoughtful rather than alarmed. "You always have a contingency plan, don't you?"

"Multiple," Julia confirmed. "It's part of the job."

"And does your job usually involve this level of…intensity?"

The question was carefully neutral, but Julia sensed the real inquiry beneath it—not about her professional responsibilities, but about the person behind the badge. About whether Julia Scott always moved through the world with this degree of hypervigilance.

"Not always," she admitted. "But often enough."

Ivy nodded slowly, something like understanding passing across her features. "It must be exhausting," she said, not with pity but with a kind of recognition. "Living at that level of alertness."

The observation was uncomfortably perceptive, stripping away professional distance to touch on a truth Julia rarely acknowledged even to herself. The constant vigilance, the perpetual assessment of threats and exits and angles of approach—it was more than training or habit. It was how she navigated existence.

"You adapt," Julia said simply, unwilling to examine the implications more deeply.

"Yes," Ivy agreed, surprising her. "You do. Until you can't remember how to exist any other way. I understand that better than you might think."

The parallel caught Julia off-guard—the recognition that Ivy's analytical mind might operate on similar principles, constantly scanning for patterns and anomalies, never fully at rest. Different fields, different applications, but perhaps the same fundamental approach to a world that rarely offered security or certainty.

For a moment, the professional boundary between them felt less like a necessary protection and more like an artificial construct, a line drawn across a shared experience neither had expected to find in the other.

The moment passed as quickly as it had arrived, reality reasserting itself in the form of their immediate circumstances. Julia returned her focus to the window, to the forest beyond, to the shadows that might conceal those who wished Ivy harm.

But something had shifted, subtle butundeniable. A recognition not just of what separated them, but of what might connect them beyond the night they'd shared at the Oceana Hotel.

Dawn was still hours away, the darkest part of night wrapped around the cabin like a shroud. Whatever waited in the forest—Knox's people or Julia's own demons—would need to be faced in the cold light of morning.

For now, they would watch. And wait. Together.

5

IVY

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