Page 42 of Close Protection

"You've really thought of everything," Ivy observed, something like respect coloring her voice.

"Not everything," Julia admitted. "Just the variables I can control."

The service road appeared ahead, barely visible among the trees—a sharp left turn that would be easy to miss if you didn't know it existed. Julia slowed fractionally, gauging the distance to their pursuers.

"When I make the turn, drop down in your seat," she instructed. "They need to believe we continued straight."

Julia waited until the SUV disappeared momentarily behind a curve, then executed the turn with precision. The Jeep bouncedonto the even narrower service road, branches scraping against the sides as they plunged deeper into the forest.

"Stay down," Julia warned, accelerating along the rough track despite the punishment it delivered to the Jeep's suspension.

Through gaps in the trees, she caught glimpses of the main logging road they'd abandoned. The SUV appeared, continuing straight past their hidden turn, unaware they'd chosen a different path.

Julia maintained speed for another mile before allowing herself to breathe. "We're clear. For now."

Ivy straightened in her seat. "How long until we reach the highway?"

"Five miles on this service road. Then south to the city." Julia calculated time and distance. "We can be at my apartment in ninety minutes if we're not spotted."

"And if we are?"

"Then we improvise." Julia's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Again."

The adrenaline of the pursuit was fading, leaving room for the implications of the operative's words to resurface. Knox had a file on her. Knew her by name. Had possiblytargeted her specifically. The leak in the department went deeper than they'd originally feared.

"Someone's been feeding Knox information for a long time," she said, voicing the conclusion aloud. "Not just about your testimony. About the department…and me."

"But why target you specifically? Unless..." Her eyes widened slightly. "Unless they knew you'd be assigned to my protection detail. Before it happened."

The implication settled between them, heavy and disturbing. Someone high enough in Phoenix Ridge PD to influence protection assignments. Someone with access to personnel files and tactical procedures.

"We can't trust anyone," Julia concluded. "Not until we identify the source."

"Not even Morgan?"

Julia hesitated, the question cutting closer than she wanted to admit. "Morgan I trust. No one else."

They lapsed into silence as the Jeep bounced along the service road, each lost in private calculation. The forest gradually thinned as they approached the highway, civilization encroaching on wilderness.

Julia's decision to take Ivy to her apartment wasn't just strategic; it was personal. A breaking of the rigid boundaries she'd established between professional duty and private life. Another line crossed in a mission that had already blurred too many.

But with department resources compromised and Knox's people demonstrating intimate knowledge of standard protocols, the safest place was somewhere unpredictable. Somewhere they could regroup, reassess, and plan their next move.

Somewhere no one would think to look for a detective who always followed the rules.

7

IVY

Ivy stood in the center of Julia's apartment, cataloging details. The converted firehouse breathed history: exposed brick walls, high ceilings with original beams, industrial windows filtering afternoon light through divided panes. Julia moved around her in efficient circles, securing locks and checking sightlines.

"Perimeter's clear," Julia announced, tucking her service weapon into its holster. "We should be safe here temporarily."

Ivy nodded absently, her attention caught by the contradictions surrounding her. Military precision in the arrangement of furniture—nothing blocking escape routes,everything positioned for optimal visibility. Yet she found surprising warmth in unexpected places: a handwoven blanket draped across a leather sofa, a collection of well-worn classics filling one small bookshelf, and a vintage record player beneath the window.

"You have records," Ivy observed, moving toward the collection stored in a simple wooden crate. She flipped through them—classical mostly, with some jazz. "Actual vinyl. Not exactly standard millennial decor."

"My grandfather's," Julia replied without elaborating, disappearing into what appeared to be a bathroom with a small medical kit.

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