Page 43 of Close Protection

Ivy continued her exploration. A volcanic rock collection arranged by size on a windowsill. A framed photograph of three generations of women in Phoenix Ridge police uniforms. A small herb garden on the balcony visible through the side window—basil, rosemary, thyme—meticulously maintained but rarely used, judging by their size.

Like its owner, the apartment revealed itself cautiously, measuring what it disclosed.

The bathroom door opened, and Juliaemerged with a damp cloth pressed to her forearm where a branch had torn her skin during their escape. "There's a clean t-shirt and sweatpants on the bed if you want to change. Bathroom's all yours."

"Thanks." Ivy hesitated, then added, "You're bleeding."

Julia glanced at her arm. "It's nothing. Just a surface-level wound."

"Let me." Ivy crossed the room, taking the cloth from Julia's unresisting fingers. The wound wasn't serious, but it needed cleaning. "Sit."

To her surprise, Julia complied, sinking onto a kitchen stool. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, sending awareness skittering across Ivy's skin. She focused on the task, cleaning the wound with methodical precision.

"You've done this before," Julia observed.

"My doctorate didn't come with a personal medical staff," Ivy replied dryly. "I volunteered at a women's shelter during grad school. Basic first aid was part of the training."

Julia's eyes studied her with renewed interest, as if slotting this information into themental file she maintained on Ivy Monroe, key witness and protection assignment. And one-night stand, though that detail seemed deliberately omitted from her calculations.

"There," Ivy said, securing the bandage. "Not exactly emergency medicine, but it'll hold."

"Thank you." Julia stood, immediately reestablishing physical distance. "I'll check in with Morgan, let her know we've changed locations."

The adrenaline of their forest escape was fading, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion. Ivy gathered the supplies Julia had offered and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click that felt momentarily final.

When she emerged after a shower, Julia stood at the kitchen counter, two mugs of coffee steaming before her. She'd changed as well, into dark jeans and a simple black V-neck that revealed the sharp lines of her collarbones.

"Morgan's implementing countermeasures," Julia said, pushing one mug toward Ivy. "Feeding different information to different units to identify the leak."

"And until then?"

"We stay here. Off-grid, off-record."

Ivy wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic. "Is your apartment secure? If Knox has a file on you..."

"My official address is a rental downtown that I've never actually lived in," Julia replied. "This place is owned by a shell company with three layers of separation between it and me. The only people who know I live here are Morgan and my family."

Ivy raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Paranoid or prepared?"

"There's a difference?"

As they settled at the small table with hastily prepared pasta, Ivy's gaze caught on a chess set tucked on a shelf beneath a window, pieces positioned mid-game.

"You play?" she asked, nodding toward the board.

Julia glanced up from her plate. "Sometimes. Against myself mostly."

"White or black?"

"Both. It's good strategic practice."

Of course it was. Not pleasure, not relaxation—training. Ivy moved closer to examine the board. "White sacrificed a bishopto expose black's queen. A deliberate vulnerability to create opportunity." Her eyes met Julia's across the kitchen. "You're calculating whether the risk is worth the reward."

For a moment, Julia's careful mask slipped, revealing something raw beneath, something almost wounded. Then it was gone, professional composure reasserting itself.

As they cleared the dishes, Ivy's hand brushed Julia's while passing a plate. The brief contact sent electricity up her arm, a physical memory too potent to ignore. Julia's slight inhalation confirmed she'd felt it too, this current between them that refused to dissipate despite professional barriers.

"Thank you for dinner," Ivy said, deliberately casual. "And for the shower. And the clothes."

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