Page 25 of Anchor
“Your face—” she tilted her head, “that wasn’t just a call.”
“No,” he admitted.
Her eyes narrowed, calculating. “It was Ian?”
He didn’t answer, and that was answer enough.
Claire took another sip, her lips pressed against the rim of the mug while her gaze went unfocused, like she was running the math in her head. “He didn’t just… check in.” Her brow furrowed. “He placed you.”
Reid met her eyes. “Orders through Noah Paulsen.”
Something flickered in her expression. It wasn’t a surprise but a confirmation. She nodded once, setting the mug down on the counter with a soft clink. “That means the gala wasn’t just an assignment. It was your tryout.”
Reid’s chest tightened. Hearing her say it made it real.
“And if he’s putting you under Noah…” She trailed off, working the pieces. Her gaze sharpened, meeting his. “That makes you Ann Arbor’s team lead.”
Reid swallowed. In her voice, the truth hit harder than Ian’s calm delivery.
Her eyes didn’t leave his. “Do you want it?”
Reid stared at her, letting himself wonder if want even mattered anymore.
Her eyes stayed on him, steady, sharp in a way that reminded him she’d always lived in rooms where you survived by reading the smallest tells. She didn’t blink, didn’t let him deflect.
“You’re not sure.” There was no accusation in it. Just fact. “You’re standing there with that jaw locked like you’re waiting for a blast wave. Like you’re already bracing for the hit before it’s even on you.”
Reid held her gaze, but his silence gave her more than words would have.
“And you’ve carried it before.” Her voice thinned, not with doubt, but with understanding. “I can see it in the way you measure everything… even me. That doesn’t come from being an operator. That’s command. You don’t just look at threats. You look at outcomes.”
Her words slid too close to the bone. She was right. He’d been doing it since the second he saw her step into the atrium. He was measuring angles, exits, and risks. It wasn’t just to protect her but to lead her out.
She stepped closer, her mug forgotten on the counter. “You didn’t ask for this. But part of you…” She studied him the way she might a problem set. “Part of you needs it. Because you don’t know how to be anything else.”
The truth of it hit harder than Ian’s voice, harder than Noah’s name. It settled in his chest like a stone, immovable and undeniable.
He exhaled slowly, his voice rough when it finally came. “I want it.”
Before the words could hang in the air, his phone buzzed against the counter, screen lighting up. The sharp and demanding sound cut through the quiet.
Reid didn’t look at the caller ID yet. He kept his eyes on Claire, on the way her expression shifted at his admission. It was something between recognition and worry, maybe both.
Then the phone buzzed again, louder in the silence, insisting he pick it up. Whatever came next, the choice he’d just spoken aloud already tied him to it.
NINE
CLAIRE’S KITCHEN – 0730 HOURS
The phone buzzed again, flashingChase Security Relay.Official. No mistaking it. Reid swiped the screen. “Hanlon.”
A clipped operator’s voice came through, all business. “Stand by for Mr. Paulsen.” Two clicks, a thin wash of static, then silence. It was measured.
Reid’s spine went rigid before the voice even came, the old instinct slotting into place.
“Noah Paulsen.” He was calm, precise—a man who didn’t need volume to project authority.
Reid’s grip tightened on the phone. “Sir.”
