Page 27

For some reason, that makes me think of Crow.

“He and Donahue should coordinate directly. Cut out the chain of command for the field decisions. Faster and more efficient that way.”

Nash nods. “Agreed.” He straightens, moving back to his side of the table. I tell myself the distance is a relief and mostly believe it. “Camila's intel about the defectors. The two names—did you know them personally?”

I sigh. “No, not personally. But I helped vet them. Lena Voss and Tig Jensen. Both were previously members of Vincenzo’s pack security hired on last year by Rocco.” I set the tablet down and look at the map.

“So they already had training,” I say, and she nods.

“Neither of them had any red flags. Clean records, showed up for shifts, integrated well. Which means, either Ramsey is very good at identifying who to target⁠—”

“Or whoever is feeding him information from the inside has access to pack assessments,” Nash finishes.

The word inside sits between us like a stone dropped in still water.

The guilt in my chest sharpens, stupid and misplaced. I’m not his leak. I know that. But I am sitting on proof he reached inside our circle long before anyone wanted to admit he could.

“We have a leak,” I say.

“It’s one theory.”

I meet his eyes, reading between the lines. There’s nothing sexual about the way he watches me now. Or maybe there is, but first and foremost, we’re both strategizing, considering, working through all the angles.

Because if we really do have a leak…

“Which means everything we decide in this room⁠—”

“Has to be need-to-know going forward.” He holds my gaze. “I didn't say it in the meeting earlier because I didn't want to fracture trust in a room full of people who need to trust each other. But yes.”

I tilt my head. “Or because you’re the new guy, and it wouldn’t be well received from an outsider.”

“Or that.”

I study him. “It was a good call,” I admit.

Something shifts in his expression, brief, almost imperceptible. Like the acknowledgment costs me something and he knows it but isn’t going to make it into anything more than it is.

I appreciate that more than I want to.

We work for another hour. It’s the strangest kind of torture. Genuinely productive, tactically satisfying, interrupted every twenty seconds or so by the awareness of his body near mine. The way he marks the overlays in that precise black. The way he listens completely and takes all my ideas seriously. When I talk, he’s actually hearing me, not waiting for his turn.

It’s disarming in a way that flirtation never could be.

At some point, he walks to the counter along the wall and comes back with two cups of coffee. He sets one beside my tablet and says nothing about it. I drink it without acknowledging the gesture.

We are, I think grimly, terrifyingly compatible.

“So, the serum you mentioned earlier,” Nash says. “Grey mentioned it’s what killed Vincenzo. Sounds intense.”

“It was. Although, it was scarier when we didn’t know if Lexi and Grey would survive it,” I admit.

“And the experiments Franco did over the years,” he says. “You never knew about them?”

“No.” Regret tugs at me as I think of all those women. Lexi’s mom. Crow’s. “Franco’s thirst for power hurt a lot of people,” I say quietly.

“Sounds like you had your hands full here these last few years.”

I don’t say anything. He’s asking me to remember the first time we met. And even though he’s referencing the business deal we made, it feels dangerously personal with him sitting across from me in the same room again.