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I glance around again. Still nothing, still nobody, still the same feeling sitting heavy beneath my ribs. "Because somebody is interfering with witnesses." Her expression grows more serious and I continue. "Somebody knows we're investigating. The game changed — we're no longer looking for evidence. Now we're protecting it."

Juniper looks away briefly, then back at me. "You really think it's that bad?"

"Yes." Every instinct says the same thing.

She studies my face, then sighs. "Every two hours?"

"Every two hours."

"You're impossible."

"Correct." That earns the faintest smile, and right now I'll take anything.

Sweetbell Bakery smells like vanilla — the scent hits the moment I walk inside. Juniper heads behind the counter while I settle at a table and review notes from the witness interviews. The contradictions bother me, the missing records bother me, and the feeling of being watched bothers me most.

A small box appears in my focus. I glance up. "What is this?"

"A cupcake."

I stare at it, then at her, then back at it. "You brought me a cupcake."

"You're welcome." Entirely too cheerful.

. "Why?"

Juniper leans against the counter. "Because you're frowning again."

"I'm not."

"You are. You look like a grizzly solving taxes."

A laugh nearly escapes — nearly. Juniper notices immediately. Of course she does. "There he is."

"There who is?"

"The grizzly."

I shake my head. Hopeless. She pushes the cupcake closer. "Eat." The command sounds far too authoritative and I pick it up mostly because arguing seems pointless, and Juniper smiles and the sight does something strange to my concentration.

Then her fingers brush mine.

The world stops just like the first time— not completely. The contact lasts barely a second, and a second is all it takes. Similar heat surges through me, not ordinary heat, something sharper and brighter, an ecstatic rush tearing through every nerve in my system from where our skin touches outward — fast, relentless, powerful. My breath catches and the cupcake nearly slips from my hand.

Across from me, Juniper freezes completely, her eyes widening as the same shock crosses her face. She feels it — every bit of it — and the realization lands instantly.

The mate bond. Stronger, much stronger than before.

The connection pulses beneath my skin, demanding attention, demanding acknowledgment, demanding her. Juniper swallows and I watch the movement, then immediately regret watching the movement, because my self-control is already hanging by a thread and she isn't helping.

Neither of us speaks. The bond hums between us — warm, persistent, impossible to ignore — until Juniper finally clears her throat and the sound breaks the spell. Mostly. Not completely.

"You okay?" Her voice comes out softer than usual, and I understand why. "Yeah." The answer sounds rough and she notices, and I notice her noticing, and the situation becomes significantly worse.

For several seconds neither of us turns away. Then I force my attention back to the cupcake. Safer. The problem is that even after the contact ends, the feeling lingers and grows and strengthens, and from the look in Juniper's eyes, she knows exactly what just happened between us.

Even if neither of us is ready to utter it out loud yet.

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