The Missing Pattern

Between the Hunt and the Fire Part 15

As we walked out of the bar, adrenaline still surging through me like wildfire, Reese caught my eye. Her voice was calm, controlled, but there was an edge to it. "I'll hand this over to the task force. Lopez will dig into Cortez. Let's see what comes up, but for now, there's not much else we can do. I'm going to get some sleep." He glanced at Calvin, her gaze softening for a brief moment. "You too, Kitty. You look like you're about to fall apart. Get some damn rest."

I bristled at her words, irritation flaring up like a spark, but Calvin's hand settled on my shoulder, the firm weight of it grounding me. "I'll get her home," he said, his voice smooth, steady. "Make sure he gets some sleep."

I knew exactly what he meant. He could see it—the exhaustion clinging to me, the darkness under my eyes that even makeup couldn't hide, the restless energy that had made me snap earlier. Reese had seen it too, and I hated that he was right. But I wasn't about to show it. Not yet.

As we climbed into the car, the cold night air slapping me awake, the drive back to my apartment felt like an eternity. I could feel Calvin's eyes on me, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't. There was too much going on in my head. The hunt, Kiara, the girls. The fire still burned in me, and sleep seemed like the last thing I needed.

But when we reached my place, Calvin made no move to leave. I let him in, my mind already working on the next steps. We'd gotten our lead from Markus—Cortez. The pieces were starting to fall into place. But I couldn't afford to slow down. Not now. Not when I was this close.

Inside, I poured us both a drink, trying to focus on the case as I handed him his glass. The liquid burned down my throat, but it didn't touch the cold knot of anxiety twisting in my chest. The more we dug, the more dangerous this became. I could feel it in my bones.

I glanced over at Calvin as he studied the case files, the tension in his jaw a familiar sign that he wasn't taking this lightly either. We sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of paper, the occasional clink of glass. I was aware of every inch of him, the quiet strength he exuded, the way his presence filled the room. There was something desirable about him, something that pulled me in despite everything.

It was only when I felt my eyelids grow heavy, when I realized I was leaning forward, my eyes slipping shut, that I finally allowed myself to admit it: I was exhausted.

I must have dozed off, just for a minute. Maybe two. But when I woke, Calvin was sitting across from me, his eyes locked onto mine with a steady, unwavering gaze.

"You need to sleep, Harper," he said softly, his voice surprisingly tender despite the tension that hung between us.

I blinked, shaking my head as if to clear the fog. "I'm fine," I muttered, but the words felt hollow. I wasn't fine. I hadn't been fine for days. Maybe longer. Every breath, every second of this case, had been stretching me to my breaking point.

But Calvin didn't buy it. I saw the way he studied me, the way he saw through my bullshit. "No, you're not," he said quietly. "You're running on fumes. You need rest."

I was too tired to argue. The fight drained from me as the weight of the last few days pressed down on my shoulders. I stood up, my legs unsteady, and walked toward my bedroom, Calvin following me silently.

The room was dark, only the soft glow of the streetlights outside casting shadows against the walls. I stood there for a moment, caught between wanting to shut everything out and wanting to hold onto the rush that kept me alive, that kept me moving. I turned to face Calvin, my pulse quickening as I met his eyes.

"Stay," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It was a command, but it was also a plea.

Calvin didn't say anything at first. He just nodded, a silent understanding passing between us. His presence in the room was enough. More than enough.

He didn't push me, didn't try to talk me into sleeping. Instead, he moved toward me, his hands gentle on my shoulders as he guided me toward the bed. I didn't protest. It felt too good, too right to let him take control for a moment. My body was begging for relief, for rest, for something that wasn't this constant, grinding need to move forward.

But even as my body sank into the bed, my mind screamed for me to get up. To keep going. To keep hunting. To keep fighting.

And then Calvin was there beside me, his heat radiating through the space between us, the steady beat of his heart against my back. His arm slipped around me, pulling me close, holding me in place—making sure I didn't get up. No more running. No more fighting. For a moment, I let myself be held. Just held. There were no games now. No walls.

His hand brushed against my cheek, his touch gentle but firm. He kissed my forehead, and I could feel the weight of his sigh against my skin. "You need to sleep," he whispered, the words soft but with an undeniable urgency behind them.

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze, and when our lips met, it was slow. Deliberate. His kiss was a quiet demand, as though he was trying to coax me into surrender. Calvin held me, his body pressed against mine, being careful of my left shoulder where I'd been shot a few days earlier. He was cautious, protective, but there was a fire in his touch that made it impossible to pull away.

I looked up at him, my breath shallow. "Why do you insist on calling me Harper?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, raw with exhaustion.

Calvin's lips curved into a half-smile, the kind that made my pulse quicken. "What do you want me to call you?" he asked, his fingers brushing the back of my neck, his touch almost a promise.

I swallowed hard, my gaze steady. "You can call me Kitty. That's my name."

He smiled, the kind of smile that made the tension in the room snap tight. And then his lips were on mine again, but this time, it was different. His kiss was harder, deeper—like he was trying to erase the weight I carried, one kiss at a time. I kissed him back, with more force this time, no hesitation. No doubt. I wasn't thinking anymore. I was letting go.

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his breath uneven, his eyes searching mine. "I'll keep calling you Harper," he murmured, his voice dipping into a low, intimate tone, "but when it's just us like this..." He paused, a slight grin tugging at his lips. "You'll be my Kitty Kat. How's that sound?"

I felt a warmth rise in my chest, and before I could stop myself, I smiled, a rare softness breaking through.

The words hung in the air between us, and I didn't know what to say. The tension between us was thick, palpable—like the world was collapsing around us, leaving nothing but the raw, desperate need we'd been hiding for so long. This wasn't just physical. No, it was something deeper. It was the way we'd been pushing each other, testing each other's limits, breaking each other down until all that was left was this—the heat of his touch, the shared hunger that neither of us could escape.

As the night bled into the early hours of the morning, I lost myself in him. I let go of everything—the case, the girls, the endless search. In his arms, there was only the raw, burning need to feel alive, to feel something other than the constant weight of duty and vengeance pressing down on me. And for a while, that was enough.

Exhaustion finally overtook me. My body ached from the blast, from the gunshot wound, from the hunger I hadn't let myself feel in far too long. And when sleep came, it took me almost instantly.

Calvin's hand was warm on my back, his breath steady in my ear as he whispered, his voice a promise: "Sleep, Kitty Kat. I've got you."

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I let go. I gave in.