Chapter 70
Nora's POV
I typed quickly: Congratulations, Henry! But I've got an important interview to prepare for tomorrow. I really can't make it.
I hit send and placed the phone face-down on my lap. The air in the car shifted—thicker, heavier. Julian's jaw tightened further.
A long moment passed before Henry's reply came through: No rush. Hope your interview goes well. Good night, Nora.
I exhaled slowly and locked my phone. The silence stretched between us like a rubber band about to snap.
Then Julian broke it. "Again?"
I blinked. "What?"
His voice was flat, clipped. "Henry Phillips."
"I was just replying to a text."
"You've spent more time looking at your phone than talking to me."
I couldn't help it—I laughed. It was a short, disbelieving sound. "Are you serious right now?"
Julian's eyes flicked toward me, cold silver in the passing streetlights. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
"Are you jealous?"
"I'm observant," he corrected.
"You're being ridiculous."
"And you're being evasive." He took a turn a little sharper than necessary. "Do you know Henry Phillips?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Do. You. Know. Him."
"He's a friend. A college acquaintance." I paused. "Do you know him?"
"Reviewed his file, actually. Never met him in person."
"He's pretty competent, isn't he?"
That was the wrong thing to say. Julian's expression darkened instantly, his silver eyes flashing with something dangerous. "You think so?"
"I—" I floundered. "I was just making an observation."
"An observation," Julian repeated slowly. "What about me, Nora?"
My brain short-circuited. "What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one. You think Phillips is excellent. What about me?"
"Julian—"
"Or do you think I'm just some bureaucrat who happened to land a fancy title?"
"I never said that!"
"You didn't have to." His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. Sharp and unforgiving. "In your eyes, I'm just the guy who makes your life difficult."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. What the hell is happening right now?
We drove in tense silence for another few minutes. I snuck glances at him, trying to reconcile this petty, jealous man with the cold inspector.
Where did that person go?
The car soon arrived at Riverview Community.
"Thank you for the ride," I said stiffly.
Julian pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he spoke, his voice quieter. "Tomorrow. Your interview. Can I drive you?"
I froze, my hand on the door handle. His tone had shifted—less sharp, more tentative.
"I—" I swallowed hard. "I can drive myself. It's fine."
His jaw tightened again, but he nodded. "All right."
I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold evening air. The door was halfway closed when he called my name.
"Nora."
I turned back.
He was leaning slightly toward the passenger seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel. His mouth curved into a small, lopsided smile. "Good night."
My heart did something stupid. Something inconvenient. "Good night, Julian."
I shut the door and walked toward my building, acutely aware that his car didn't move. Not until I'd disappeared through the front entrance did the car slowly pull away.
---
Marianne came out of the kitchen, carrying an apple pie.
"Where's Henry?" she asked.
I dropped my bag on the couch and sank into the cushions. "He had something come up. Had to leave."
Marianne nodded, but there was a knowing look in her eyes. "Nora, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
She hesitated, then said carefully, "Have you noticed that Henry... might have feelings for you?"
I closed my eyes and sighed softly. "Marianne, please don't."
"You should be able to tell."
"I don't feel that way about him," I said directly. "I just see him as a friend."
Marianne's expression shifted—relief mixed with something like understanding. "Okay. That's your choice."
I let out a slow breath. "Thank you, Marianne."
---
At ten PM, I sat in front of my laptop screen. For the past hour, I'd been browsing through NPR Silverton's website, taking notes on their organizational structure and recent investigative pieces—rust belt industrial pollution, lycan labor rights violations, healthcare access disparities. The stories that truly mattered.
My pen hovered over my notepad as Jacey's words from our phone call earlier replayed in my mind. "With your professional background and frontline experience, you'd make an excellent investigative journalist."
I wanted to believe her. God, I really did. But doubt crept in like cold draft through poorly sealed windows. Could I really make that transition? Could I handle this new job?
My phone vibrated against the desk, the screen lighting up.
Julian: Don't be nervous. Everything will go smoothly.
Julian: Get some rest early, Nora.
I stared at those words. The tension dissolved as I recalled his eyes and smile. Instead, my heart began racing.
I replied: Good night.
I set the phone down, letting myself calm down.
When I finally crawled into bed an hour later, sleep didn't come easily. And when it did, it brought dreams I'd never dare admit to anyone.
---
I was in my office at the DSW branch, surrounded by familiar case files and the perpetual smell of burnt coffee. But something felt different—dreamlike, hazy around the edges. The door opened, and Julian walked in.
He wasn't wearing his usual federal uniform. Just a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that shouldn't have looked that good. His eyes found mine immediately, intense and focused in a way that made breathing difficult.
He crossed the room in three long strides. Before I could process what was happening, his hands were on either side of me, caging me against the filing cabinet. The metal was cold against my back, but his presence was scorching.
"Nora," he said, his voice lower than I'd ever heard it.
Then he was kissing me. Hard. Possessive. Like he'd been holding back for months and finally snapped. My hands found his shoulders, gripping tight as he stole every breath from my lungs. The world narrowed to just this—his mouth on mine, his body pressed against me, the overwhelming heat—
I jolted awake, heart pounding like a war drum against my ribs.
"Oh my God," I whispered to my empty bedroom, covering my face with both hands. The dream had felt so real I could almost still taste him, almost still feel the solid weight of his body against mine.
I sat up, trying to calm my racing pulse. Ten minutes. It took ten full minutes before my heartbeat returned to something resembling normal. But even then, fragments of the dream clung to me like smoke—his eyes, his hands, the way his voice had shaped my name.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I muttered, flopping back onto my pillow. But deep down, I knew exactly what was wrong.