Chapter 7 - Something More Dangerous Than a Deal
Six months later, the Port Mercer Bridge reopened after emergency reconstruction.
Saoirse stood beneath it wearing a hard hat and reflective jacket.
Petra joined her.
“You're staring.”
“I'm inspecting.”
“At Declan.”
Saoirse looked across the construction site.
Declan stood beside Remy near a black sedan.
“He's distracting.”
Petra laughed.
“You're hopeless.”
“Go away.”
“With pleasure.”
Petra left.
Declan approached.
“No cane.”
“I haven't needed one for three months.”
“Fontenot said four.”
“Fontenot is dramatic.”
“Fontenot says the same about you.”
Saoirse smiled.
Castain Construction was finished.
Victor Castain faced federal charges.
Daniel Mercer had accepted a cooperation agreement.
Petra's debt was gone.
And the city had adopted independent testing requirements designed largely by Saoirse.
Declan held something out.
A thumb drive.
She stared at it.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“If that's covered in blood, I'm leaving.”
“It isn't.”
She took it.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Saoirse plugged it into her tablet.
One document appeared.
She read it.
Then looked up.
“You bought the warehouse next door?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For you.”
“No.”
Declan sighed.
“You're becoming repetitive.”
“What would I possibly do with a warehouse?”
“Your engineering consultancy.”
“My nonexistent engineering consultancy?”
“The one you've complained about wanting to start eleven times.”
“Seven.”
“Eleven.”
She kept reading.
The property had been transferred into a trust.
Her name wasn't on it.
Neither was Declan’s.
The beneficiary was a nonprofit infrastructure laboratory Saoirse had once described over dinner—a place where young engineers could independently test public construction materials without political interference.
She stared at him.
“You remembered.”
“Useful information.”
Saoirse smiled.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
She removed the drive.
“What do you want?”
Declan’s expression changed.
“Nothing.”
“That makes me nervous.”
“There is no deal.”
“No obligation?”
“None.”
“No hidden clause?”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“Then why?”
Declan glanced toward the bridge.
“Because six months ago you walked into my office bleeding, handed me something worth millions, and asked whether we were square.”
Saoirse's smile disappeared.
“I remember.”
“I thought we were.”
“And now?”
“Now I know some things shouldn't be calculated.”
Coming from Declan Marr, that was almost a declaration of love.
Almost.
Saoirse wasn't letting him escape that easily.
“That's terrible.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“That speech.”
“You hate speeches.”
“I hate bad ones.”
Declan stared at her.
“What exactly would constitute a good one?”
She stepped closer.
“Try fewer metaphors.”
“Fine.”
“Fewer business terms.”
“Fine.”
“And perhaps tell the woman what you actually mean.”
Declan was silent.
Then he reached for her hand.
“I love you.”
Saoirse blinked.
Declan waited.
For once, the most patient man in the city looked completely unprepared for waiting.
She let him suffer for three seconds.
“Better.”
“Saoirse.”
“I love you too.”
Declan exhaled.
“Was that difficult?”
“Extremely.”
She laughed.
He pulled her gently closer.
Across the construction site, Remy yelled:
“Finally!”
Declan turned.
“Remy.”
Remy immediately climbed into the car.
Petra was laughing beside him.
Saoirse shook her head.
“You know, for a feared criminal organization, your people gossip an extraordinary amount.”
“They're becoming a problem.”
“Don't fire them.”
“Why?”
“I like them.”
Declan looked at her.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“You giving orders.”
“Structural recommendations.”
“Of course.”
Saoirse rested her head briefly against his shoulder.
Below them, traffic moved along the rebuilt waterfront.
Six months earlier, she had walked into his office believing their relationship could be measured like everything else in her life.
Evidence for debt.
Work for freedom.
Risk for reward.
She had been wrong.
Declan reached into his coat.
“There's one more thing.”
She immediately narrowed her eyes.
“If that's another contract—”
“It isn't.”
He opened his hand.
His old brass compass rested in his palm.
The same one that had sat on his desk the night she collapsed.
Saoirse stared at it.
“You love that thing.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you giving it to me?”
Declan closed her fingers around it.
“Because you keep walking into dangerous places.”
She looked up.
“And?”
“I want you to always know the way home.”
Saoirse went quiet.
Declan frowned.
“Still terrible?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Then she kissed him.
When they separated, Declan rested his forehead against hers.
Saoirse smiled.
“You realize we're not square anymore.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
Declan looked at the woman who had arrived in his life carrying calculations, blood, and enough stubbornness to challenge everything he understood about loyalty.
“I'm done keeping score.”
May you like
For once, Saoirse Van had no argument.
And for Declan Marr, that was the most dangerous victory of all
