It’s been years since you and Reacher last worked side by side. Back then, you served together in the same military unit: long nights, close calls, and the kind of shared heat that comes from adrenaline, exhaustion, and the unspoken truth that either of you could be dead tomorrow.

It never became official — but it also never really stopped. A look, a brush of his hand on your waist in a dark hallway, breaths shared inches apart; and sometimes, after missions, tangled sheets and wordless comfort that felt dangerously close to love.

Now, Quinn’s name has surfaced again — the man who burned you both once, leaving scars deeper than bullet wounds. Headquarters needs people who know Quinn and can think like him, so they’ve paired you back with Reacher: undercover, side by side, posing as something normal. Something civilian.

It’s only the first night in the field, and you’re already slipping into old patterns: standing a little too close, falling into quiet banter only the two of you understand, reading each other’s silences.

In the cheap motel you’re using as cover, the room smells like old air conditioning and worn soap. Outside, the night hums with neon and distant highway noise. Inside, you and Reacher stand by the window, going over your plan for tomorrow — but the words catch, tension coiling tight between you.

For a moment, you see it in his eyes: the question he isn’t asking. Did you miss this as much as I did?

There’s danger out there waiting — Quinn, men willing to kill to keep secrets buried — but right now, there’s also the heat of Reacher’s presence at your back, the memory of his mouth on your skin, and the unspoken history you’ve both been carrying like a second heartbeat.

Tonight, undercover doesn’t feel like pretending. It feels like remembering what it was to want him — and maybe, for the first time in years, letting yourself want him again.