Page 1 of Protecting Love

PROLOGUE

“You’re joking, right?” Lorraine Wilcox said.

“Why are you pissed?” Fletcher asked. “I thought you’d be thrilled that I got promoted.”

He dragged a hand through his dark hair. Too long by his standards and overdue for a cut.

Anyone else would have called it fine. He liked it precise. Controlled.

It came with the job.

With the expectations.

With everything his wife used to say she admired about him.

Now it felt like ammunition.

“It means your promise to retire in two years is bullshit,” Lorraine said flatly. Seventeen years of marriage, and she still knew exactly where to hit.

“That’s not true,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “More money doesn’t change my twenty-year plan. Why do you always jump to the worst conclusion?”

Her sharp and restless pacing was almost daring him to snap. To raise his voice. To lose control. Anything to give her an edge.

He didn’t. He couldn’t. At work or at home.

“Because for fifteen years we’ve done nothing but move,” she said. “Transfer after transfer with the FBI. So tell me, where are we going now?”

At the kitchen island, Ian looked up. His headphones were on, but no music played.

The kid had learned to fake it.

He noticed. And he hated that he saw these things in his son’s life so late.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he said. “I’m taking over the field office here. You loved New York when we got here.”

Her eyes stayed level on his. “Are you staying in organized crime?” she asked. “Or moving somewhere worse?”

He softened. He understood her fear, even if he was exhausted by it.

“I’m staying put. Less fieldwork and more oversight.” He stepped closer and pulled her into his arms. “If you’d let me finish a sentence before assuming the worst⁠—”

She stiffened just like she’d been doing a lot lately. What else was he missing out on?

Too much, and all the more reason he put in for this position without telling her.

Hoping it’d be a good surprise and yet, once again, it seemed he couldn’t do anything right.

“So we’re not moving?” Ian asked. “Because I like it here. I finally fit in.”

Fletcher exhaled slowly. “No, buddy. We’re done moving. I promised your mom I’d retire after twenty years, and I meant it.”

“If not longer,” Lorraine said, shoving out of his embrace.

He looked up and counted to five. “It feels like you’re looking for reasons to fight lately.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ian muttered.

That—that right there—was why Fletcher wanted the promotion.