Nate POV
The morning sun came in hard and unforgiving, slicing through the blinds like it had a personal vendetta. It hit the bathroom tiles, the mirror, my closed eyelids, no mercy anywhere. I groaned and rolled onto my back, one arm thrown over my face like that might shield me from the day.
Adrian Blackwood was already in my mind, gray eyes, boring and assessing, and mostly that infuriating, knowing smirk as he'd already won something I didn't remember agreeing to play for.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
My feet hit the floor, and the memory hit harder. The wall and the heat. The way my body had reacted before my brain caught up. The way he knew that was the part that made my stomach knot; he hadn't guessed, and he fucking hadn't tested.
I stood, dragged myself into the bathroom, and turned the shower on full heat. No easing into it. No comfort. I needed shock. Pain. Something to drown out the echo of his voice in my head.
The water hit my skin like fire. "Good," I hissed under my breath.
Steam filled the room fast, blurring the mirror until my reflection vanished completely. I leaned my forehead against the tile and let the water pound down my back.
"Get it together," I told myself. "You're not sixteen. You're not reckless. You're not—"
My hands betrayed me, dragging over my shoulders, down my arms, over tension I hadn't admitted was there, and my pulse spiked, and the heat pooled low and unwelcome.
"Fuck," I whispered, disgusted at my trail of thoughts and my body's reaction. I shut the water off abruptly and stood there dripping, chest heaving like I'd run miles instead of standing still. When I finally looked in the mirror, the man staring back looked… shaken. Bloodshot eyes. Jaw tight enough to crack teeth.
"This is nothing," I told him. "You've handled worse."
I dressed on autopilot, and I felt thinner than usual.
The CSI office buzzed with its usual controlled chaos when I walked in. Phones ringing. Keyboards clacking. Voices overlapping in that familiar cadence of work and urgency. Clara was already at her desk, posture perfect, hair pulled back tight, sorting files with surgical precision. Ryan leaned against the counter near the monitors, tablet in hand, muttering to himself. Sophie sat at her workstation, coffee steaming beside her, eyes sharp and observant as ever.
"You're early, Cap," Clara said, not looking up.
"Couldn't sleep," I replied in a gruffy voice.
Ryan glanced up immediately. "Oh. That's not ominous at all."
"Shut it," I snapped, dropping my briefcase onto my desk.
Sophie's eyes flicked to my face, then my hands. "You look… tense."
"I'm always tense." I deflected.
"No," she said lightly. "This is different."
I opened my mouth to respond when the front door chimed, and a courier stepped in, clipboard in hand, smile professional and oblivious. He scanned the room, then straightened.
"Delivery for Captain Nathan Cole," he announced loudly.
Too loudly.
Ryan's head snapped up. Sophie froze mid-sip. Clara finally looked up, eyes narrowing.
My pulse went from steady to feral.
"That's me," I said, forcing my voice steady as I stood.
The courier walked over and handed me a white box, immaculate, tied with a pristine ribbon.
"Signature, please."
I signed without looking at the page, and the moment the pen left the paper, the courier smiled wider. "White roses. Very elegant."
Clara stood immediately. "Who are they from?"
The courier checked his clipboard. "Adrian Blackwood."
Silence detonated, and Ryan let out a low whistle. "Oh no."
Sophie leaned forward slowly. "He did not."
Clara's voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "Nate. Do not open that."
Too late, and the scent hit me the second the lid lifted. Clean. Crisp. Intimate. Like something that didn't belong in a law enforcement office, and they were perfect and not a single petal out of place.
Ryan laughed once, incredulous. "That's a power move."
"Shut up," I snapped.
Sophie's gaze was analytical, almost reverent. "He is a madman.n"
Clara crossed the room in three strides. "This is intimidation."
"No," Sophie corrected quietly. "It's possession."
My stomach twisted, and Ryan leaned closer. "Man… he's claiming territory."
I slammed the lid shut. "Enough."
Captain Marcus Levin appeared in the doorway of his office, arms crossed, expression cold.
"Captain Cole," he said evenly. "My office. Now."
Levin didn't sit when we entered, and he stood by the window, looking out over the city as if it personally disappointed him.
"You want to explain," he said, "why a maximum-security inmate is sending you flowers?"
"I didn't solicit them." I defended myself in an assertive voice.
"That's not the issue."
"They were unsolicited," I repeated.
Levin turned. "You met him yesterday, and today he announces himself in my office."
Clara spoke up. "Sir, this is psychological pressure."
Levin's gaze flicked to her, then back to me. "And it's working."
I didn't respond. "That silence," he continued, "tells me everything."
"I can handle this. I have never been able to handle anything that comes my way. And this will not be the first time I get to handle a bastard who thinks he is high and mighty."
"You are compromised," he said flatly.
"I am not."
"You're affected."
I clenched my fists. "I'll dispose of them."
"You'll do more than that," Levin said. "You'll document every interaction. Every response. And if this escalates—"
"It already has," Sophie said softly from the doorway.
Levin sighed. "Cole. I don't care how brilliant you are, and this ends if it jeopardizes the unit."
"I understand."
"Do you?" His eyes softened just slightly. "Because right now, it looks like Blackwood understands you better."
Back at my desk, the box sat like a loaded weapon.
Clara leaned in close. "Throw them out."
"I will."
"Now."
Ryan hovered. "For what it's worth, I'd panic too."
"Ryan."
"Just saying."
Sophie tilted her head. "He wants a reaction, either way."
I stood abruptly, grabbed the box, and marched to the staff bin, and the roses fell in a soft, violent spill of white, and the petals scattered. A few heads turned, and when I walked back to my office, my hands trembled as the fucking scent lingered. And the worst part? I was affected by the fact that the man had given me damn white roses and made me question my sanity as well.