He sat across from her.
Removed his cap.
Set it on the table.
For a second he looked less like a captain and more like a tired man whose life was slipping out of his hands faster than he could grip it.
“Agent Bennett,” he said.
There it was.
The mask finally falling.
Not ma’am.
Not suspect.
Not sweetheart.
Agent.
“You’ve had an unfortunate evening,” he continued.
Claire said nothing.
“We can correct this.”
That almost made her smile.
Men like Hale always believed damage control was the same thing as morality.
He folded his hands.
“Charges can be dropped. Paperwork can be corrected. We can call this what it was. A terrible misunderstanding.”
Claire studied his face.
His wedding ring was worn flat at the bottom. His collar was damp with sweat. A blood vessel pulsed at his temple.
He had probably spent years mastering his command voice.
