The Intelligence Unit Series

Shawn had always known that compartmentalizing would be part of his job, not to mention necessary for his sanity. He'd become a pro at it over the past decade, slotting his very human reactions like fear, anxiety, and sometimes even horror into their appropriate spaces in his mind, locking them away when he left the precinct so he could have some semblance of a normal life and not let the things he saw on the job swamp him. Sequestering work from the rest of his life was a survival skill, one he needed more than ever now that he was Isla's only living parent.

Still...the fact that he'd stood toe to toe and threat to threat with Remington's nastiest criminal, and now, a mere nine hours later, he was about to read his daughter a bedtime story?

Definitely f*****g scary, no matter how good Shawn was at compartmentalizing. "Okay, kid. Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, or Green Eggs and Ham?"

Shawn held out both books for Isla, knowing from experience that it would take her a minute of very careful consideration to choose, even though she had to know both books by heart. They'd done another couple of sessions with Dr. Easton, both together and one on one, during which Isla seemed to bump closer to the understanding that living with Shawn as her only parent was a final and definite thing. The doc had such good words to explain things and get Isla to express her own feelings-she'd even been talking much more at home, and Shawn had no doubt it was because of Dr. Easton's guidance. Even Frankie, who spent every evening with them after work, had an easy rapport going with Isla. His own words were like sandpaper in comparison, too rough and stilted. But he figured they were better than no words at all, even when Isla grew quiet.

"No books," she said, pushing his hand away.

Shawn blinked in surprise. She'd been sullen and more withdrawn than usual tonight. He'd assumed it was because she'd had a long week, but she'd never been short with him before.

He took a deep breath. "Do you want a different one? If you're tired of these, we can-"

"I don't want books. I want my mommy," Isla said, sending Shawn's heart down to his shoes. Of course, Frankie was at an NA meeting. He was going to have to fumble his way through this one on his own.

"I know you do," he said, trying to remember some of the words Dr. Easton had suggested he use. But the truth was, he really didn't know what she was feeling, or how he could fix it. "I'm sorry, kid. I really am." Isla's bottom lip wobbled. "Is she mad at me?"

"What?" He pulled back to look at her, his pulse tripping in surprise. "Why would you think that?"

Isla frowned, tears shining in her eyes. "She went away. She leaved and she didn't come back."

Oh, Christ, he would do anything to ease her sadness right now. "No, Isla. Your mom is definitely not mad at you. That's not why she's not coming back."

After a minute of silence, Isla shook her head, her curls shushing against her pillow. "Is she ever coming back?"

Shawn's heart launched itself at his sternum. He'd known this conversation was coming, and that they'd probably have it a few times as Isla began to really process her new situation. Dr. Easton had said as much at their last session. But he'd been dreading this first one in particular, especially since he was so bad at anything even resembling emotions.

But as he looked down at his daughter, her blue eyes brimming over with tears, he knew one thing, and one thing only.

He'd have to figure it out, because she needed him.

And for as long as he was above ground, he was going to be there for her.

"No, baby. Your mom isn't coming back."

When Isla's little brows furrowed in confusion, Shawn remembered Dr. Easton's warning that it would take Isla a while to understand how permanent death really was, so he took a breath and kept going.

"She died, and that means we can't see her anymore."

"Not ever?" Isla asked, and God, this was by far the hardest thing he'd ever done.

But still, Shawn refused to shy away from her question. "I'm afraid not. Your mom didn't want to go to a place where she couldn't see you, but her body was really hurt. She loved you a lot, though, and I know she misses you, too." "But I want her," Isla said. "I miss her. I miss my mommy."

She started to cry in deeper sobs, each one ripping at him and making his own emotions churn like the ocean in a storm. But he had to be there for her-she needed him no matter how much it hurt-so he did the only thing he could think of. He opened his arms and folded her in tight.

"I know. I'm sad, too," he told her, the catch in his voice proof of just how true it was. "We can be sad together, if you want."

"Mommy loves me?" Isla asked into his shirt, and he rubbed her tiny, trembling back.

"She does. She loves you a lot, even if you can't see her."

"You love me, too?"

Shawn pulled back, making sure Isla could see his eyes as he said, "I love you so much, kid. I am always going to love you, okay? No matter what."

Isla nodded and folded her arms back around him as she cried. Although her emotions damn near wrecked him, he didn't try to shush them away or skirt them, letting her cry until she felt like she didn't need to anymore.

"I love you, Isla," he whispered, over and over so she would know it by heart. "I'm always going to keep you safe."

Only after she'd finished crying and had drifted off to sleep did he tuck her in and move to the chair beside her bed to keep watch over her.

***

Shawn looked at the case board for the trillionth time in the past three days. At this point, putting eyes on it was just a formality; he had the damn thing memorized forward and backward. All the evidence they had against Beck. All the questions surrounding Alfie's death that were still unanswered. Ty and Cade's activity, their meet-ups with Beck, the plan (and backup plan, and backup to the backup) for the day of the meet...all of it had been meticulously organized, outlined in detail, and scribed in stone. Now all they had to do was wait four more days, and they'd take Beck down for good.

Shawn shifted his focus to the spot where Frankie sat beside him, staring holes at the case board, herself. She'd been an instrumental part of coordinating their final plan, offering sharp insight into all the possible scenarios and how best to handle them. She was an amazing cop, letting her feelings guide her just enough to fuel her drive but not so much that they clouded her judgment or her actions. Her vice unit had to be missing her something fierce.

Unease bloomed behind Shawn's sternum like a bruise at the thought. He didn't want her to go back to Atlanta-for f**k's sake, he didn't even want her to leave the room, let alone the state. Now that he had her again, and she had him right back, he wanted it to stay that way.

He wanted her forever.

"You okay?" Frankie asked, tugging him back to the present. "You look like someone ran over your cat."

Grateful for the distraction, he let one corner of his mouth kick up into a half-smile. "That's grim."

Frankie let out a soft laugh. "Fair. But you weren't expecting me to grow a filter now, were you? Anyway, I'm just checking in on you. The case, Isla missing her mom-the last few days have been a lot."

Damn, Frankie could read him like no one else. Which wasn't a bad thing, except for the fact that they were sitting smack in the middle of the Intelligence office. Everyone else might've left for the night, but work was still work. Airing out the personal feelings that had just been swirling around in his brain pan fell squarely under the not the time or the place category, at least for the moment.

"Isla's okay. I was just thinking about the case," Shawn said, which was at least true in part. Isla's sadness had seemed to recede, at least for the time being, and at least now, he knew how to be there for her. "How about you?" he asked Frankie. "You okay with everything we got back from Alfie's autopsy?"

Emotions flickered through Frankie's pretty brown eyes, there for only a second before they were gone. They'd gotten the full autopsy and toxicology report this morning. The ME had found traces of Rohypnol in Alfie's system, along with the rest of the pharmaceutical cocktail that had definitely been the cause of death. The Rohypnol had been hard to trace in the initial tox screen because it didn't last very long in the bloodstream. In truth, they'd been lucky to find it at all. There hadn't been nearly as much as anything else Alfie had taken, but it definitely spoke to Frankie's theory that his death wasn't accidental.

Of course, they had no way of proving that Beck had anything to do with it. But, yeah, it was sending Shawn's red flags up, too.

"Am I okay with it?" Frankie asked, shaking her head. "No. But I can't let it tank me, either. The best thing I can do is focus on the meet. Once we arrest Beck, we'll have plenty of time to piece together whether or not he was involved in Alfie's death." "That's a pretty smart way of looking at it," Shawn said, and Frankie smiled.

"Yeah, well, I blame my partner. He's a pretty smart guy, and he's keeping me on the level."

The tension of the past few days slid away, leaving only the two of them in the room, and Christ, he never felt as right as he did when Frankie was near.

"He sounds like a d**k," Shawn deadpanned, and there, there was the unfettered laughter he craved like air.

"Oh, he's not half-bad." Her laugh quieted into a look of tenderness that did something to his chest that he didn't want to contemplate. "In fact, I really kind of like him."

He needed to focus on the moment so he didn't do something spectacularly stupid, like beg her to stay in Remington. This case was going to require all of their mental energy; they couldn't afford any personal distractions. "It's been a long day, and we could use a break. What do you say we get out of here and drum up some Christmas cheer at the fire house?"

Station Seventeen's annual holiday party was an event that, up until now, Shawn had strictly avoided. But he'd always been more comfortable on the fringes, never quite wanting to get close enough-even to his unit-mates-to let his emotions get the better of him, to think about what he might be missing. But now he had Isla, and, at least for a little while longer, Frankie, too.

He didn't want to waste a single second.

Frankie smiled. "I think that sounds like a plan."

Shawn grabbed his coat and walked out of the precinct, side by side with Frankie. No one would raise a brow at the two of them showing up at the fire house together-even Sinclair had seen them finishing up their casework when he'd left a little while ago. Annette was meeting them at Seventeen with Isla, so he headed directly there. The city was all lit up with Christmas lights, and he and Frankie spent the short trip talking about her latest conversation with her sister, Jo, and how her family was doing. The tension of the week melted away with each passing minute, and by the time they walked through Station Seventeen's front doors, Shawn was as close to Christmas spirit as he was ever going to get.

His happy mood tripled when he saw Annette and Isla standing just inside the vestibule. "Hey, kid," he said. He knelt down to say hello to her properly, his heart pretty much exploding at her smile. "Did you have a fun day?"

She nodded, but didn't elaborate. She was still coming around slowly, which the doc said was to be expected. Shawn had worried that her sadness from the other night would linger, but right now, her eyes glittered with a hint of excitement, so he was going to make the very best of it.

"I have it on good authority that there's a cookie decorating station in there"-he pointed toward the common room, where the sounds of Christmas music mixed in with the happy chatter of the group gathered inside-"and a place to make your own holiday cards. What do you think about that? Do you want to go check it out?"

"Okay," she said. But then, she shocked the hell out of him by taking Frankie's hand instead of his.

A beat of total surprise crossed Frankie's face for only a second before she covered it with a smile. "Let's start with cookies. I'm super hungry."

After a quick goodnight to Annette, they made their way into the common room. A-shift had gone all out on both the decorating and the activities, with lights and garland strung over every available surface, a beautiful menorah beside a basket full of dreidels for the kids to play with, and a Kwanzaa kinara on display. Various craft tables were set up around the large common room for the younger set, as well as a ridiculous amount of food for everyone milling around.

"Hey, look who's here!" came a friendly, familiar voice from behind the cookie decorating table. Connor Bradshaw, who was a trauma nurse and also the director of Remington's best and busiest wellness clinic-not to mention part of the inner circle of cops, doctors, and firefighters who all hung out together on a regular basis and one of Shawn's good friends-gave up a signature grin. "Wait, wait, don't tell me." He pointed at Frankie. "You are Princess Anna, and this"-he waggled his auburn brows at Isla until she giggled-"is Princess Elsa!"

"Nooooo," Isla said, and Connor, the big goofball, pulled an exaggerated frown.

"She's Elsa and you're Anna?"

"I'm Isla," she corrected, and Connor made his eyes go wide.

"Oh, Isla! I'm Connor. I'm friends with your dad. It's nice to meet you. And...?"

He looked at Frankie, who extended her hand with a laugh. "Frankie Rossi."

"Connor Bradshaw," he said, meeting her handshake. "It's nice to finally meet you." At Frankie's lifted brows (and, okay, Shawn's too), he added, "Sorry. I'm close with Tess Riley and Natalie Sheridan, and, they, ah. Might've mentioned meeting you at the hospital last month."

Oh, hell. With the way he'd showed up with Frankie on the night of Lori's accident, all decked out in club wear and unable to explain that they were working undercover, not to mention how deftly Frankie had handled Shawn's wildly uncharacteristic freak out when he'd learned about Isla, of course his friends would talk.

But if that bothered Frankie, she didn't show it. "Of course. I remember meeting them, too. It's nice that you're all such a tight-knit group."

"You have no idea," Connor joked, but Frankie met his laugh with a grin of her own.

"Yeah, I'm second generation Italian-American, and my family tree is so big, it qualifies as its own nature preserve. We gossip like it's an Olympic event."

"Annnnnd I stand corrected," he said, turning back to Isla with a conspiratorial smile. "Well, Princess Isla, I've got some gingerbread men over here that need decorating, and I sure could use a helper. What do you say? Are you up for the job?"

Isla nodded. Connor's wife, Harlow, came over to take Isla to the hand-washing station set up nearby, and Shawn couldn't help himself.

"So, please tell me. Whose idea was it to put you in charge of the cookies, because it cannot be anyone who's actually met you."

Connor spread a hand over the front of his T-shirt. "You wound me."

"Uh-huh. How many cookies have you eaten, dude?" Connor's sweet tooth was roughly the size of a small country.

His guilty chuckle was case in point. "Hey, I didn't say you were wrong," he pointed out, his expression softening by just a touch as he watched Harlow lift Isla onto a step stool to reach the sink. "Listen, man. In all seriousness, it's really great that Isla's with you. I was sorry to hear about her mom. That's got to be really tough." Shawn nodded and said, "It's been a pretty big adjustment, but we're working through it."

"Well, if you ever need anything, just holler, okay? Harlow and I babysit for Tess and Declan and Jonah and Nat all the time. Oh, and Parker and Charlie have another baby on the way, now, too, so yeah. Pretty soon, we'll be at, like, professional-grade aunt and uncle status."

Surprise warmed Shawn's chest. "Thanks, Connor. I really appreciate that."

"No sweat." He laughed. "Just remember that twenty minutes from now, when I let Isla eat all the cookies she wants. That kid is adorable, and, as we've already established, I'm a sucker for baked goods."

Connor went to sit down next to Isla, who had situated herself beside Harlow at the far end of the cookie table, and yeah, Shawn should probably get this over with.

"Sorry about that," he said. "We all hang out together a lot, and Tess and Natalie knew what a big deal it was for me to find out I have a daughter. I'm sure they didn't mean anything by mentioning that you and I were together that night, but..."

Frankie shook her head. "It's okay. Your friends care about you. That's not a bad thing, even if it means they talk from time to time. Anyway," she nudged his shoulder with her own, "I wasn't kidding about my family. My brother and sisters would've done way worse than that if the situation were reversed."

Shawn had overheard her on the phone with her sister, Jo, enough over the past few weeks to believe that was the truth. "How about I bribe Connor into extra cookies to make up for it?"

"Oh, you're on." Frankie grinned. "The big guy isn't the only one around here with a sweet tooth."

They made their way over to the spot where Isla sat, spreading unnaturally green frosting onto a pair of gingerbread cookies at Connor's encouragement. Shawn introduced Frankie to Harlow, then to Tess's husband, Declan, and their son, Jackson, who was close to Isla's age. Tess was on shift at the hospital, but Harlow and Frankie quickly hit it off, to the point that it took all of ten minutes before Harlow whisked her away to go meet their good friend, Charleston Drake, Charlie's protégé and surgical resident, Sofia Vasquez- Mallory, and Sergeant Sinclair's daughter, January Donnelly, who ran the day-to-day office operations at Station Seventeen. Despite being smack dab in the middle of a group of people she'd just met, Frankie looked far from uncomfortable. In fact, her smiles seemed to come as easily as they did often, and the sight of her happiness sent his mood even higher.

"Looks like it's me and you, kid," Shawn said to Isla, his heart kicking as she slipped her tiny hand into his much bigger one. They moved through the crowd, stopping to sample some crazy-good latkes, write a letter to Santa, and say hello to Isabella and Kellan, who were enjoying a rare night out while Elijah stayed with a sitter. Kellan's fellow firefighter-and Capelli's live-in girlfriend-Shae McCullough, joined them, her Cheshire-cat smile warning Shawn that (as usual) she was up to something. "Hey, you guys. Oh, you must be Isla," she said, reaching out to shake Isla's little hand. "I'm Shae."

Isla took in Shae's bunker pants and suspenders, which she wore over a T-shirt that read Dear Santa: I Tried. "Are you a firefighter?"

"Yep! It's the best job ever. In fact, I was just coming over to see if you wanted to go check out the engine." To Shawn, she said, "I'm taking Natalie and Jonah's twins for a quick tour. I thought Isla might want to come, too." Isla's eyes lit with excitement, and okay, yeah, this was a no-brainer. "Sure," Shawn said.

He went to take her hand, but Isabella stepped in, shaking her head. "We can help Shae with the kids. You should get a chance to relax, too."

Shawn's gut panged with the instinct to stay with Isla. But she'd be right out in the engine bay, and whatever Shae had in mind probably wouldn't last more than fifteen minutes, tops. Plus, his friends were all perfectly capable-not to mention, pretty badass-adults, all of whom would look after Isla with care. Letting them do that didn't mean she wasn't in good hands.

Still... "Is that okay with you?" he asked her, taking Dr. Easton's advice to do all that he could to keep Isla in her comfort zone. "Shae and Isabella and Kellan will be right there if you need anything."

She nodded enthusiastically, looking up at Shae like the woman hung the moon. Shae took Isla's hand and sent a wink over her shoulder. "We'll be okay, Dad. Promise."

Shawn's smile snuck out of its own accord, but still, he said, "Nothing crazy, McCullough." This was, after all, a woman who guzzled adrenaline for breakfast and didn't hesitate to ask for seconds. She waggled her brows. "Don't be silly, Maxwell. I won't take her for rope rescue drills until she's at least five. C'mon, Isla! Let's go find Emma and Henry and get this party started."

The group waved and made their way to the engine bay, leaving Shawn to his own devices. He caught sight of Frankie across the common room, her head thrown back in laughter at something Charlie had said. She looked so happy, so wide open and breathtakingly beautiful, that it sent an actual ache all the way through his chest.

"Now there's something I never thought I'd see," came a familiar feminine voice from beside him.

He turned toward Hale, taking in the knowing smile that meant she was about to give him a truckload of crap. But where he'd normally be on the defensive, erasing every last emotion from his face in an effort to stay steady, right now, he was oddly at ease. "And what's that?" Shawn asked.

Hale rolled her eyes even though there wasn't an ounce of true irritation in them. "Aw. For a guy who's as thick as a brick, you're so cute." "Somehow, I feel like that's not a compliment."

"Oh, for God's sake, Maxwell. You. Frankie. The way you were just looking at her like you two belong in a romance novel. You're so far gone for that woman! Just admit it and put me out of my nosy-partner misery."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," was what he meant to say. His defenses queued it up, his lips ready to deliver the denial with all the strength he knew they should.

But what came out was, "I might be," and oh, hell, he was screwed.

Hale's green eyes went wide for exactly two seconds before she clapped her hands with an amount of glee that told Shawn he should've kept his big mouth sewn shut. "Ahhhh, you two are totally together! I knew it!" "Yes, and now so does half the city," Shawn said, but Hale refused to be deterred.

"So, tell me everything," she said, amending her request after one look at his arched brows. "Okay, right. This is you. Tell me...ugh, tell me something, Maxwell! You're killing me, here."

Whether it was his great mood or the fact that he was just tired of fighting it, Shawn honestly didn't know. But something made him say, "Fine. Frankie and I have been spending a lot of time together. Yes, that means what you think it means. No, I'm not giving you any more details than that. And yes"-he took a deep breath-"I really care about her."

"Then why are you saying it like it's a bad thing?" Hale asked, and Shawn blew out a breath. Hale was as close a friend as he had, and he'd already told her this much. He might as well just come out with the rest.

"Because it's complicated. She and I agreed to keep things casual. That was at first, and a lot has happened since then, but we haven't talked about what will happen after this case wraps." Hale's blond brows lifted. "And you want her to stay."

F**k him, he really did. "Yeah. But eight years ago, I got serious about her before she was ready, and it messed with both of us. I just...I don't want to wreck a good thing, you know?"

"And you don't think that not telling her you're serious about her again isn't going to do that?" Hale asked. "I mean, come on, Maxwell. I don't know her nearly as well as you do, but even I know that if you keep your feelings from her, it's going to piss her off." Well, shit. "Okay, but what if I tell her how I feel and it lands us right back where we were eight years ago?"

"It might," Hale said.

"Thanks for the pep talk," Shawn grumbled, and for Chrissake, was she laughing?

"You're welcome. I might be full of glitter and enthusiasm, but one thing I am not full of is shit. Which means I'm not going to lie to you and say it isn't a possibility that Frankie will freak out a little if you tell her how you feel. But that doesn't change the fact that you do feel it, and there's a good chance she feels it, too."

He knew Hale was right. He wanted to believe that, this time, giving his feelings voice wouldn't hurt them both. "Do you really think so?"

"I think there's only one way to find out," she countered. "Yeah, it's a risk. But that look on your face was just so..."

"If you say 'adorable', so help me God-"

"Happy," Hale said, and okay, he hadn't seen that one coming.

Which must have been plastered all over his face, because she added, "Don't look so shocked. Listen"-she put herself in his line of vision so he had no choice but to meet her gaze, and damn, she really was a Pit bull beneath that glittery veneer-"I get that you're not the kind of guy who's led around by his feelings. You like being a step outside of the spotlight because it gives you the chance to observe and be cautious. You're calm to a fault, and it's part of what makes you a great cop. But you deserve to be happy, too, Maxwell. And sometimes that means taking a risk or two."

Shawn stood there for a second, mired in his surprise. But she was right. He'd spent far too long taking his feelings out of the equation because he'd thought they were dangerous. But he cared about Frankie, maybe even more than he had eight years ago. He didn't want to lose her again.

And she deserved to know how he felt, even if those feelings were messy and terrifying. Even if telling her left him vulnerable.

"You know an awful lot about this stuff," Shawn said, nudging her with a shoulder.

Hale's laugh came out oddly soft. "When you've been fed a steady diet of toxic relationships for most of your life, it makes it a whole lot easier to recognize the good ones."

For a split second, Shawn swore that her ever-cheerful expression faltered, but just when he went to say something, her grin came blazing back at full wattage.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go glitter-bomb Dempsey over at the holiday card-making station. He's been stingy with the sequins all night, and I think he needs a little sparkle in his life."

"Far be it for me to stand in the way of that," Shawn said, waving as she headed off into the crowd. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Frankie almost magnetically, as if it were drawn to her by default. She looked up, her brows creasing in a wordless are you okay? But Shawn simply nodded, his eyes steady on hers and his heart completely in her hands.