Page 70 of Deadly Force

She's still standing.

That's the only thing that matters.

Brooke

Back inside St Mary’s again, I stand near the watercooler, arms crossed. My heel taps against the tile in a restless rhythm I can't seem to stop.

A nurse brushes past us, rubber soles silent on tile, clipboard clutched tight. She glances at us—two women having an intense conversation by the watercooler—but keeps walking.

My voice cuts through the ambient noise. "It’s the perfect opportunity to snoop."

Samantha doesn't even blink. Her tone is even, cool. "Fearless is one thing, Brooke. Brainless is another."

I scoff, throwing my hands up. The motion sends my elbow into the watercooler's side panel, a dull thunk that echoes off the walls. "Wow. Okay. You literally walked into a house filled with terrorists!"

A doctor in scrubs passes between us, stethoscope draped around his neck, muttering into a phone about discharge orders. We both pause, voices lowering instinctively.

"Caleb will do anything you ask him to," Samantha says once he's gone.

My back straightens. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means."

"You think I'm manipulating him?"

She lifts a shoulder, but her jaw ticks. "I think you're so caught up in this story that you've lost sight of the risk to him."

My stomach knots. "This from the woman who strapped a bomb to my brother!"

An elderly man shuffles past with a walker, oxygen tank trailing behind him. The steady hiss of the tank mingles with our rising voices. Samantha's color drains from her face, then floods back fast. Her voice is tight now. "And I lived to regret every choice I made. If you go in there, Caleb will follow you. Just like Mick followed me. Except he had a plan, and a team."

I take a step forward, arms wrapping tighter around myself. The watercooler gurgles behind me. "Caleb has Reese."

"That doesn't make it any less risky for him. Mateo proved that."

A page crackles over the intercom—"Dr. Martinez to room 618, Dr. Martinez to room 618"—and I use the distraction to look away from her piercing stare.

"You think I should quit, don't you?"

She tilts her head slightly. "Ithinkyou have a family who would be devastated if something happened to you because you were trying to prove a point."

The words hit like a slap. My throat goes tight. Iglance away, at the bulletin board covered in safety notices, at the scuff marks on the baseboards, anywhere but her face.

"I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to find the truth," I mutter.

A janitor wheels a mop bucket past us, the wheels squeaking in an off-rhythm that sets my teeth on edge. The smell of pine cleaner follows in his wake.

Samantha’s mouth tightens at the corners.

She doesn't argue. Doesn't retreat.

I almost wish she would.

Because it would make it easier to ignore the part of me that knows she's right.

Caleb

The moment Brooke and Sam step back into Mateo's room, Brooke starts pacing like she's trying to outwalk a lit fuse. Back and forth in the narrow space between the bed and the window, each turn sharper than the last. Her fists keep curling and releasing like she's trying to bleed off pressure.