Page 37

Kelly

Ribs, head, everything throbs as I pace the surgical wing’s waiting area. I’m not sure what’s worse, the fluorescent lights or the cloying scent of antiseptics. As they have since landing on the roof, Hunt’s friends huddle nearby.

I’m so grateful for their rescue, I don’t know what to say. While dangling from a rope hundreds of feet above ground was not my favorite exfil, it was way better than what those mercenaries had in mind.

I jump when my phone pings.

Kade: Any news?

Me: Not yet.

Kade: Hang in there.

A few seconds later, I divert the Border Sector Chief’s call to voicemail. There will be plenty of time for Homeland to question me once Scott’s out of surgery.

After yet another person in scrubs strolls by, my fingernails dig into my palms. What the hell is taking so long? Can’t someone give us a friggin’ update? What if he was too weak? What if my staples caused an infection?

I’m about to go Mount Vesuvius when FBI Special Agent Axel Wulf hands me a Styrofoam coffee cup. “You do realize you look like shit, O’Malley? You should get checked out while we wait.”

“I’m fine. Hunt caught a bullet, not me.” My throat tightens as I picture the pain in his eyes during those hopeless moments on the mountain. “H-He even jumped off a cliff.”

Brows furrowed, the silver fox’s mouth purses. “So tell me, are you worth it?”

What? Where the hell did that attitude come from? Before I can defend myself, the task force leader’s phone rings. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”

Earbuds in, lips to the device, the rude man who apparently hates me walks toward a deserted corner of the room.

Can I blame him? By now, he probably knows Iranians have been pouring into my piece of Vermont. I should’ve gone over Dante’s head ages ago. By protecting me, he put millions of people at risk.

Using both hands, I gulp down my hospital coffee, AKA mud, and grimace. Eating away at what’s left of my gastric lining, the caffeine kicks in.

When Wulf pulls out his headphones, I intercept him on his way to sit with his coworkers. It occurs to me, after all I went through, he could at least keep me in the loop.

“Can I ask if you confiscated the ricin?”

The G-man hesitates so long, I’m sure he’s going to say no. Releasing his resting bitch-face, he exhales. “The United States has some of the safest drinking water in the world.”

Head swimming, my knees buckle.

Holy shit, those chemists were going to poison our reservoirs? “But you stopped them, right?”

“Yeah, but not without casualties. That’s on you.” He scrolls his phone and lays it in my trembling hands for me to read. The article describes dozens of chemical factory closures.

“For emissions violations?” My eyes roll. “That’s the best lie your guys could come up with?”

“The Bureau’s got a whole department dedicated to misinformation.” He shrugs. “Not my circus, not my orangutans.”

Fresh out of snappy retorts, I lean back in the chair. Nervously, I reach for the epicenter, the place where the mercenary cracked my head open. My gentle probe sends blinding shocks shooting behind my eyes with an extra dose of nausea.

My head is still between my legs when a physician holding an iPad calls out, “Agent Wulf?”

Struggling to my feet, I ignore the burning in my gut and join the other four gathered around the bearded man.

I miss the first part of what he says, catching only, “…into a private room soon.”

The task leader shoves a badge under the doctor’s nose. “National security. Can we talk?”

Heads together, they walk away.

What about me? Don’t I get to know? Fuck HIPAA.

Of the three left, the woman, Rhonda, appears to be the most approachable, so I ask her, “How is Scott? Is he okay?”

I’m ready for a fight until her eyes soften. “Oh boy. You got it bad.”

“Yeah, I love him.” Did I just blurt out my secret?

Steady grip on my elbow, she directs me into a chair. “He’s going to be fine. They were worried he might lose a kidney, but the treatment is working.”

Tears well as everything comes crashing down at once. Standing there, in the middle of the waiting room, in front of his FBI crew, my airways constrict.

Unable to hold back, I sob. I cry for the woman I was before The Incident. I cry for my brother, my daughter. I cry for the mercenaries who will never see their families again. I cry for a world overtaken by the power of hate and fear.

When I’m finished, I hide my face, racing to the ladies room. While I hiccough and blow my nose, Rhonda slips inside. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s healthy to get it out.”

“Thanks.” I moan at the monster in the mirror. With bruised, wind-burnt cheeks, stringy red hair, and deep circles under her eyes, I don’t even recognize myself.

Ignoring my reflection, I splash water on my face until I feel more human. As I pat dry with a paper towel, Rhonda grabs the door handle. “Wulf’s waiting to debrief you. You ready?”

“No, not really.” Why would I want to discuss the shitty decisions which led to this week? I’d rather have a wisdom tooth pulled, maybe all four.

“You’ll be fine. Beneath his gruff exterior, Axel’s a real softy.” Arm around my waist, she leads me to an admin office, empty except for one fierce-looking G-man.

Room spinning, I sit in a chair facing the desk. “Is Scott awake?”

“Not yet. Did you do the stapling?” His accusatory stare is too much to bear.

Again, I blink away tears. “You don’t understand. We were under fire. I had so little time…”

“The doctor said you saved his life. Thank you.” The man who spent oodles of taxpayer dollars to rescue me is probably trying to soften me up.

I need to set him straight and come clean. “Listen, Special Agent—”

“Call me Wulf.” His smile appears genuine enough, but I’m not buying it.

While I try to make sense of his change in attitude, a young orderly places a tray of questionable food on my lap. My stomach growls. I can’t quite remember the last time I ate.

“You can start whenever you’re ready. I’m recording.” As he clunks his cell phone on the oak table, I gasp.

This is it. My day of reckoning. Where should I begin? “I served one tour. After I came home, I was hired by DHS. At that time, we rotated. One person patrolled the woods almost every night.”

Nerves on edge, I place a straw in my mouth and swallow hard before putting the carton back in the tray. This is going to be harder than I thought. “My first month on the job, I received a call from a farmer. He was hiding in his basement while armed men invaded his property. Following protocol, I called for backup. With their ETA’s of over thirty minutes, I had to decide. Wait or act?”

“Go on.” The agent’s steely gaze sends a chill down my spine.

You can do this, Private. “I drove to the farm, pulled to the side of the road… and woke up in the hospital. The attendant told me I fought hard. My knuckles were broken, as were my nose and jaw. They did a test because of… of internal bruising.”

My face heats. The therapist said none of this was on me, which, of course, it wasn’t, but it’s still nothing I want to discuss. “I was roofied. I remember nothing of the attack and never will.”

“I’m very sorry that happened to you, Miss O’Malley.” Wulf’s unreadable face twitches.

I want to believe he cares, but I know better. The world is a cold, hard-hearted place. “Thank you, Wulf, but I don’t want, or need, your sympathy. Please just understand my mindset at the time.”

To stop my hands from wringing, I slip them under my butt. “After The Incident—Sorry, I mean the attack, I was transferred to traffic duty. Soon after, Vermont lost funding. Dante said I was only to cover the port. All field calls were forwarded to him. This was the status quo until Jack Gurion showed up, claiming to work for Fish and Wildlife.”

“How does Bourdin fit into the picture?” Respect. The man has done his homework.

“He’s a coyote, a thug, and a bully. He’s even sexually threatened my thirteen-year-old daughter. Everyone knows he brings people from Canada through the woods, but they’re afraid to say anything.”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but he escaped.” Maybe it was unintended, but the sucker punch hit below the belt.

Clasping the chair arms, I resist the overwhelming urge to bolt out of this room, pick up Mack, and drive until no one can find us.

No doubt sensing my reaction, Wulf rolls his seat closer. “Start from the beginning. Again.”

Mind numb, I fixate on a stain in the drop ceiling, recounting everything—from the moment Scott arrived to the harrowing helicopter rescue. By the third retelling my voice is hoarse, my foot asleep.

“We done?” Wiggling my toes, I stifle a yawn, barely able to keep my eyes open.

Fingers steepled in front of his lips, Hunt’s friend purses his lips for the longest time while I sweat.

Finally, mind made up, his gaze meets mine. “This isn’t going to be easy to hear. Dante made thousands of dollars working for Bourdin.”

“No.” The undigested food in my bowels churns. “That’s not possible.”

The room fills with fog. Back in my car on the night in question, I call Rob. “I’m outside Lamoille’s farm. Please. Send help.” But, if he was dirty…

Oh God. The past disappears. Now, I’m back in the office, my vision sharper than it’s been in years.

The betrayal’s so obvious, my chest aches. “He set me up?”

“There can be no doubt. I’m sorry.” Using a much softer tone, the agent turns his laptop screen, scrolling through bank statements and text messages.

My fists clench. Dante ruined my life. This is so totally fucked up. "How could I have been so blind? So stupid? I deserve whatever’s coming."

Holding out my wrists for cuffs, I bite back a sob. “You can arrest me now. I’m ready.”

“For what?” Face skewed, he picks up a ringing cell phone and presses mute.

Was he not listening to anything I said? “I knew noncitizens were crossing over the border. I should’ve stopped them.”

“Robert was your direct superior, employed by DHS for over forty years. No one would’ve taken your word over his. Case closed. Put your hands down. Let’s go see if Hunt woke up yet.”

“Could you give me a moment?” I hate the weakness in my shaky voice. I don’t deserve kindness. Why doesn’t he see this is all my fault?

I was right. Emotions make you weak. It’s time to regroup, to roll back to who I was before Scott Hunter showed up. I need to lock this part of me away—this time, for good.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I squeeze my eyes tight. Alone, I rebuild the image of my mental box, then shove every stupid, useless feeling inside. Wrapping it in thick chains, I snap the padlock closed with a satisfying clunk, then hurl it into the ocean’s abyss.

Never, will I open it again.