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I stop as a faint buzzing attracts my attention. My cell phone? Could it be Matteo? I’m not supposed to talk to Matteo. I’ve blocked his number. I don’t want to talk to any of my friends or family and put them in danger. All they know is that I left Matteo and filed for a divorce a few months ago.

“I’ll answer it if you want.” Reggie moves toward my purse while I stand frozen in the kitchen doorway. “It’s a 212 number. That’s the D.C. area code.”

Reggie holds up a small black phone, not my personal cell phone in its teal case. “That’s the other phone. The cell they gave me at the church,” I breathe out, and my knees shake a little. “It has to be my handler, Agent Powell? Or someone in WITSEC?”

Reggie passes me the phone, and I answer in a low voice, nameless fear floating around me. I don’t know what they’ll say, but even routine things feel like great big terrifying problems.

“Mrs. Gray?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Mr. Powell. Is now a good time to talk? Do you have any company?”

“Just Reggie. My husband, Reggie,” I answer, plopping bonelessly into a recliner in the living room.

“A hot day, isn’t it? I bet you could use a drink.”

That’s my safety question. If I answer with “Yes, I could use a lemonade” or use the word lemonade in some other way, that would be the code for needing help.

“It’s humid as heck. I’m fine. Everything is good. I really am alone with Reggie, and I was about to cook dinner.”

“Excellent. I was calling to check on you.”

The sarcasm in my voice is sharp enough to peel the potatoes in the next room. “I’m peachy.”

“Understandable. That’s not the only reason I called.

Mr. Delgado’s lawyer has filed a motion for discovery.

The judge won’t hear about it until Monday, but our evidence will be presented to him.

A source close to Delgado expects him to turn and inform on his higher-ups in the organization. Do you think that’s likely?”

“What? Me? How the hell should I know? I was sleeping with a fucking terrorist for a year and didn’t even know it!

” I know I sound like a crazy bitch, but I can’t help it.

That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard—asking the Queen Dupee to assess the King Duper. “I’m sorry. Sorry for cursing at you.”

“You have a unique perspective. You know if Mr. Delgado is more likely to protect his own interests or those of others. That’s all. Nothing hinges on your comments. I simply think your insight might be valuable.”

I think back. I can hear Reggie running water and moving pans in the kitchen. I wish he were holding my hand instead, but I guess it is getting late. We need to eat.

Would Matteo take an opportunity to get out of jail? How do I know? No one likes prison! But... I close my eyes and envision the face I’ve tried to block.

Smooth. Suave. Perfectly gelled hair. Perfectly pressed suits. Dripping money and charm.

“If he informs, would there be a chance he could go into WITSEC? Or would he just get a lighter sentence?”

Powell hesitates. “Well... That depends on the information he provides, of course.”

The conviction (and the distaste) grows within me. I used to think Matteo wanted to look good for me, but I realize now that he just plain wanted to look good. It was all about his image—down to the pretty blonde wife he picked to dress up and bejewel.

“If he can stay out of prison, I’m sure he’ll talk. Armani doesn’t make prison uniforms. $300.00 bottles of cologne and $200.00 shots of tequila aren’t going to come along with his weekly phone call, right?” I ask, the bitterness in my tone burning my throat.

“No. Not even the most lenient prisons offer that kind of luxury.”

Without warning, I see the next chapter of Matteo’s life.

He’ll talk. He’ll go into hiding. Instead of cowering in fear, he’ll become a hot sugar baby to a wealthy older woman who can keep him safe and spoil him.

He won’t mind, because any imperfections on her face or body will have been remediated with silicone and laser sculpting.

I know love won’t matter. I’m proof of that.

I want Matteo behind bars, where he can’t hurt me or anyone else—but more importantly, I want the organization that terrorizes hundreds of people every year to collapse as quickly as possible. I want the demons they summon to be sent back to Hell, not that I can tell Agent Powell that.

Mainly, I want to be alive to see those things happen.

My voice is faint as the truth drags out of me, “I think he’ll talk if he can keep his kind of lifestyle.”

“The program won’t pay him a salary, Mrs. Gray. We may give the citizens under our protection some seed money, so to speak, but—”

“Matteo will use his looks and his charm to get what he wants. He’ll find someone to let him live lavishly, even if he has to work at it for a little while.” Or he’ll summon another demon, and make another sacrifice to get a brand-new life. Again, can’t tell them that. “There. That’s my ‘insight.’”

“Very useful. We’ll update you on Monday evening or Tuesday morning. Once we see you on Tuesday, we’ll begin discussing your time at the orientation center in D.C.”

“Orientation center? This isn’t like you’re sending me off to college!”

“No, but there are a lot of things to be done. Routine exams by medical, dental, and psychiatric professionals, choosing a location for your new life, choosing a new last name, and getting your paperwork and identification documents. You’ll remain in the building at all times.

Other families will also be there, but no one will see you or speak to you except your designated team. ”

If I’m being helpful, how come I’m going to something that sounds eerily like prison? “How many days does that take?”

“Oh, not long. Six weeks, tops. Sometimes as few as four.”

“Six weeks!?” I screech.

Reggie is back at my side in a flash. “What’s wrong, honey?”

If I wasn’t so pissed, I’d love the affectionate, protective tone in his voice as he kneels next to me. “Wait, if Delgado is put in this program, would he be there at the same time?”

A split-second pause. “Of course not.”

Reggie taps my shoulder. “He’s lying,” he mouths.

My stomach drops. I recall what Reggie said about how he knows when to trust people. His gut has seen him through some pretty tense situations, so if he trusts it, I decide I will too. “Did you lie to me?” I grip the phone hard, muscles rigid as I try to keep my shit together.

“No.”

Reggie shakes his head and holds up two fingers. Powell lied. Twice.

“Isn’t it conceivable,” I push, “that if I have to be there for six weeks, the end of my time might coincide with the beginning of his?”

The pause is longer. “Like I said, you’ll see no one but your team, so the other tenants are of no consequence.”

“Truth.” Reggie nods, eyes dark and dangerous.

Suddenly, this charade is too much. Six weeks in isolation (well, something like it) seems like too much. What will life without my family and friends be like? And if Matteo is walking around free—what’s to stop him from turning on me and then giving up more people to get away with my murder?

“Mrs. Gray?”

“I’m... I’m having some second thoughts about this.”

“I understand. It’s very frightening and overwhelming,” Powell’s voice is soft and soothing.

My head turns to Reggie. His face is neutral.

I guess there’s no lie to be detected there.

“If you let a murderer go, what’s to stop him from murdering me?

Because he’ll know I’m the witness after this ‘discovery.’ And if he gives you lots of information, there’s no guarantee that he won’t have some in reserve and some connections who are loyal to him.

Loyal connections who might want to hurt me.

” My fingers feel cold, and my head feels light.

I stand up. I have to walk or I’ll faint.

That doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t have to make sense.

“Well, we’ll keep you safe. We’ll check in on you frequently, and then after you’re settled, you can check in when you want, as long as you contact us at least once a year. We’ll be keeping tabs on Delgado, too. He won’t be near you.”

“But his old buddies might be.”

“Activities with ‘old buddies’ would get him removed from the program.”

But there are buddies you can’t see! Monsters right under your noses that you don’t even notice! I want to scream.

Reggie takes my cold hand in his, head shaking, free hand weaving back and forth.

A partial truth. Which part? I can’t really ask right now. “What about my family? They think I’m still hopping around Europe and New York City as the gay divorceé.”

“You can write to them, and they can write to you. You can call them on special lines that we’ve established. You won’t be allowed to keep each other’s letters. The U.S. Marshal Service will take them and dispose of them.”

Reggie nods firmly.

“What you might want to consider, Mrs. Gray—Therese, is what could happen if you decide to go this alone. There’s no guarantee of safety or monitoring unless you’re in the WITSEC program.

Your fears about Delgado might prevent you from testifying—but the evidence on your flash drive is enough to ensure that Delgado is connected to the terrorist organization.

What he does next may allow him to make a deal, regardless of whether you’re in the program or not.

Now, doesn’t it seem safer to be protected? ”

I don’t feel very safe with my government handlers right now. “I guess. Uh. Dinner is burning.”

“You sleep on it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night.” I hang up and head back to the stove, bypassing Reggie.

“If you follow the rules, you’re going to be safe,” Reggie calls, trotting after me.

He peels potatoes while I put more butter in the pan.

It sizzles to nothing almost instantly, so I lower the heat, working on muscle memory after living in hotels for over a year.

I get the steaks and the onions that Reggie sliced into the pan as Reggie reduces the potatoes to perfect slices in seconds.

“I can see you’re good with a knife, too. Sounds like that’s going to be a good thing,” I mumble, eyes stinging, and not just from the smoking butter.

“I don’t know a lot about the program, but I know they have a good record as long as you follow the rules and don’t get sloppy. The rules are restrictive.”

“And lonely,” I whisper.

“But... you can have family go with you. Family... or partners.”

“Uh-huh. But my parents have their own lives, and their community—for as small and tacky as it may appear to outsiders—is safe and supportive. At least to people who fit the mode. And I can’t ask my parents and siblings to put their lives on hold to go into hiding with me—probably forever.

” I push the onions around as the smell of sizzling steak tries to lift my mood.

Steaks remind me of Daddy’s payday around Christmas when the bonus money always bought us a steak dinner at Belvedere’s Steakhouse, the only “nice” restaurant in town.

My tears hit the skillet, making the grease pop and spit on my bare arms.

Reggie reaches past me and adjusts the heat for a moment. “I didn’t mean them. I meant... me.”

Let the steaks burn. I whip around to face him, nearly singeing off my arm hair on one side. “Excuse me?”

Reggie's thin but beautifully shaped lips are tight, his square chin jutting forward. “I’m offering. To go with you when you move into the program. That means I’ll go with you for orientation, too.”

There’s undercover, and then there’s insane. Reggie is insane.

I must be insane, too. I want to yell, “Yes!”

But I don’t. “You can’t do that.”

“I can. Or...” He licks those lips, and I remember his hot, heavy kisses, the way his tongue moved expertly against mine.

“If you don’t want me in the program with you, but you just want me to meet you there, just to be where you are, I can do that.

Don’t ask how I’d find you, but I would.

” His hand brushes across my collarbone, then rests on his chest. “We are bound together. Apart or together.”

“I can’t let you do that. You have a life. We don’t know each other that well.”

Sure as fuck didn’t know Matteo, did I? And I lived with him for a lot longer, but I trust Reggie a lot more.

“I can go where I want. I know where I am supposed to be. I know where I want to be, Therese. With you.”