Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Always the same question… did I make a mistake by throwing in the towel?
“Pelham is out of surgery,” Malik says, and I pull my attention back to the room. “Femur damage was significant and required a second procedure. He’ll be in the prison medical unit for another two to three weeks before they transfer him to general population. Bail was denied—flight risk, obvious danger to witnesses.”
“Good,” I say dully. I mean… yeah, glad that wound I gave him will haunt him the rest of his days and also glad he’ll hobble around behind bars for a good chunk of the rest of his life. But in the grand scheme … not overly important to me.
“DelRey and Schwartz both posted bond. Million dollars each, ankle monitors, house arrest.” Malik leans back in his chair. “RainVest stock dropped forty-one percent at opening bell this morning. Trading was halted twice.” A pause as he stares at me a long moment. “The company is functionally done. Whatever assets DelRey has liquid he’s going to burn through on legal fees before this goes to trial.”
“Schwartz will flip,” I say confidently. “He’s the weasel of the bunch.”
Malik chuckles with a nod. “Yeah… apparently there’s a pool going in the FBI office. Hara bet he’ll flip within the week. My sources tell me his lawyer has already made informal contact with the prosecution about a cooperation agreement.”
I don’t say anything because really, it’s not amusing to me the way it is to Malik or Hara.
I think he mistakes my silence for worry about the case, his expression somber yet reassuring. “It’s over, Cole. Everything Tessa built holds. The case is airtight, she’s safe and it all goes back to normal.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, forcing a small smile and rising from the chair. “If that’s all, I’ve got a few things I’ve got to do.”
“Sit,” Malik orders, and while it’s said in a neutral tone, I can see the weight of authority in his expression. I lower myself back down into the chair. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I say, my jaw tightening in defiance.
“Bullshit.” He crosses his arms on his desk and leans forward, as if removing those extra few inches between us lends more credibility to his words. “I know some post-traumatic stress when I see it, and you’ve had your fair share of trauma recently.” He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a card and slides it across the desktop. “I want you to call this man and set up an appointment, and before you argue, this isn’t a recommendation. It’s an order.”
I nab the card, flip it over to read. James Miller, Psychologist, and under it is a small line that says Specializing in Combat Trauma, Reintegration Issues, Moral Injury. My eyes lift to Malik. “You want me to see a shrink?”
Malik’s gaze hardens. “I want you to get help, which I think you need.”
I tip my head and laugh, tossing the card back at him. Malik’s eyes go round in shock, then light with furious fire. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking psychological help,” he snaps, completely offended. And I suppose he would know since he went through a brutal period as a prisoner of war.
I shake my head, my chuckles dying down. “I’m not dissing psychological help,” I assure him, my words sobering. “But that’s the wrong kind of psychologist I’d need.”
He stares at me blankly for all of two seconds, then I see understanding filter in. “Tessa,” he says.
Just that one word… the one person who has me fucked up. “Yeah… Tessa.”
“Not good?” he asks. “I just assumed when you needed a few days off that you were spending them with Tessa. Celebrating the victory, cementing the reconnection.”
“I spent them camping up in the Cascades,” I say. “Alone.”
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I look at the tactical map on the wall behind him, the pins still in it from the property in the Cascades.
“Nothing’s going on. The case is closed, she’s—”
“Cole.”
I stop.
He looks at me with eyes that have seen more than any human should have to see and he doesn’t say anything else. He was in a ten-by-ten hole in the Syrian desert and recalibrated entirely what qualifies as difficult. He’s got the patience to wait me out.
I look at the map for another moment, then succumb to the realization I’m probably not leaving this office until I give him what he wants. “Tessa and I parted ways, and since I know you’ll hammer me for details, let’s just say it’s the same problem that broke us apart five years ago. I don’t like that she works a dangerous job and she refuses to leave it. End of story.”
“If it were the end of the story, you wouldn’t be sitting here looking like a man who lost everything.” I wince, because that’s pretty accurate to how I feel. He’s looking at me not with judgment or sympathy but more along the lines of recognition. “You assumed she’d change because of what she went through… well, what you both went through. That she’d finally understand your position.”