Fifteen years. Tyler will be in his forties when he gets out. If he gets out.
I should feel something about that. Sadness. Relief. Anger. Something.
But I'm empty.
Agent Holbrook leaves, and I'm alone again. The medic returns with an IV bag, insists on getting fluids into me, and I let him because it's easier than arguing. The needle slides into my arm, and the cool liquid begins to flow. I watch the eastern horizon lighten as the approaching dawn breaks.
Six hours ago, I was zip-tied to a chair in a warehouse, believing my brother was a victim like me.
Three hours ago, I learned the truth about what Tyler did.
One hour ago, I kissed Colt Harrison like he was the only real thing in a world made of lies.
Twenty minutes ago, I shot my brother.
And in forty minutes I'll disappear.
"Maggie." CJ's voice pulls me out of my spiral. He's approaching alone; Colt is nowhere in sight. "Got a minute?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really." But his tone isn't unkind. He sits down on the tailgate of the Guardian SUV beside me, and up close, I can see the exhaustion in his face. "Hell of a night."
"Yeah."
"Frost gave me his version of events. Now I need yours."
"Agent Holbrook already took my statement."
"This isn't about the FBI. This is about Frost." CJ looks at me directly. "He violated protocol. Went dark. Conducted an unauthorized solo rescue operation. That's grounds for termination."
My stomach clenches. "He saved my life."
"I know."
"The cartel would have moved me in three hours. Guardian HRS couldn't mobilize that fast. He did what had tobe done."
"I know that too." CJ runs his hand over his face. "But I need to understand something. When he armed you and put you in a firefight—was that his call or yours?"
"Mine. I grabbed his weapon and took out the trucks following us. After that, he armed me when we got here, but I'm a former Army. Combat medic. I know how to handle a weapon."
"That's not the point. The point is whether he was thinking tactically or emotionally."
"Both." I pull the IV out of my arm, ignore the medic's protest. "He was thinking tactically because I'm trained and capable. He was thinking emotionally because he gives a damn whether I live or die. Those aren't mutually exclusive."
CJ studies me for a long moment. "You have feelings for him."
It's not a question.
"I've known him for six hours."
"That's not an answer."
I look toward the ranch house where Colt is helping operators document the scene. Even from here, I can see the efficiency of his movements, the way he's compartmentalized everything to focus on the mission.
"He wears dog tags that aren't his," I say finally. "From a woman who died in Caracas five years ago because he followed orders instead of choosing to protect her. He's been punishing himself ever since. Wearing guilt like armor."
"Sofia." CJ's voice is quiet. "We were both CIA at the time. I was his team leader on that op. The call to extract without her came from CIA command. Frost followed my orders."
