“Nearly eleven in the morning.”
I’ve never slept that long in my life. I feel like I’m wasting my day. “We need to talk strategy," I say, pushing myself up against the pillows. "If someone in the FBI is behind these cases, we should pool our information. You know things I don't, and I have access to files you can't reach."
Dom shakes his head. "The only strategy you need right now is rest and recovery."
"I don't have time for that luxury," I argue. "Someone tried to kill me because I'm getting close to something. We can help each other."
I attempt to stand, but a wave of nausea has me covering my mouth and looking for the bathroom.
“Shit.” Dom rises quickly and guides me to the bathroom.
I drop in front of the toilet. “Go away.” The last thing I need is for him to see me puke. I’m vaguely aware that he’s still there as I retch into the toilet bowl. How embarrassing.
When I’m done, he helps me up. “Here’s a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a glass of water.”
My body feels like a wet noodle as I go through the motions to brush my teeth and drink some water. Then Dom helps me back to bed.
“I’ll get a bucket or something just in case you need to get sick again.”
God, just shoot me now. “I feel better.” Mostly. “We need to?—"
"You have a concussion," he counters, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me. "And you're still in shock whether you admit it or not."
“I can’t just lay around. I’m sure people are looking for me, but I need answers.”
"No one's looking for you."
His words stop me cold.
"What?"
"No missing persons report. No urgent calls from the FBI wondering where their agent disappeared to. Nothing."
The revelation opens a gaping hole in my soul. I've been gone overnight, missed work, and nobody's raised an alarm? Not even Blackwood? If he’s behind this, wouldn’t he want to cover his ass?
"That's impossible. The Bureau has protocols?—"
"I have people who would know if there was any official search for you." His expression softens. "I'm sorry."
The silence that follows feels suffocating. I've dedicated my life to the FBI, sacrificed any semblance of a personal life for my career, and now... what? I'm expendable? Or worse, my absence is convenient?
"Maybe they just haven't noticed yet," I say, but the words sound pathetic.
Dom doesn't contradict me, but his eyes tell me he knows better. For the first time, I feel truly alone.
“If it’s any consolation, I’d have come looking if you went missing.”
Tears spring to my eyes, highlighting again how empty my life is that the one person who’d care enough to look for me is a mafia criminal.
I decide to change the subject. "Did you kill him? The man who attacked me.”
Dom's eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable. "No. He got away."
His tone is a mixture of regret and frustration that tells me he wishes the outcome had been different. The realization should disturb me more than it does.
"Would you have killed him?" I press, not sure why I need to know.
"Yes." No hesitation. No remorse. Just simple truth.
