“You’ll have fifteen minutes,” the guard says, his tone flat and devoid of any emotion.
“I was told I’d have as long as I needed?”
The guard shrugs. “Those were the orders I was given.”
“From whom?” I push my anger down, but I fail to keep my voice even.
The guard raises a brow. “Fuck if I know.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Thank you,” I say between clenched teeth.
The guard doesn’t hesitate as he slips out of the room and locks me in.
Usually, I have unlimited time to question prisoners. My CIA status gives me that clearance. Someone messed with it, and there’s only one person who has the ability to do that.
Declan.
I pace back and forth, the wheels in my head turning. I’m trying to figure out why Declan would do that when I hear the familiar click of the door across from me opening, and I stop, my body going completely rigid.
There’s the shuffle of two sets of feet across the smooth tile, but I can’t look. Not yet.
“I’ll retrieve you in fifteen minutes,” the new guard mumbles as he pulls out a chair for Owen. The chair scrapes across the tile floor, echoing throughout the small interrogation room.
Owen doesn’t make a sound. No sound of surprise, no greeting, no angry outburst. Nothing but utter silence.
When the click of the door closing behind Owen sounds, I suck in a deep breath and turn.
My heart stops in my chest when I see him. He isn’t even looking at me. His head is bowed, his gaze on his hands, bound in his lap. He looks ten times smaller than I remember.
“Owen,” I whisper, and I cannot keep the waver from my voice.
He finally raises his head. Slowly, as if it’s taking all of his effort to do so.
Tears gather in my eyes, though I don’t let them fall. They make my vision blurry, but I still see him. He looks as though he’s already lost weight. There are deep circles under his eyes, and they look bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days.
I tentatively walk over to the table and pull out the chair in front of him. He tracks my movement but still doesn’t say anything.
Sitting slowly, I want so badly to reach out and touch him, but I fold my hands in my lap instead.
“Owen,” I repeat.
He drops his gaze to the table, refusing to speak.
“Please, Owen. I need to talk to you.”
“So talk,” he says, his voice gruff. He still refuses to meet my gaze.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay where they are. “I’m so very sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry it was me who landed you here. I know you won’t believe me, but after I learned about everything, I tried tosave you.”
His eyes snap to mine and now anger simmers in them. “Tell me, Nova, how’d you get the evidence they’re using against me?”
My heart hammers in my chest. He knows. He knows how I got the evidence. I was the only person he’d ever let into his house. This wasn’tabout me not telling him about my job. This was about the walls he let me tear down. The trust he gave me. And I broke it so thoroughly.
I hold his gaze, as hard as it is for me to do. His eyes bore into mine, and those tears I’m trying to hold back finally slip. “Your house.” My voice cracks.
He huffs and looks away from me, the disappointment replacing the anger, and it feels so much worse.
“Owen, please,” I beg, instinctively reaching toward him and coming up with nothing but a cold table between us. “This isn’t over. I want to help get you out of here. I want…” I sputter a bit as more tears flow down my face. “Shit, Ineedto help you get out of here. I know it will never make up for what I’ve done. I know that what happened is irreparable. You don’t ever have to forgive me. You can hate me for eternity. But I need to do this. I need to finish this. I need to get you out of here, and I need to get those assholes behind bars.”
