But it started right after that day at Martinez Grocery when I was on that work call and Lucas wandered off, came back pale and shaking, wouldn't tell me what was wrong.
Two goddamn minutes. That's all it took for me to fail at protecting him.
"You don't get to ask me about my son." The words come out cold. "You don't get to stand in my house after eight years of silence and act like you know anything about our lives."
"One of the operatives Lucas saw has a distinctive tattoo. Snake wrapped around a dagger on his forearm." He takes a step closer. I force myself not to back away. "The Committee's been running facial recognition through security cameras, cross-referencing with school records and DMV databases. They don't have your address yet, but they're narrowing the search grid. Could be days. Could be weeks. But they will find him."
My mind shifts into the cold logic the cartel taught me. Assess the threat. Calculate the options. Survive.
"What do you want me to do?" The question comes out steady, and I'm grateful for that much.
"Let me stay. Let me set up proper security and protect you both while my team arranges a permanent solution." He never breaks eye contact. "If you run now, you'll trigger every surveillance system between here and wherever you go. Bank withdrawals, gas station cameras, hotel check-ins. The Committee's watching for exactly that kind of movement. But if you stay put and let me fortify this house, you buy us time to do this right. New identities. Witness protection. A relocation they can't trace."
Same words he said outside, but they land differently now. Now that he's connected Lucas's nightmares to something real. Now that I know my son has been carrying this terror alone because he was too scared to tell me.
Photos of Lucas at every age from infant to now line my wall. Lucas smiling, Lucas serious, Lucas being a happy, bright, brave kid. Lucas, who deserves a life where he doesn't have to be afraid of men with snake tattoos and organizations that eliminate witnesses.
Lucas, who needs me to make the right choice even when that choice means letting Colton Stryker back into our lives.
"Fine." The word tastes like defeat, but I say it anyway. "You can stay. But we need rules."
"Rules." He doesn't quite smile, but something shifts in his expression that might be relief.
"You sleep on the couch. You don't interrogate Lucas about what he saw unless absolutely necessary. You don't make promises you can't keep." Meeting his eyes, letting him see every bit of steel I've built over the past years. "And when this is over, when your team finds this permanent solution and Lucas is safe, you leave. You walk away again like you're so good at, and this time you don't come back. Ever."
Shoulders tighten. Jaw works like he's biting back something he wants to say. Good. Let him feel a fraction of what waking up to an empty apartment and a note saying I deserve better felt like.
"Understood," he says finally.
"I mean it, Colton. You're here to do a job. Nothing more. We're not friends. We're not anything except two people who used to know each other and now have a common goal of keeping my son alive."
"I know."
"Do you?" I step closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, close enough to remember what it felt like when those eyes looked at me like I was worth staying for. "Because you have a habit of making things complicated. Ofmaking me think there's more than there is. And I can't do that again. I won't."
"Rachel—"
"I survived the cartel." My voice drops, goes cold in a way I've practiced for years. In a way that keeps people at distance and reminds me that soft gets you hurt. "Over a year of captivity and things you can't imagine, and I came out the other side. Built a life for Lucas and me. A safe life. A quiet life. And then you show up and tell me it's all falling apart again."
"I'm here to make sure it doesn't fall apart."
"You're here because your team sent you. Because someone decided I'd trust you more than a stranger." I shake my head. "They were wrong. I don't trust you at all. But I trust that you're good at what you do, and what you do is keep people alive. So do your job, Colton. Keep Lucas safe. And when it's done, disappear like you did before."
Silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things we're not saying. All the history we're both pretending doesn't matter when it matters more than either of us wants to admit.
"I'll need access to your security," he says finally, shifting into professional mode like the personal conversation never happened. "Doors, windows, any alarm system you have. I need to know the layout of the house, sight lines from the street, escape routes if we have to move fast."
"I don't have an alarm system."
Something tightens in his expression. "You lived through being held by a Cartel lieutenant and you don't have a state-of-the-art alarm system?"
"I have locks. I have awareness. I have a nine-millimeter in a biometric safe and the training to use it." I sound defensive, and I hate that. Hate justifying my choices to him. "Micah taught me how to shoot before he handed me off to the FBI handlers.Said I should know how to protect myself if anyone from the compound ever came looking."
"Good." His voice softens just slightly. "That's good. But locks and a pistol won't stop the Committee if they send a team. I need to set up better security. Motion sensors. Cameras. Something that gives us warning before they're at the door."
"And that won't look suspicious? Suddenly having a security system that could guard a bank?"
"Normally, yes. But I can make it look gradual. A few cameras this week, motion sensors next week. Spread it out so it looks like you're ramping up slowly after Lucas's nightmares got worse." He pauses. "Plus, I have access to commercial-grade equipment that doesn't require professional installation permits or companies logging your address in their databases. No paper trail for the Committee to follow."
