His jaw tightened. “I’ll stay on my side.”
We lay down with careful space between us, both staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, every muscle liquefied from the adrenaline crash.
“How long have you been in law enforcement?” I finally whispered. “Did you become some sort of agent as soon as you got out of the Marines?”
“I’m not actually law enforcement. I work for a private tactical company called Warrior Security. We were approached by a multiagency task force for this mission since the man behind it is known to recruit veterans who are disillusioned with the government. I fit the bill pretty easily. Plus, using me gives the law enforcement agencies deniability if needed.”
None of that surprised me.
“We’re waiting for a call,” he said into the darkness. “From Julian Oliver—he’s the militia leader. I haven’t met him yet—he’s the next step in this case. When he calls, the guys and I will move to a separate location where the weapons buy is happening. Oliver is…particular about things. Smart. Paranoid. If he suspects anything’s off, people die.”
“What about me?”
“I’m going to get you out of here before that. The guys here—Diesel, Snake, Tommy—they’re small-time. They get bored and want to go into the nearest town a couple times a week to drink and find women. I’ll make sure we go soon, and that you have a way to escape while we’re there.”
The promise hung between us. He’d get me out. Then he’d continue pretending to be a monster. Continue being Coop, who laughed at violence and treated women like objects. I wondered how much of himself he lost each time he put on that persona.
“I’ll replace your camera.” The words came unexpectedly. “The whole setup. Whatever it costs.”
I’d forgotten about my camera. Thousands of dollars in equipment destroyed in that barn. My livelihood.
“That camera was my independence,” I said quietly. “The only thing that was really mine.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll replace it.”
We lay in silence for a moment before he spoke again.
“You doing photography full time now?”
“Yeah.” My voice sounded hollow. “Real estate, mostly. Some nature work. Things that let me be outside.”
Away from walls. Away from small spaces. Away from anything that could trap me. Though I didn’t say that part.
“You were studying graphic design before.”
Before he left. Before everything changed. “That was a long time ago.”
“Six years isn’t?—”
“It’s a lifetime.” The words came out sharper than intended. “You don’t get to act like you know me anymore.”
“You’re right.” He shifted slightly, the mattress creaking. “The claustrophobia—when did that happen?”
My whole body tensed. I didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to think about that night. January, everything covered in ice. I’d been photographing winter landscapes, trying to build a portfolio, trying to become someone other than the abandoned girlfriend. The road had looked fine. Black ice is invisible until you’re sliding.
The embankment. The rolling. The way the car crushed in on itself, roof pressing against my skull, dashboard ripping into my legs. Four hours trapped in twisted metal before they cut me out. The scars on my legs were nothing compared to what it had done to my mind related to small spaces.
“Four months after you left. Car accident.”
“Mia—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He didn’t push. We lay in silence again, two people who used to know everything about each other now strangers separated by six years of damage. We’d both changed. Him into someone who could convincingly play a monster. Me into someone whocouldn’t exist in small spaces without feeling like death was pressing in.
Maybe we were both ghosts of who we used to be.
The exhaustion hit like a wall. My eyes burned. My body felt disconnected, floating. I’d been kidnapped at gunpoint, nearly murdered, locked in a closet until I’d screamed myself raw, held by the man I used to love while he explained he was undercover. Every cell in my body was done.
